The Respiratory Therapist I Never Forgot

Respiratory therapists will always be one of my favorite medical

professionals.

(Second favorite, if I’m being honest—right after the nurse who gave me

morphine.)

Humor aside, my respect for RTs is deeply personal.

When I was recovering from brain surgery, I spent nine months in the

hospital. During that time, a respiratory therapist performed one of the most

invasive and painful procedures I experienced. I can still picture the moment

clearly: lying in a hospital bed, already exhausted and disoriented, watching

a stranger walk into my room carrying equipment I didn’t fully understand.

I knew it was going to hurt.

I knew I needed it.

I also felt completely helpless.

Almost 20 years later, I remember exactly what that vulnerability felt like

as a tube was guided up my nose. But what stayed with me even more than

the discomfort was the human presence in the room. The procedure helped

me physically. The way it was delivered shaped me emotionally.

That moment profoundly influenced how I understand empathy in

respiratory care.

Respiratory therapists often meet patients at their

most frightened moments. A patient struggling to

breathe. A patient facing an invasive intervention. A

patient who hasn’t processed what’s happening yet.

There is rarely time for long conversations. No

extended relationship-building. No luxury of easing in

slowly.

And yet—connection still matters.

In fact, in those compressed, high-stress seconds, empathy matters even more.

Over the years, in my work with healthcare students and clinicians through

Lifetime of Impact and Impact of Empathy, I’ve focused on one core skill: how to

create safety and trust quickly. Not through long speeches. Not through scripted

lines. But through tone, eye contact, body positioning, pacing, and simple

acknowledgment of fear.

Empathy in respiratory care is not about being “soft.”

It’s about stabilizing the human experience in a destabilizing moment.

When patients feel even a small sense of safety, procedures go more smoothly.

Cooperation improves. Trauma decreases. Outcomes often improve alongside

experience.

Respiratory therapists don’t just help patients breathe.

They help patients feel less alone while they’re trying to.

If you teach or lead respiratory therapy students, I would be honored to share this

story—and practical, realistic tools your learners can apply immediately.

Workshops are available:

• For individual classes through my nonprofit, Lifetime of Impact

• For larger programs and teams through Impact of Empathy

In respiratory care, empathy isn’t extra—it’s essential.