Palliative Care: Not Just for Patients, But for Our Colleagues Too

It was 9:12 a.m. on a Friday when my cellphone rang. On the line was a primary care colleague—one of those overbooked, overworked, and too often undervalued physicians who quietly form the backbone of our healthcare system. For them to call me directly during a packed clinic day meant one thing: this was important.

Their voice was anxious.
“What do I say? How do I approach this conversation?”

Earlier in the week, routine lab work had revealed a positive HIV screening in a young, otherwise healthy patient. The patient lived three hours away and wouldn’t be able to come in before Monday. Meanwhile, the EMR was set to automatically release the results on Saturday. IT had already confirmed there was no way to delay the release. The only advice?

“Tell him not to check his email or the portal this weekend.”

“I have to call him today,” my colleague said. “But I want to say the right thing.”

People often think of palliative care as a service for patients and their families—specialists who step in during serious illness to manage symptoms, guide complex decisions, and improve quality of life. But what’s often overlooked is how critical palliative care is in supporting our colleagues too.

Healthcare professionals are regularly thrust into emotionally overwhelming, ethically complex situations—often without the training or support they need for the human side of care. They may be brilliant in managing diabetes, heart failure, or surgical complications. But even the most skilled clinicians can feel unprepared—and alone—when it’s time to deliver life-changing news.

During my time at an academic hospital, “provider distress” was a legitimate reason to consult palliative care. When teams needed guidance, reassurance, or just someone to help navigate a hard conversation, they called us. Not just for patients. For them. To stand beside them in the toughest moments of their day. To help them care for others—and sometimes, just to help them make it through the day themselves.

As provider burnout continues to rise and healthcare systems stretch clinicians thinner than ever, palliative care offers more than clinical expertise. We bring a calm, steady presence. We show up—not only for patients and families—but for the colleagues who need us when the emotional weight of medicine feels too heavy to carry alone.

That Friday morning, I helped ground the PCP. I reminded them that when the patient picked up the phone, their world would begin to shift—and it would be terrifying. But the physician already knew what to do. They just needed someone to walk with them through it.

We talked through the approach:

• Start with a warning shot. Let the patient know the labs showed something serious.
• Offer them the option to come in, but be prepared to share the results over the phone.
• Be present. Be empathetic.
• After delivering the diagnosis, pause. Let silence sit. Don’t overwhelm them with information they didn’t ask for.
• Let the patient be the first to speak.
• Have a plan: follow-up labs, specialist referrals, support systems, disclosure strategies.
• Most importantly, don’t let them feel abandoned. Reaffirm your commitment—not just to their health, but to them as a person.

None of this was new to the physician. They had seen these principles on slides and heard them in lectures. But in that moment, they didn’t need more facts. They needed support. That’s what palliative care offers.

Yes, they would have made that call with or without me. And yes, they would have done a good job. But I hope that by walking with them, I made it just a little bit easier, a little less lonely. And maybe—just maybe—I helped preserve a piece of their well-being, so they could carry on with the rest of their important day.