It usually begins the same way. “Parang may mali sa ginawa ng doctor (The doctor seems have done something wrong).” Said softly. Said casually. Said with just enough confidence to feel correct. Sometimes at the bedside. Sometimes in the hallway.

Sometimes in a group chat that grows more certain with every reply. No one intends harm. No one thinks they’re being unfair. From where they’re standing, it makes sense.

Because from the outside, Medicine looks simple. The fever didn’t go down. The pain came back. The diagnosis changed. And once you know how the story ends, everything that came before it starts to feel obvious: “Dapat ganito na lang. Bakit hindi ito agad nakita? (This should be what is done. Why is this not seen early?).” The uncertainty disappears. The path looks straighter than it ever was. It feels like there was a better decision — one that should have been seen earlier, chosen faster, done differently. It feels that way because the hardest part has already been removed: The moment the decision had to be made.

Medicine can look obvious in retrospect for the same reason missed shots look obvious during a replay. Once the play is over, everyone can suddenly see what should have happened. The pass should have gone left. The defender should have rotated earlier. The shot should never have been taken. But the player had to decide in real time — without slow motion, rewinds and without knowing how it would end.

Medicine happens the same way. Information is incomplete. Symptoms overlap. Tests suggest — but do not confirm. A single complaint can point in several directions, and each direction carries its own risk. Act too early, and you may do something unnecessary. Wait too long, and you may miss the moment to help. There is no safe version of that moment. Only a choice — and the responsibility that comes with it. And once that moment passes, it disappears with it.

What remains is the outcome. And outcomes are easy to judge. Once you know what happened, it is easy to believe it could have been avoided. Easier still to believe it should have been obvious. This is not unique to Medicine — but in Medicine, the illusion is stronger, because the answer feels like it should have been clear all along. Patients should ask questions. They should demand clarity. But there is a difference between trying to understand and deciding too quickly that something was done wrong.

And we are becoming more comfortable with that second part.

Because it is easy. It asks nothing from you. No responsibility. No uncertainty. No consequence if you are wrong. You don’t have to weigh risks. You don’t have to choose between imperfect options. You don’t have to make the decision that led to it. You only have to look at what happened — and decide, with confidence, that it should have been different.

So ask your doctor. Question the plan. Try to understand it. But slow down before you conclude. Because the hardest part of Medicine is not knowing the answer. It is having to decide before anyone can know for sure — and the easiest job in healthcare is not treating the patient, but deciding, after everything, that it should have been different.