One thing I swore I would never do growing up was be a doctor.

 

This is Dr. Laura Lambert. She’s a surgical oncologist, professor of surgery, and director of the peritoneal malignancy program at Huntsman Cancer Institute. Today, we’re introducing a new kind of episode—sharing speeches that have been given at our past summits.

 

Just before coming up here, I said, you know what? I’d be much more comfortable if I could talk about hypothermic intraperitoneal chemo perfusion for peritoneal carcinomatosis.

 

Dr. Lambert earned her medical degree from Harvard Medical School, completed her general surgery residency at Dartmouth Hitchcock Medical Center, and her surgical oncology fellowship at the University of Texas MD Anderson Cancer Center. She’s also board-certified in hospice and palliative medicine. After listening to her speech, I naturally looked her up and saw she has 131 five-star ratings. I started reading what patients wrote—and it was beautiful:

 

“The best doctor/surgeon I’ve ever had, and the best I’ve heard anyone else having. Wish every doctor treated their patients like Dr. Lambert does.”

 

“What an exceptional doctor. I felt wholly cared for and in the best of hands. She seems to surround herself with wonderful people. Her office abounded with them.”

 

“Having a 5-year doctor-patient relationship, I feel as though we’re friends. She treats my wife, who is my caregiver and a nurse, with the utmost respect for her knowledge and always asks for her thoughts and opinions. She gives answers to hard questions with respect, caring, and understanding. She is the most special of all specialists.”

 

“She literally saved my life.”

 

This is what all these reviews sound like. In today’s speech, Dr. Lambert shares how she fosters those kinds of experiences for her patients by seeing them as people—and how all of us can foster that environment, whether we’re doctors or not, by learning to see all people as people.

 

Welcome to Leading Outward, the Arbinger Institute podcast, where we explore the tools and ideas we've used for over 45 years to help people solve their toughest leadership and organizational challenges by leading with an outward mindset—seeing people as people.

 

Please join me in welcoming to the stage, Dr. Laura Lambert.

 

Dr. Laura Lambert:

Are there any physicians in the room?

A handful.

 

When I was growing up, my father went to medical school much later in life. I was older and I really understood how much time and effort he put into becoming a doctor—all the studying, nights on call away from family events. And I just thought, there is nothing worth working that hard for. There just isn’t. I couldn’t imagine doing it.

 

So, I majored in German at a small liberal arts college in Northern New England, and my life’s ambition became to teach German at a small liberal arts college in Northern New England.

 

The summer before I was preparing to get my PhD in German, my father and my mother, a retired operating room nurse, had an opportunity to go to Haiti and volunteer with a group of surgeons. They invited me to go.

 

Words really can’t describe the experience. There’s nothing like being thrown into an operating room—in the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere—with no medical background. The poverty was overwhelming; the spirit of the Haitian people was amazing.

 

But what inspired me most, even more than the actual surgeries performed, was the way my father took care of the patients. It wasn’t his technical expertise—he spoke no Haitian Creole and none of the patients spoke English—but using just his eyes above his mask and a calm, gentle voice, he was able to put people at ease as they prepared for surgery they didn’t really understand.

 

And it was in that moment I realized: that’s why it was worth it. All that time at the hospital, all the studying, all the nights on call—it was for the privilege of caring for another human being.

 

That’s when I decided: I want to be a doctor, I want to be a surgeon, and I want this privilege of caring for people.

 

Five years later, I finally made it to my surgery rotation as a third-year medical student. This was important—I knew I wanted to be a surgeon, so I worked hard to prove myself worthy and capable. All these years later, if you asked me what I learned about anatomy, indications for surgery, or postoperative care, I probably couldn’t tell you. But I do remember three things I learned about being a surgeon:

 

The ABCs of surgery—not airway, breathing, and circulation, but accuse, blame, and criticize.

 

Trust no one, expect sabotage.

 

Surgeons may sometimes be wrong, but they are never in doubt.

 

They could have just put up a sign that said, “Welcome to the box.”

 

Narrator:

Laura mentions the box. At Arbinger, a “box”—an inward, self-focused mindset—means you’re not seeing people as people with hopes and needs, but as objects: obstacles to you, vehicles for your goals, or just irrelevant. That’s what she means by “the box.”

 

Dr. Laura Lambert (continued):

Surgeons are notorious for this inward mindset. Hollywood has benefitted, but patients have not.

 

A few years ago, I saw a cancer patient whose chemotherapy catheter was infected—it needed to be removed. The skin was red, the catheter was exposed, there was pus. We removed it, but I couldn’t safely close the wound; it had to be packed with gauze and the dressing changed twice a day. It was Friday, so I arranged for a nurse to help, with explicit instructions.

 

Monday, after a long surgery, I checked my email—my assistant said: the visiting nurse switched the dressing you ordered, and wants you to call her directly.

 

For a surgeon who’s been living in the box for 23 years, this was not well received.

