Tuesday, September 11th, began as a perfect day. I ate a healthy breakfast, worked out, and felt the pleasure of the late summer sun as I walked my dog before leaving for my office. I had no idea how quickly the day would deteriorate into an emotional hell and remind me of how suddenly our lives can be forever altered.

I walked into the physicians’ lounge to check my mailbox. "An airplane’s hit the World Trade Center," a colleague said. "It’s terrible."

A small crowd of doctors was watching the television that’s usually tuned to the stock market channel. I stared in detached disbelief, as if what I was seeing was an action movie somebody had slipped into the VCR. I left before the extent of the horror unfolded.

Informed by patients that what I had seen was no freak accident, I watched the tiny ancient television in my office as the terror exposed itself. As the morning and its harrowing events registered, my body began to shake in anger and shock. My heart filled with so much pain that I wanted to abandon my schedule, find the closest bar, and numb the intense feelings inside me – and I’m not more than a social drinker. It took every ounce of self-discipline I could muster to keep my heart open and remain present for my patients. But I’m glad I did, because in doing so, I was reminded of my responsibility as a physician and my duty to my patients.

I practiced very little dermatology that day, yet I ran continuously late. Most of my time was spent listening to my patients’ fears and pain, offering what comfort I could, and suggesting that the way to combat terrorism was to stay open to the pain and the fear. Giving in to panic behavior, I suggested, was to let the terrorists win. I shared how lost and afraid I felt. I said that, like them, I couldn’t comprehend how anybody could hate enough to destroy so many innocent lives and families. I had no answers for their questions, only shared compassion for our mutual pain.

At the end of the day, I met with a small group of third-year medical students for an hour-long program about keeping their humanity throughout their careers. I found it impossible to stick to my usual syllabus as my mind replayed the events of the day and how I had reacted to them.

I’d told past groups – and this one – that our job as doctors is both mastering technology and learning to be spiritual guides for our patients. But after this day, I found I had more to say on the subject of physician responsibility. "We have an more important job," I continued, worried that what I was about to share might be construed as over-the-top. "Being a doctor means more than having the authority to write prescriptions or order laboratory tests. We’re here to be a source of love and comfort for our patients whether they’re afraid of cancer or international terrorism." I could tell by their faces that they understood what I was saying – and that it was okay for me to link the concept of love with the practice of medicine.

As caring, compassionate physicians, we have a mandate to treat people, not diseases. And we can do a great deal to help our patients with the changes that will affect all of us after this horrible day. Make no mistake – life in our country will change. Fear will be the constant companion of many of us who will be unable to erase the horrifying images of death and destruction that the media will continue to display. Heightened security at our airports, sporting events, and public buildings will constantly remind us of the very real threat of terrorism.

In the past, physicians, as respected members of society, were looked to for moral and spiritual guidance. We are needed now more than ever to assume that role for our patients. The already large stress levels in our patients’ lives are about to take a quantum leap that will adversely affect their health and well being. Our nation has had a sudden dose of reality; we understand the fragile nature of our lives and our happiness. It’s our sacred duty to help our patients deal with their fears and live as fully and as healthfully as possible. As doctors, we are not impotent in the face of the plague of terrorism. Compassion and love are powerful medicines – and needed now more than ever.