The white coat ceremony is one of the most memorable milestones in a pharmacy student’s journey. I still remember when I received mine and how proud I was to wear it because of what it represented – the step into professional curriculum and clinical experiences and the start of a life-long oath to advocate for the betterment of patient care. Yet, years later, I never wear one.
Understandably to many, the white coat indicates a person with extensive knowledge and establishes a visible role within the healthcare environment. That is why this choice may seem unconventional or be seen as a rejection of professionalism, especially for an individual with an advanced degree. However, over time, I found that the way I connected with patients and team members often felt more authentic without one.
During training, I believed much of my professional identity would be rooted in expertise and mastering the complexity of rapidly evolving therapies and nuanced treatment decisions. Like many pharmacists, I felt drawn to the intellectual challenge and the opportunity to contribute to meaningful patient care. At that time, the white coat felt symbolic of that role – a person who was knowledgeable, prepared, and capable of navigating difficult clinical situations. Working in oncology quickly taught me that expertise alone was not enough. No amount of residency training or literature evaluation could have prepared me for what patients and the oncology team see daily. Patients facing a cancer diagnosis are wrestling with fear, uncertainty, grief, and information overload all in one single breath. The oncology team does their best to navigate those feelings and provide comfort and clarity but often find themselves feeling helpless to the situation as well. In these moments, I began to recognize that my most meaningful interactions were not always tied to a medication regimen but rather to conversations surrounding it.
There was no single moment or interaction that I can pinpoint and say “this is the moment I decided to give it up.” The decision to give up the white coat was a collection of moments – sitting with a patient who is overwhelmed by side effects, helping a caregiver understand what to expect, or simply taking the time to answer a question with honesty and patience.
These experiences, no matter how big, felt just as much if not more impactful as any clinical intervention. I realized that patients are not looking for someone authoritative but rather someone who feels approachable, trustworthy, and willing to meet them where they are and someone who is honest when they are unsure of the answer or outcome. Somewhere between chemotherapy counseling sessions, difficult conversations, and moments of uncertainty shared with patients and colleagues, my understanding of what it meant to belong in the oncology space began to shift. I realized that my belonging in this field of oncology was being shaped by not only scientific experience and achievement, but also by true human connection.
Today, my decision to not wear a white coat has become symbolic of the kind of oncology pharmacist I hope to represent. I hope that patients feel comfortable enough to be completely honest with me and to ask tough or somewhat embarrassing questions. I hope that when I walk into a room, their blood pressures don’t immediately rise or their minds don’t go completely blank. I hope medical learners and established practitioners alike feel they can ask me questions and trust that I will answer them clearly and without judgement. Lastly, I hope that this choice grants me the relatability to take a seat, talk with patients and their families, really hear their concerns, and help them navigate some of the toughest moments of their lives.
I feel this choice also addresses a well-known stereotype that members of the oncology team are desensitized to the pain that they see every day and become hardened from it. While that could be true for some, this ‘no white coat’ perspective helped me to take back that narrative and change how I approach each day and each case. I learned to assess a room and allow a patient to see my personality before I start talking technically and to talk more casually with patients and team members, when appropriate, in order to meet them exactly where they are, teach them, and hopefully start an open line of communication that will sustain through the treatment duration and promote good, professional working relationships.
I still cherish the memory of my white coat ceremony – it once stood as one of the proudest and most meaningful moments of my journey, symbolizing accomplishment and the honor of stepping into patient care. Over time my feelings have evolved, and my way of thinking changed. Now, the most meaningful moments of my journey are the patient smiles, the relieved sighs, and the relationships I have built because of the barrier removed. While I continue to respect what the white coat represents, I’ve come to value even more the trust, open communication, and human connection that my choice to forgo it brings to my daily practice.
