Goodman Brown lost his faith when he saw the flaws in the people he once trusted. In healthcare, disillusionment can lead to something similar; moral injury, detachment, even cynicism. But the challenge isn’t to stay innocent. It’s to stay human, even after we’ve seen too much.

The Scarlet Letter might not feel like a Halloween story. There are no ghosts, no Gothic mansions. Sometimes, though, the banality of a hell is still a hell. Hawthorne’s world is one of polite systems that confuse shame for morality and call it order. Modern healthcare has its own versions of that. Providers get branded “difficult,” “too idealistic,” or “not a team player.” And yet, like Hester Prynne, many stay. Not to defend the system, but to redeem what’s still good inside it… the quiet, stubborn act of care that changes what the letter means.

In medicine, we’re trained to believe that composure equals competence; that, if we keep our heads down and our hearts guarded, we’ll stay strong. But the truth is, pretending we don’t feel doesn’t make us better healers. It makes us brittle.

The real work isn’t about suppressing our humanity; it’s about integrating it. Caring and not caring, presence and detachment; both have their place. What matters is that we hold them in tension, rather than letting one erase the other.

Wholeness in medicine isn’t moral compromise. It’s moral clarity and the courage to tell the truth about what this work costs and still choose to care within it.