The sun is barely up when the curtain is pulled back, revealing a group of mostly strangers.

They are talking to each other. I understand every third word, I think.

They are asking me questions now. They ask about the fluid coming out of the hole in my abdomen. They ask me if I've farted. They ask why I'm not eating much. Someone is writing something; another is on a laptop.

As if they've been signalled, they begin moving away as one. They are restless and distracted. I'm asked if I have any questions for them. I lie and say no.

This was how my day usually started in hospital recovering from bowel cancer surgery.

And it's how most patients in hospital began their day today — at the mercy of the ward round.

Patients — sleepy and confused, with un-brushed teeth and un-combed tresses — stood over by healthy figures in positions of authority wearing makeup, ironed clothes and swept-up hair.

I resented rounds as a patient. I felt like a kind of intruder propped up on display. The hospital is the doctor's workplace after all — I'm just visiting.

After my radiation therapy, chemotherapy, and surgeries were over, I decided to become a doctor.

I hoped that crossing from patient to doctor would help me feel better about rounds. I thought this new world was going to let me in on the important reason that ward rounds are done this way — why they're often so awkward, hurried and empty.

I am yet to learn why.

I'm now in my final year of medicine in Sydney, and the first part of my journey from cancer patient to doctor is almost complete.

After years at medical school though, I'm left wondering where the humanity is in all of this education.

I've learnt a great deal of biomedical science. I've learnt about the techniques and tools doctors use to diagnose and treat disease. But I have not learnt how to empower patients. Most of my knowledge of this still comes from my own illness and volunteer work with people affected by cancer.

As a student I feel just as impotent during ward rounds as I did as a patient. Because just like a patient, I have little power or influence.

The senior doctor is running the show. They decide how the patient is greeted and who does or doesn't get introduced. They decide what questions get asked and they choose whether to invite the patient to ask questions.

I can't change the time of the round or slow the pace of the interrogation. I can't hit pause and make sure the patient knows who we are. In fact, students are not supposed to speak at all.

So, after every encounter I must choose between staying back and connecting with the patient or racing on to keep up with the team.

Keeping up with the senior doctor appears to be the most important goal of rounds — it's not the patient. Sometimes my inner patient wins. I've lost count of the number of times an intern or resident has rushed back to see where I am and hurry me along.

The moments when I stay behind and connect with the patient are small, but significant. Is there something I can get for you? How did you sleep? Is that sunlight in your face? Can you reach that glass of water? Would you like the door open or closed? How are you feeling?

Sometimes patients ask me who the person was just talking to them, not because they're delirious, but because they just weren't told. Sometimes they report a new symptom or ask a question. Once I even had a patient ask which specialty we were from.

I do sometimes see rounds done well, but the number of good examples is dwarfed by the number of bad ones.

Patients don't know their own diagnoses, or doctor's names

As I and others have written previously, communication is the most valuable tool in any doctor's bag. Critical information communicated during morning rounds is being lost.

A 2005 study done at a hospital in New York City found fewer than half of patients discharged from hospital knew their diagnosis.

And fewer than one in five hospital patients could name the doctor in charge of their care, another study from the University of Chicago found.

A recent study out of Taiwan on patients aged 65 years or older found fewer than one in five key pieces of information provided by the doctor could be repeated by patients one hour after rounds.

Four hours later, less than 10 per cent of messages were remembered by patients.

Last week, Dr Rich Joseph, a resident physician at Brigham and Women's Hospital, called for a revolution in medicine in the New York Times.

As a member of a team caring for an esteemed cardiologist and health activist who had fallen sick with pneumonia, Dr Joseph began realising how modern medicine was letting patients down.

He and his patient demanded a new focus: one healing the whole person (and not just their organs) and equipping doctors with better leadership and communication skills.

As health systems embrace the concept of patient-centred care, most medical schools have responded by adding it to curricula. That's a start. But it also has to compete for attention with older and more highly regarded core topics such as pathology and pharmaceuticals.

A revolution is still needed. And I believe the place to start should be the first doctor-patient encounter of the day — the morning round.

We can start with small changes like giving patients advance notice of when the team will be at their bedside, capping the number of staff present, seeking permission to begin the consultation, and providing clear introductions via the senior doctor.

During the visit the lead doctor should sit at the patient's level, someone could take notes specifically to give to the patient, and genuine opportunities to ask questions should be created.

These seem like small steps. But for the person under the glare of scrutiny — sick, tired, bewildered — they are critical. Let's reshape the hospital system and start each and every day with the patient at the centre of our care.