With over 80 patents to his name, a career spanning Ireland, the U.S., and Canada, and stories gathered from his time working with Tibetan refugees, Middle Eastern royalty, and his passion for racing cars, Dr. Kieran Murphy, Interventional Neuroradiologist, and professor of radiology at University Health Network, Toronto has a unique perspective on medicine that’s as global as it is grounded. In this conversation, he reflects on his journey, his innovations, and why he sees medicine not as a business, but as an act of public service.
Why did you study medicine, and how did medical school influence you?
I wanted to do something with social engagement. I was lucky enough to get into Surgeons (Royal College of Surgeons, Ireland), and those were some of the best days of my life. What struck me was the multinational nature of it. In the 1980s, Ireland, with unemployment, censorship, and Catholic fundamentalism, didn’t have much of an international outlook. I had to go to London to see [Monty Python’s] Life of Brian. Only a third of us were Irish in my class, and we’ve all remained friends for the last 40 years and have a WhatsApp group. In my fourth year, I worked in a refugee camp for three months and became friends with monks I still know to this day. That had a lasting influence on me.
What led you from Dublin to Toronto?
After my surgical internship in Dublin, where I was getting no teaching, was endlessly on call, and just doing the odd appendectomy, I decided there was no future there. I heard about interventional radiology, and I thought it looked interesting, so I moved to Albany, New York, to repeat my internship. Then I trained in radiology, finished my residency at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, stayed on for a neuroradiology fellowship, and then did another one at the University of Geneva. A year out of fellowship, I was appointed to Johns Hopkins University to lead the Division of Interventional Neuroradiology. I worked very, very hard for 10 years. I was on call every night for seven years. Then we moved to Canada.
How do you see the differences between U.S., Canadian, and Irish healthcare?
I love Canadian medicine because I haven’t given a patient a bill in 17 years. The biggest losers in Canadian medicine are the insurance companies—we don’t have any. Salaries are higher, and doctors don’t need armies of administrators to approve care.
My analogy is this: in America, healthcare is like a Porsche 911. The engine is in the wrong place. Only really wealthy people can get into that car. It’s a wonderful car if you can afford it.
In Canada, it’s like a tram. The city owns the tracks, the country generates the power. Anybody can get on and off the tram.
Irish healthcare, to be honest, is not that bad. It’s criticized a lot, but my parents are 98 and 94, and are at home and living independently. The HSE has been fantastic. They have healthcare workers coming in two or three times a day to make sure they’re okay and moving. A lovely occupational therapist came in, and there are railings everywhere: in the shower, on the stairs, and outside the front door. The pharmacy is delivering medications to the house. And it’s all free. That’s really impressive.
I know it gets criticized a lot, but it’s not as bad as people think It’s very, very similar to Canadian healthcare. I have a lot of fellows I trained, who have gone back there [to Ireland] and are working very hard, and they’re happy. They’re doing great work. And their salaries are very high, probably the highest in Europe.
Tell us about your journey as an Irish person and an emigrant.
I don’t see myself like that. I have three passports and I identify as Canadian. When you migrate, you go through different phases. For a while, you’re Irish, then you’re nothing. And then you are where you went to.
I deliberately chose for us to move to Canada because I appreciate and respect the values of this country. You can be brown, pink, yellow, have polka dots, whatever. You’re just a Canadian. My wife was Indian. In Canada, we are invisible. There are places in America, or even in Ireland, where we feel uncomfortable. In Canada, we’re just invisible. I love the values, and I love the geography.
You hold over 80 patents. What drives your innovation?
Somebody called me an entrepreneur the other day. I was upset with that. I’m not an entrepreneur. Everything I invent comes from clinical work. I’ve always worked in inner-city hospitals, so you get people who are in tough shape, and our job is to try and fix them as best we can, and to do that in a kind and compassionate way. All the ideas come from that work.
What does a typical day look like for you?
I’m up at six with my dog. I don’t touch my phone in the morning or evening. Phones erode our inner voice, and we need to protect that. I don’t use a smart watch. I use old watches that you wind. I get to work about eight. I see patients daily. Last year, I saw 1060 patients, and I do procedures most days. I work 13–14 hours a day.
In the evenings, I walk the dog. And at weekends, if I’m lucky, I race cars.
How did you get into racing?
I always wanted to. After treating a Middle Eastern king, I was paid in cash, stacks of hundred-dollar bills, which were hard to spend. On the way home, the flight stopped in Heathrow, and I bought 21 Christmas cards, and put $1,000 in each, and sent them to my dad. I must have been jet-lagged. And then I flew home with the remainder, and I used that to do some interior decorating and take up motor racing.
What advice would you give the next generation of clinicians and innovators?
See medicine as a liberal art, not a science. Our job is public service, an act of social engagement. We are not small businessmen.