Trinidad and Tobago just staged its own theatre of the absurd when a young man—white coat pressed, stethoscope swinging—allegedly strutted through hospital corridors like a surgeon rehearsing for prime time. Within hours, social media lit up and transformed the “doctor” into folklore. Yet, beneath the laughter lies something more unsettling - a psychological puzzle worth dissecting.
When someone impersonates a doctor, we can’t dismiss it as a mere prank. In psychiatry, such behaviour often falls under delusional disorder or schizophrenia, particularly if the person genuinely believes he is qualified, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary.
There’s also the possibility of pseudologia fantastica—pathological lying, where the individual constructs a fantasy identity to fill internal voids. Think of Leonardo DiCaprio’s Frank Abagnale Jr. in Catch Me If You Can, only without Tom Hanks chasing you across continents.
Pathological liars abound in public life, especially in politics, where deception often seems less like a shameful flaw and more like a job requirement. On the political platform, it’s rebranded as “campaign promises.”
The fake doctor may have stethoscopes and lab coats, but some politicians parade with grandiose titles, ribbon-cutting scissors and “visions 2030” that evaporate faster than hand sanitiser in a pandemic. The difference? One man’s delusion gets him mockery; the other’s gets him votes, motorcades and a pension for life.
And if you think about it, the fake doctor might actually be less harmful: at least patients can spot his fraud after a few botched prescriptions. Politicians, on the other hand, lie with a smile, a flag pin, and a rehearsed bow, and generations later, we’re still treating the wounds.
Most professionals suffer from “imposter syndrome,” doubting their competence despite being fully qualified. This fellow may represent the reverse—supreme self-confidence with no qualification whatsoever.
The “Dunning-Kruger effect” is the psychological bias that explains why people with the least knowledge are often the most confident. In medicine, it’s the equivalent of a patient telling you how to manage their thyroid because they watched a three-minute YouTube video at 2 am.
In a twisted way, the laughter was therapy. We giggled, we shared, and we coped with the absurdity of a system where even imposters can sometimes walk the corridors unnoticed.
But humour cannot obscure reality. This bizarre episode forces us to ask serious questions:
Security: How does someone without ID slip past multiple checkpoints?
Training: Are we equipping junior staff with enough support, or are they so exhausted that an imposter blends in?
Trust: If patients doubt the authenticity of their doctor, what happens to that fragile bond between physician and patient?
Medical imposters aren’t new. History records quacks who peddled “snake oil” for every ailment, and charlatans who promised miracle cures. In the 19th century, newspapers warned of fake doctors offering arsenic tonics for “female troubles.” Some made fortunes before being exposed.
The difference now is social media. Exposure is instant, ridicule viral, reputations demolished in hours. But so too is misinformation—fake doctors can amass followers online faster than real doctors can finish a ward round.
The prescription here is two-fold.
For the public: Verify before you trust. A doctor is more than a coat—it’s years of study, exams, failures, late nights and heartbreak. Demand credentials the way you’d demand an engineer’s before crossing a bridge.
For the system: Protect your staff and patients by tightening security, yes—but also by creating an environment where trust is earned daily through competence and compassion.
And maybe, just maybe, remember that those who most loudly proclaim their brilliance are often those you should be most wary of.
In the end, this episode wasn’t just about one young man’s delusion. It was about all of us—our fascination with medicine, our suspicion of authority, our delight in exposing absurdity.
As for our imposter, perhaps he needs not punishment but psychiatric evaluation and treatment. Because in medicine, as in life, we don’t just laugh at the unwell—we try to heal them.
It takes more than a stethoscope to heal, more than a lab coat to inspire trust. What our health system—and society—truly needs is vigilance, compassion and a good, old-fashioned injection of common sense.
