What Makes a Doctor a Good Doctor?

29 Apr 2026 Christoff Trüter Spousal caregiver

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Over the years, we have interacted with a large and diverse number of doctors: general practitioners, gastroenterologists, neurologists, neurosurgeons, gynaecologists, ophthalmologists, and more.

Some were fantastic (like our GP who constantly fights the good fight, coming up with new solutions and avenues of investigation). Some were mediocre (telling my wife to “eat less cake” when confronted with unexplained weight gain). And some were frankly bordering on malpractice (telling my wife that unexplained weight gain was actually a good thing).

But how do we determine what makes a doctor good? The answer depends heavily on context. For us, dealing with complex, chronic, and often nebulous illnesses that span multiple medical disciplines, one factor stands above the rest:

1. Collaboration
   
   

   
   Collaboration is our number one priority. This means more than just doctors talking to other doctors. It includes genuine partnership with my wife and myself as well. Specialist appointments are short, and knowledge silos between disciplines rarely interact. As a result, we are often forced to act as proxies, carrying information from one specialist to another.
   

   An authoritarian style (I am the doctor, you are the patient, patients should be seen and not heard) is not only counterproductive in this environment, it is actively harmful, it discourages open dialogue and questioning, which are essential in complex or uncertain cases. It can lead to missed information from the patient, reduced trust, and premature diagnostic closure.
   
   For example, in patients with a complex medical history or a difficult or abusive childhood, an authoritarian or judgmental approach can make them less willing to disclose important details. If they anticipate bias or dismissal, they may withhold information that is clinically relevant, which can significantly limit accurate assessment and understanding of their condition.
   
   I would also personally be very wary of revealing a previous diagnosis of functional symptoms, as I feel it could potentially influence clinician bias.
   

   Apart from the overall number of symptoms, the other general diagnostic red flag is whether there is a history of previous functional symptoms

2. Comorbidities
   
   

   
   When a person has several conditions at once, they do not act independently. Each can worsen the others in a two way cycle. Problems with the immune system, nervous system, metabolism, and musculoskeletal system can feed into one another, leading to more severe symptoms and greater disability.

   In our case, however, each specialist focused on their own area of expertise and offered explanations without fully considering the others.

   The reality is that there is not always a single, simple answer. We value clinicians who use interconnected reasoning and view the body as a network of systems rather than isolated parts. Conditions rarely exist in neat silos.

   For example, a gut problem can affect neurological function, hormones, or immunity, and vice versa. The best clinicians actively look for these links instead of defaulting to a “functional” label when the picture is complex.

   In our situation, a confirmed history of endometriosis, previously treated with surgical removal of nodules, was largely overlooked. Despite its known effects on pelvic floor musculature, inflammation, and referred pain patterns, these were not adequately integrated into the bigger picture. Instead, the resulting complex symptoms were primarily reframed through a neurological lens (see neuropelveology).

   
   This highlights the risk when specialists work in silos: treatable gynaecological drivers can be under-addressed, while overlapping neurological-type symptoms are more readily labelled functional.
   
   In the FND context, this complexity is sometimes incorrectly treated as proof of a purely functional cause. However, a long list of symptoms is not, by itself, a reliable indicator that the primary symptom is "functional".
   

   The more physical symptoms a patient presents with the more likely it is that the primary presenting symptom will not be explained by disease. A long list of symptoms should therefore be a "red flag" that the main symptom is functional.

3. Clear Communication
   
   
   My wife’s medical journey has required extensive independent research. We have had to learn medical terminology and become familiar with complex conditions in order to ask informed questions and advocate effectively.
   

   Many doctors are uncomfortable with this. The dismissive term "Dr Google" is often used, reflecting concerns that patients may latch onto incorrect self-diagnoses due to misinformation and become anxious or preoccupied through online searching ("cyberchondria").

   But getting things wrong is part of learning. As my late father used to joke, every first year psychology student becomes convinced they have whatever condition they are studying. Instead of shutting down patient input, good clinicians offer guidance. They help interpret what we find, separate signal from noise, and steer us towards reliable sources.
   
   

4. Pragmatic Openness
   
   

   Especially when conditions are nebulous, it does not hurt to take patient or caregiver suggestions seriously. Within reason, it can be valuable to pursue investigations that seem unlikely, unorthodox, or outside the usual protocol, particularly after standard approaches have repeatedly failed.
   

   It's important because in complex or unclear cases, patients and caregivers often provide longer-term patterns and observations that clinicians may not see in short consultations.

   Even if their ideas are wrong, they can still highlight gaps, inconsistencies, or overlooked possibilities. This helps reduce missed diagnoses when standard approaches haven’t worked.
   
   

5. Intellectual Humility
   
   

   
   I do not fully trust a doctor who cannot acknowledge the possibility of their own ignorance, one who is unable to say, “I do not know.”

   Over the years of studying topics in greater depth, I have increasingly come to appreciate that the more one knows, the more one becomes aware of how much one does not know. We must remain humble in the face of biological complexity. Overconfidence is often a sign of limited education rather than mastery.

   A few years ago, we rushed my wife to the emergency room with a severe gastroenterological issue. She had been struggling with her gut for years without clear answers, and every treatment and diet had failed. Gastroenterologists had labelled it IBS, that is, “functional.”

   When I mentioned research from Cedars Sinai around SIBO (as possible avenue of investigation), the attending doctors, including a gastroenterologist, smirked and laughed and asked where I had heard of such a condition. They were clearly unaware of more than a decade of research on the topic.

   
   
6. Intellectual Curiosity
   
   

   I have no problem with a doctor not knowing something.

   We are human. Medical knowledge is in constant flux, and we are dealing with biological systems that evolved over billions of years without a user manual.
   
   In fact, I respect someone who can acknowledge their ignorance, since that acknowledgement is the very start of knowledge. Without it, medicine cannot progress.

   What I do have a problem with is treating unknowns as knowns, immediately declaring something invalid or non existent instead of acknowledging uncertainty and investigating further. That protects the doctor’s authority at the potential cost of the patient’s health.
   
   

Ultimately, a good doctor is not defined solely by certainty or authority, but by their willingness to think in systems, collaborate across disciplines, and remain open to being wrong.

In complex chronic illness, progress depends less on having immediate answers and more on the ability to keep asking better questions, and to keep questioning their own assumptions.