Every time I meet a new patient, I take a deep breath and open the door with a smile and a greeting: “I’m Dr. Sarathy. How would you like to be called?”
This question catches patients off guard. Their names already appear in the chart, and they are usually surprised that I am not just confirming their identity but instead, asking them about a preference. By setting the initial tone of the encounter with a personal, yet non-invasive question, I am subtly restructuring a power differential between patient and doctor. Patients frequently, though not always, smile back or visibly relax. That small moment tells my patients something vital: as much as I want to know about the circumstances that brought them to the hospital or clinic, I also care about who they are. They matter to me as a person, not just as a chart or room number.
In medicine, and particularly in primary care, names are more than identifiers; they represent autonomy and individuality. Gone are the days when stiff clinicians dictated care to patients; today, we operate along principles of mutual respect and enhanced communication, to patients’ benefit. Addressing patients by their chosen names or pronouns is just one piece of this more personalized, identity-centered care. Using a patient’s name helps counteract the institutionalized, sterile nature of health care settings, where patients can feel reduced to diagnoses or case numbers. Research has found that this act increases trust, particularly among minority and LGBTQ+ populations.
Asking about names outside of the context of introductions can also enrich the patient-clinician relationship. During my obstetrics and nursery rotations, I regularly asked parents about their baby’s intended name and the story behind it. The answers varied — some names were rooted in tradition and culture, other names were chosen to honor a family member or loved one, and still others reflected dreams for the child’s future personality. Every response added depth to my interactions and reinforced the idea that delivering babies and providing newborn care is a sacred privilege. The answers and names were a reminder that while I take part in deliveries and witness difficult medical situations regularly, none of these experiences are routine or mundane to my patients. Learning the story behind a name gives me a glimpse of who patients are outside of the medical environment, and this context humanizes the care I provide. I may have four years of medical school behind me, but I still do not know what it is like to be the specific patient in front of me or to live and breathe in their body.
The question of preferences in naming comes up for clinicians as well. In high-stakes environments like trauma or hospice care, emotional gravity and illness acuity can overshadow professional norms. I have seen colleagues in these fields intentionally forgo the title “doctor,” opting to introduce themselves to patients by their first names instead. It is a practical choice: when patients or families are navigating severe pain, illness, stress, or grief, formality may be neither helpful nor meaningful. In these scenarios, physicians prioritize empathy over authority and attempt to bridge the divide between patient and doctor. I have done this myself in less pressurized situations, such as when I introduce myself by my first name to younger children who are clearly not excited to meet a strange adult in an unfamiliar place. To my younger pediatric patients, it does not actually matter if I am the doctor. As long as I can be a potential friend with stickers and crayons, and I am not just a boring adult, they will engage with me. To clarify, it is not that titles or honorifics are unimportant; rather, they sometimes become secondary to the immediate needs of the patient and their family.
That said, it is important to mention that going by your first name as a clinician can have unintended consequences. Although I would like to show my patients how much I prioritize empathy, I also know that abandoning the doctor honorific comes with unique challenges for minority physicians, particularly regarding professional respect and biases. This conversation is often even more nuanced for APPs. Ultimately, there is no unified answer to how to refer to oneself as a clinician, and it frequently depends on personal preference and context. For my adult patients, I generally use the doctor honorific to lend myself credibility as a resident and woman of color in medicine, although I am not sure if this is always the right choice. There is a delicate balance between claiming a professional title and subtly contributing to unnecessary hierarchies. Still, if I am taking the time to think through how I want to be called, I owe that same respect to my patients.
To that end, when I ask patients how they prefer to be addressed — or consciously modify my introduction to suit the situation and patient I am interacting with — it is not simply a matter of politeness. I am acknowledging the humanity of our interaction and allowing patients some control over how they are seen in a setting that so often strips them of their autonomy. It turns out that no matter how busy or stressed I am, I find that there is always time to honor human connection with patients. Perhaps I will eventually forget their names and my patients will not remember mine or my medical degree, but patients’ stories stay with me, long after their charts are closed.
How do you introduce yourself to patients? Share in the comments!
Dr. Brinda Sarathy is a family medicine resident at the University of Colorado in Denver, Colorado. Within medicine, she is passionate about gender-affirming care and reproductive health access. In her free time, she enjoys running, hiking, listening to obscure podcasts, and cooking new recipes. Dr. Sarathy is a 2024–2025 Doximity Op-Med Fellow.
Illustration by April Brust
