Life Lessons for Physicians
2025: A Journey Through Loss, Meaning, and Renewal
Sometimes the healthcare system is so big and complex, and surprisingly lonely, that patients and providers just put up with the dysfunction… or leave.
Putting on a brave face feels like the right thing to do. But in my experience, that is what leads to burnout, dissatisfaction, and an imbalanced life.
There are people out there who have figured it out — who recognize the challenges in healthcare and still find ways to thrive in the middle of the chaos. Thriving looks different for everyone, and this is not a one-size-fits-all answer. But by sharing stories and experiences, we can learn from each other and remake our lives and careers, and in the process, change the system itself.
How 2025 Changed Me
As I look forward to 2026, here is a bit of my story from the past year. It is a story about loss, love, unexpected lessons, and how change reorients our hearts toward what really matters.
If you have ever thought you had more time, made a plan… and then life rewrote the plan on you, then you are in the right place.
Meet Stanzi and Moe
I am a dog person. I really wanted a dog during residency and fellowship, but did not think I could handle the responsibility. About two years into my attending job, I finally did it.
In the span of a week, I went from “maybe I’ll get a dog” to standing in the middle of a puppy pile. One puppy attached himself to my shoelaces and stayed there the entire visit. He was the only available one — it felt like he had chosen me. A short time later, I carefully placed him in a crate, and we made the 90-minute drive home. Stanzi, named after the Orange Bowl-winning Iowa Hawkeye quarterback Ricky Stanzi, quickly became my shadow, my constant companion, the bright spot in my days.
Things went so well that I added a second Tibetan terrier. If Stanzi thought I was the greatest thing since sliced bread, Moeaki — or Momo, also named after a Hawkeye great — thought I was about as capable as a slice of bread. His mission: ensure I never missed a meal and protect me at all costs.
I welcomed Stanzi almost 14 years ago. And as any dog owner knows, 14 years was not enough.
When Grief Enters Quietly
In late 2024, I said goodbye to Stanzi. Diabetes, blindness, kidney stones. He showed me patience. Unconditional love. Joy in the smallest moments. A lick on my hand at 2 a.m., a wag when I walked in the door, the way he’d jump into my lap to nap. I would miss it all — but it was time to say goodbye.
His loss hit me harder than I expected. And then, just six months later, I said goodbye to Moe. If Stanzi was my shadow, Moe was the protector and comedian. His loss hit differently, but just as deeply.
The silence after they were gone taught me something new: grief doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it sits quietly in the house you once filled.
When Life Rewrites the Plan
Six months of missing them. Six months of a quiet house. Eventually, the quiet inside was replaced by the noise of daily life — but the quiet at home persisted. So we welcomed Kittle, a red-and-white Tibetan doodle. Playful, chaos in a ball of fur.
We always knew we wanted two dogs, so when the breeder called four weeks later with another puppy who needed a home, Cooper joined us.
Two new dogs, and then, three days later, life changed fast.
Kittle got sick. At first, I thought it was a puppy virus. Some GI bug. But within 48 hours, his labs showed kidney failure. An ultrasound revealed congenital renal dysplasia. No functioning kidneys. No treatment. No options.
I walked in thinking he needed IV fluids. I walked out without a puppy.
I do not think I have ever felt grief like that. Sudden, deep, unrelenting. And there was Cooper, who was so new, so full of life, and I found myself avoiding him. Because every time I looked at Cooper, I saw everything I had lost.
I remember thinking: Ben, you care for kids with heart problems. Some parents walk into a hospital with a child and go home without one. Losing a dog is nothing compared to that. And while that is true, grief is grief. I did not recognize that version of me, the one trying to minimize his own pain instead of tending to it.
And then, four weeks later, Maui came home, another Tibetan doodle. Now Maui and Cooper, seven and eight months old, are goofy, playful, and full of joyful mayhem. We love every minute.
The Lesson I Didn’t Plan to Learn
When I sat down at the end of 2024 to write my New Year’s resolutions, none of these changes were on my radar. I did not plan to lose both senior dogs in 2025. I did not plan to fall in love with a puppy and lose him within a month. I did not plan to have two new dogs by spring.
And that is the lesson. Life happens — sometimes because of our choices, and sometimes because of circumstances beyond our control. We do not get to decide all the events of our story, but we do get to choose how we respond.
It is not what happens that defines us — it is how we respond afterwards.
That realization is why I am dropping resolutions for 2026. Instead, I am carrying forward lessons. The small truths earned through loss, love, and renewal.
Three Questions to Start Your New Year
If you want to join me in the “no resolutions” approach for 2026, here is how to start. Ask yourself the following three questions:
- What happened this past year that you did not expect?
- How did it change you — sometimes in ways you could not have imagined?
- What lesson did you learn from that experience that might make your year better?
Not resolutions. Not another SMART goal. Just one shift. One way you will show up differently because you know differently now.
For me, I am going to show up with less fear of the unexpected. I am going to make more space for unplanned beauty. I am going to remember that response matters more than circumstance.
If you lean into the story you did not choose, and let it teach you, you will begin the year not from “Will I?” but from “I already know.” And that is a powerful place to start.
A Quiet Invitation
If this story resonates — if you have had a year that rewrote your plans and you are still finding your footing — I would love to hear about it. Share your lesson from the past year in the comments or connect with me on LinkedIn.
And if you are carrying more than you expected to be carrying right now, know that you do not have to figure it out alone.
Use your heart more, not less. Stay curious. Stay courageous. Stay you.
Related Resources
- Take Control of Stress: Three Steps to Regain Balance
- The Best Gift You Can Give Yourself This Holiday Season
- How to Be a Great Mentor in Medicine
- American Psychological Association: Understanding Grief and Loss
- NIH: Resilience and Post-Traumatic Growth in Healthcare Workers
About the Author Dr. Ben Reinking is a practicing pediatric cardiologist, certified physician coach, and founder of The Developing Doctor. He writes about the full arc of a physician’s life — the clinical and the personal, the professional and the profoundly human. After nearly two decades in medicine, he believes the stories we share are as important as the skills we develop. Learn more at thedevelopingdoctor.com.