 

My inner monologue: “Oh no, I don’t know who she thinks she is. I’m a board-certified general surgeon, surgical oncologist, and certified in hospice and palliative care! I gave those instructions for a reason. She’s just being lazy. I’m busy. I don’t have time for extra calls!”

 

I happened to be working with a young resident going into plastic surgery—I figured, plastic surgeons know wounds. I vented: “Would you use this dressing?” She said, “No, that would be stupid.” I felt validated by someone 30 years younger and just two years out of med school.

 

I admit—I didn’t call the nurse back. I emailed my assistant to have the patient come to clinic outside my normal schedule. The wound looked great. The patient pleaded, “Can we keep using this new dressing? It’s less painful and I only have to change it a couple times.”

 

Of course, I said yes. But was I happy about it? Nope.

 

Four years ago, I discovered Arbinger after reading Bonds That Make Us Free. Be careful what you read; it can really change your life. That book led me to Arbinger, and I went to my first workshop in Washington, DC.

 

What inspired me most was how foundational Arbinger’s principles are to medicine. They truly define humanism.

 

After that workshop, I returned to my job—at the time, University of Massachusetts—trying to apply these principles in my clinical practice, and I burned to share them with students and colleagues.

 

I developed a program called “The Anatomy of Humanism,” meeting for an hour weekly with third-year medical students rotating through surgery. I’d always start, “What is humanism? How do you define it?” We’d make a list. Group after group, they’d reach the same conclusion: It’s about seeing people as people.

 

From there, we’d talk about why it matters, who it impacts, and what it looks like. Medical students related deeply; they could sense the box mindset in medicine and surgery. They’d say, “Who really needs this are the residents and faculty.” I’d reply, “It’s easy to see everyone else’s boxes, isn’t it?”

 

The operating room is, as I tell them, a cesspool of boxes. Nurses, anesthesiologists, surgeons—sometimes working together for the first time, each with their own rules and agenda. When stakes are high, it gets tense. There’s an unspoken hierarchy—I'll let you figure out who thinks they're on top.

 

I wanted to bring Arbinger principles to the perioperative setting. After four years of handing out Leadership and Self-Deception, talking with leaders in nursing, anesthesia, surgery, and the hospital; and thanks to Arbinger (who gave two surgical grand rounds), I’m happy to report: the University of Massachusetts Medical Center recently trained 26 Arbinger facilitators and will roll out Arbinger across the perioperative setting, reaching over 300 people across the spectrum.

 

Though I’m not there now, I’m excited for what comes next.

 

The inward mindset is a disease—not only affecting patients, but physicians, too.

 

A JAMA Surgery study showed surgeons reported for unprofessional behavior have a significantly higher risk of complications. Inward mindset has real impact—not just inconvenience, but patient safety.

 

And when we stop seeing patients as people, we start seeing them as objects. You’ll hear, “What happened with the gallbladder in room three?” or “Got another hit from the ER.” We lose sight of our patients' humanity, and our own. We lose the deeper meaning of medical work.

 

In my opinion, loss of humanity and meaning drives burnout, dissatisfaction, and depression among physicians.

 

There are two groups particularly vulnerable: medical students and residents. Over 50% of med students report burnout in the first two years; over 30% meet criteria for substance abuse or addiction; over 11% experience suicidal ideation. Numbers aren’t much better for residents. This is very, very concerning.

 

Another analogy from surgery:

Surgery is an amazing privilege—to care for someone so deeply. But surgery only works because the body heals itself. We just optimize conditions—IV fluids, pain meds, antibiotics. We don’t heal; the body does. When patients ask, “How long until I’m healed?” they aren’t asking about their incision, they’re asking about being better than before.

 

True healing is transformative. As physician Rachel Remen said (paraphrased): we fix problems and objects with our knowledge and skills, but we heal people with who we are.

 

And you don’t need to be a doctor to heal.

 

As one resident neared graduation, he confided: his team’s motto was, “We are dead inside.” He was just trying to survive the program. I recognized that feeling—I’d felt the same at the end of my decade of training. I wasn’t sure I could ever rediscover why I went into medicine.

 

But thanks, in large part, to Arbinger, I realized it’s always been there. Now I consider myself a recovering human being.

 

You don’t have to be a doctor to help others heal.

We just have to be human.

 

At the beginning, I asked if there were any physicians in the room—a few hands went up. Now, how many healers are there in the room?

 

That’s how we turn the world outward. Thank you.

 

I wasn’t there when Laura gave this speech, but I’ve heard from people who were that everyone in the room raised their hand when she asked that final question—hundreds of people. Imagine, hundreds, thousands, millions of people engaging in the world in a human, outward way.

 

If you want to help your team and organization engage with these ideas, Laura mentioned Leadership and Self-Deception, a bestselling book perfect for a deeper dive. And if you want to bring these principles to your organization, schedule a call at arbinger.com or use the link in the show notes. We’re excited to help you scale these ideas within your teams and organization.