Every day, millions of people type symptoms into search bars, scroll through social media feeds, and ask virtual assistants for medical guidance. The information arrives quickly, confidently, and often with a warmth that makes it easy to accept. In this new digital landscape, the line between evidence and imagination can blur. Even experienced healthcare professionals are not immune. Brian Druker, a pioneering physician-scientist at Oregon Health & Science University, built his career on honesty and precision medicine, turning a once-fatal form of leukemia into a manageable condition. He helped launch a wave of life-saving therapies, and he is the driving force behind a bold initiative to end cancer as we know it at OHSU’s Knight Cancer Institute. He never imagined that someone would steal his name to promote false cures. Yet a fake Facebook account calling itself “Brain Druker” — just a single letter off — was pushing the antiparasitic drug ivermectin as a cancer treatment. Weeks earlier, a similar impostor appeared on X. For Druker, the violation was deeply personal. It touched the very foundation of his reputation: trust. “I spent an entire career based on honesty and integrity,” he says. “For someone to be able to usurp my identity — and undermine the trust people have in me — is really disturbing.” His story reflects a broader crisis in which medical information is no longer shaped primarily by science, but by algorithms, influencers, and misinformation. Fabrice Jotterand, a philosopher and medical ethicist at OHSU, describes this moment as a “post-truth era.” “Everything is up for grabs,” he says. “Your truth is not my truth.” In such an environment, patients are often desperate for hope and vulnerable to anything that sounds plausible. Yet medicine has faced disruptive change before, and it has learned to adapt. To navigate this new reality, three OHSU experts — a physician, a librarian, and a philosopher — offer practical wisdom for distinguishing fact from fiction, and for keeping human relationships at the center of care.
Cliff Coleman, M.D., M.P.H., is a primary care physician who sees patients at OHSU’s Richmond Clinic in southeast Portland. He is also a professor of family medicine who trains medical students and other healthcare professionals in health literacy and doctor-patient communication. He has watched patients arrive at appointments carrying printouts from websites, screenshots from social media posts, or answers generated by artificial intelligence. It is easy to see why. A chatbot is always available, never rushed, and never judgmental. It responds in a confident, polished voice, and it can make a person feel heard. A human doctor, by contrast, may bring bad news, complicated explanations, uncomfortable pauses, and uncertainty. “Getting that positive message from an AI chatbot may satisfy your needs, whether it’s the capital-T ‘Truth’ or not,” Coleman says. “It may meet your needs to get something that feels like the truth, as opposed to a real physician where you confront the messiness and stresses of a real conversation.” A recent KFF poll found that about one-third of adults now turn to artificial intelligence for health information and advice, nearly the same proportion who say they rely on social media to inform their medical choices. The convenience is not an accident; algorithms are designed to give us what feels familiar and reassuring. For Coleman, the solution is not to scold patients for researching online, but to build trust through genuine human connection. When people feel that their doctor respects them, they are more willing to explore credible sources: a university website, a public health district, a medical librarian, or a professional medical association. Rather than leaving patients to do their own research, he encourages clinicians to build a shared understanding and walk alongside them. What worries Coleman most is the way AI presents itself as absolute truth. The tone is so certain, so seamless, that it sounds authoritative. “The thing that concerns me,” he says, “is the answer you get is delivered with such confidence that it sounds like the truth, when clearly you can’t count on that.”
Kristin Whitman, M.L.S., head of learning and information services for the OHSU Library, spends her days thinking about how people find and assess knowledge. She suggests two simple but profound questions to ask before accepting any health claim online: Why should I trust this information, and what happens if it’s wrong? The first question asks us to stop and examine the source. The second helps us measure the risk of acting on a falsehood. “The stakes matter,” Whitman says. “If you’re looking for the best Italian restaurant in your neighborhood, it’s fine. If you are looking to treat a medical condition, that is the time to stop and recognize you’re feeling an emotion of hope — and to create space for investigation.” Rather than accepting information at face value, she recommends a technique called lateral reading. That means leaving the original website and looking for supplementary information to validate or undermine the claim. Is the information based on peer-reviewed research published in a scientific journal? Does the person making the claim have an interest in selling a product or service? Is the reporter an independent professional journalist or someone amplifying a rumor? When patients are desperate, the appeal of a miracle cure can feel overwhelming. “We’ve all felt that,” Whitman says. “We may have a medical condition where we would like to have a miracle cure. If my doctor isn’t giving me the answer I want, I may ask ChatGPT and get great news based on the way I phrased the question. That’s hope — and I’m going to go as far down that rabbit hole as I can.” To help people build these skills, Whitman teaches a popular framework called SIFT. Stop: Notice what you are feeling and what you already know about the topic and the source. Investigate the source: What kind of source is it, who is the author, what is their intention, and how recent is the post? Find trusted coverage: Try to confirm the information through a university, a public health agency, or a newsroom with professional standards. Trace the claim: Find the original study, quote, or data, and ask whether that is really what it means in its original context. She also reminds people that librarians are trained to identify misinformation and to lead people toward reliable resources. “You can always reach out to your local librarians for help,” she says.
