We’re Human–Make a Connection with Us
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being both a patient and a caregiver, it’s this: when a doctor takes a moment to connect with you as a human being, everything changes. We listen differently. We ask better questions. And we walk away feeling supported, rather than overwhelmed.
Those moments of connection aren’t small. They are often the reason we get through the hardest chapters of our lives.
The Power of Feeling Seen
A few months after our first trip to KU Medical Center, things became confusing very quickly. Different scans, different opinions, and sudden urgency that didn’t match what we had been told on the trip before—it was a lot to process.
But even in the middle of that whirlwind, the moments that truly stand out now are the ones where the doctors slowed down long enough to see us.
The Oncologist Who Started With Common Ground
When we met the oncologist at KU, the very first thing he said was that he knew exactly where we lived—because he had grown up only 60 miles west of us. That tiny piece of shared geography immediately grounded the conversation. It reminded us that he wasn’t just a specialist with a packed schedule; he was a person who understood our community, our roads, our people, and our lives.
He had read every one of Mike’s notes—so thoroughly that he had filled both sides of his patient sheet with tiny handwriting. He asked if we could stay for more testing, made the arrangements himself, and a week later called personally so we wouldn’t have to make an unnecessary trip.
We made six trips in eight weeks to search for answers. No one ever found cancer. But through all of it, he treated us with respect, care, and honest communication.
The Surgeon Who Met Us Where We Were
We met the thoracic surgeon toward the end of that long stretch of appointments. At the time, we didn’t know how central he would become in Mike’s care. He was straightforward and kind, explaining options without adding fear.
And each time we crossed paths after that—through biopsies, procedures, and when Mike developed a hole in his esophagus—he kept showing up the same way: present, steady, and human.
He listened when Mike told stories about truck pulls with his uncle and shared his own memories of his grandfather’s buffalo pulling in India. He hugged me when I needed it. He reminded me to take care of myself. And when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, he offered support and even helped me choose my surgeon.
Those are the things you never forget.
The Primary Care Doctor Who Met Confusion With Compassion
When Mike was hospitalized twice in Colby with two strains of the flu, everything was happening fast. There were discussions about transferring him to another hospital, and I felt lost. But the moment his doctor saw me walk in, he stopped what he was doing, came straight over, and hugged me.
He took the time—right then—to explain the plan, the reasons behind the transfer, and what to expect next.
That simple act dissolved fear and replaced it with trust.
Why These Moments Matter
These doctors didn’t just treat Mike—they supported both of us. They spoke to us, not at us. They included us, not just informed us. And because of that, we felt confident enough to ask questions, advocate when we needed clarity, and stay grounded during some very difficult days.
Connection doesn’t require extra time.
It requires presence.
And presence is what helps patients feel safe enough to truly hear you.
Your Turn
Do you have something you wish your doctor understood—something that made a difference or something you wish they did more often?
I’d love to hear it.
Share your story in the comments, reply to this email, or send me a message. I may add your insights to my growing list.
Because at the end of the day—whether patient or doctor—we’re all only human.
Every story needs a soundtrack.
This is the one I’ve chosen for this post—sometimes because of the title, sometimes the lyrics, sometimes simply the feeling it stirs in me.
CS Bar — my grandfather Charles Socolofsky’s brand. Today, it’s mine too. A legacy carried forward, one story at a time.
On the ranch, there’s a saying: Ride for the Brand. It means you show up with loyalty, integrity, and heart—you stay true to the one you serve. For me, writing here is a way of riding for the brand of my own life’s work: being authentic, living with courage, and sharing stories that matter.
Stories are powerful. They don’t land the same way for everyone—each reader brings their own experiences, hopes, and hurts to the words. That’s the beauty of it. My stories may carry one meaning for me, and yet spark something entirely different for you. That doesn’t make either version wrong. It means we’re connecting in the only way humans truly can—through our imperfect, varied interpretations of life.
So here, I’ll keep showing up. I’ll tell my stories—the raw, the ordinary, the joyful, the hard—and trust that you’ll find the piece that speaks to you. This is my way of riding for the brand and inviting you along for the journey.
Onward!
Susan