Fabrice Jotterand, a philosopher and medical ethicist who directs OHSU’s Center for Ethics in Health Care, is concerned about a different layer of this problem: the way we talk to one another. He sees a society in which once-respected institutions are questioned, distrusted, or ignored. In a world where everyone has their own truth, science cannot simply assert its authority and expect everyone to listen. “The tendency is to say that science is the only answer to any question,” he observes. “But oftentimes people don’t trust experts anymore.” For Jotterand, the way forward is not to retreat behind data and hope the facts speak for themselves. Instead, healthcare professionals must enter conversations with humility, acknowledging that someone’s lived experience, values, and anxieties matter as much as clinical evidence. Dismissing people as misinformed only deepens the divide. He urges doctors and scientists to practice civil discourse, even in a polarized age. “The way out is to put forward these questions and think together and work toward the common good,” he says. “Not in the sense that, ‘I’m a scientist and have all the answers.’ We need to understand it’s not by simply avoiding debate that we’re going to make progress — it’s the opposite.” Real progress comes from encountering the other person, hearing their fear, and reasoning with them rather than lecturing them. “When we’re willing to engage people who disagree with us, we’re going to make progress.” This is difficult work in an era of outrage and echo chambers, where the impulse is often to block, unfriend, or cancel. But the alternative — avoiding hard conversations — leaves people alone to drift toward whichever voice sounds most confident, regardless of whether it is honest. Humility, Jotterand believes, is not weakness. It is the starting point for rebuilding trust and creating a common foundation for truth.
Brian Druker’s own experience has taught him that the answer is not to hide from patients or retreat into an ivory tower. Despite his responsibilities as president of the OHSU Knight Cancer Institute, he still sees patients once a week. That direct contact keeps him grounded. It also gives him opportunities to practice the kind of conversation that builds trust. When a patient asks about ivermectin, or voices uncertainty about a vaccine, Druker does not immediately correct them. Instead, he responds with curiosity. “It comes down to having a conversation about, ‘where did you see this information?’” he says. He understands that patients are often dealing with fear, hope, and a genuine desire to protect themselves and their families. The goal is not to win a debate or belittle someone’s beliefs. “Ultimately,” he explains, “my job isn’t necessarily to dissuade people in their beliefs. My job is to give them the care that they need to get them the best outcomes.” His approach is grounded in humility and respect for patients as full human beings. He has seen how easily trust can be damaged: a single fraudulent social media post imitating him could undermine decades of honest work. But he also believes trust can be rebuilt through direct, genuine relationships. In a noisy information world, a physician who looks a patient in the eye and asks a simple question is a powerful antidote to algorithms. By listening first and guiding carefully, clinicians can offer something no chatbot can: accountability, empathy, and a willingness to be part of the patient’s story. The path forward is not about controlling every source of information; it is about being present and reliable in the moments that matter. This lesson is universal. Across every field, the doctors, librarians, and scientists who are most successful at communicating are those who remember that people are not databases. They are storytellers, caregivers, and seekers of meaning.
Navigating the post-truth era is not simple, and no single method will make misinformation disappear. What we can do is build a culture of thoughtful skepticism, starting with ourselves. Before trusting a dramatic health claim, we can ask where it came from, what it wants us to do, and what could happen if we are wrong. We can practice lateral reading, opening another tab to check sources, confirming information with trusted organizations, and tracing the original evidence. We can also remember that the emotional pull of hope is one of the strongest forces in human life. When someone is suffering, or frightened for someone they love, a promised miracle can feel like relief. No amount of factual precision can replace the feeling of being heard and cared for. That is why the human element matters as much as the digital one. Physicians must earn trust through empathy and conversation, not just credentials. Scientists must acknowledge the limits of their knowledge and engage skeptics with humility. Patients and families need permission to ask questions, express doubts, and search for answers without being judged. The three OHSU experts illustrate a common thread: relationships are the antidote to confusion. Whether it is a physician asking a patient, “Where did you see this?” or a librarian helping someone untangle a suspicious post, or a philosopher reminding us to stay in conversation with those who see the world differently, the path forward runs through connection. Technology will continue to evolve; artificial intelligence will become more convincing, and misinformation will become harder to spot. But the skills of questioning, listening, and caring are older than any algorithm. In this new world, the most important work may be to slow down, pay attention, and treat each other with grace. While experts may not agree on everything, they can still move forward together, guided by a shared commitment to health, honesty, and human dignity.