Dr. Reza Ray Ehsan is a board-certified anesthesiologist and interventional pain management specialist based in Los Angeles, California. With over three decades of clinical and leadership experience, Dr. Ehsan currently serves as Chairman of the Anesthesiology Department at LA Downtown Medical Center. Born and raised in San Jose, California, Dr. Ehsan was inspired to enter medicine by his father, a compassionate family physician who modeled the importance of patient care and service.
Dr. Ehsan began his academic path with a degree in Chemical Engineering from California State University, Long Beach, before earning his M.D. and completing his internship in New York. He went on to specialize in anesthesiology at Loyola University of Chicago, where he also completed a fellowship in cardiothoracic anesthesiology and interventional pain management.
In addition to his hospital leadership roles, Dr. Ehsan is known for his humanitarian work, including providing voluntary anesthesia services for children with cleft lip and palate deformities and delivering medical care in underserved regions such as the Caribbean and Mexico. He believes in treating pain as a whole-body experience and sees medicine as a lifelong commitment to learning, compassion, and service.
What inspired you to specialize in pain management, specifically?
Pain is universal, but the way it’s experienced and treated is deeply personal. Early in my career, I saw many patients discharged from surgery only to return weeks or months later, still suffering—not from the condition we treated, but from unmanaged pain. It felt incomplete. That’s when I started exploring interventional pain management.
I realized that pain isn’t always a symptom—it can become its own disease. That changed the way I practiced medicine. I wanted to address pain at its root, not just mask it. My engineering background also influenced my approach. I think structurally and systematically, and pain management offered a path where I could integrate that mindset with compassion and science.
You’ve worked in hospital leadership and also in humanitarian roles. How do you balance clinical excellence with service?
For me, they’re inseparable. Clinical excellence is a form of service. Whether I’m in Los Angeles or a makeshift clinic in Mexico, my role as a doctor is to listen, assess, and relieve suffering. The environment changes, but the mission stays the same.
At LA Downtown Medical Center, I have access to state-of-the-art equipment and a full support staff. In the field, I might be working with limited tools and resources. Both settings test different parts of me—the clinician, the human, the problem-solver. That contrast keeps me grounded and constantly learning.
And honestly, the humanitarian work recharges me. It reminds me why I entered medicine in the first place. It’s humbling and deeply rewarding.
You often speak about the mind-body connection in chronic pain. Why is that concept so central to your philosophy?
Because I’ve seen how often it’s ignored—and how crucial it is. Chronic pain doesn’t just live in the body; it embeds itself in the nervous system, the brain, the emotional landscape of a person. If you treat chronic pain like a broken bone that just needs a cast, you miss the complexity.
Stress, trauma, grief—all these can manifest as physical pain. The nervous system becomes sensitized, and over time, even minor stimuli can trigger major discomfort. This is why two people with the same injury can have wildly different recoveries. One might heal in weeks. The other might suffer for years.
Understanding this has changed how I speak with my patients. I listen for the story behind the pain, not just the symptoms. It’s also why I encourage mindfulness, physical movement, and psychological support as part of a pain treatment plan.
What’s one thing most people misunderstand about pain medicine?
That it’s only about pills or injections. Pain medicine, especially today, is much more dynamic. It includes interventions like nerve blocks, radiofrequency ablations, regenerative therapies like platelet-rich plasma (PRP), neuromodulation, and even the use of wearable tech for real-time tracking and relief.
It also requires a high level of collaboration. I often work with physical therapists, psychologists, surgeons, and primary care physicians to ensure a comprehensive treatment plan.
Unfortunately, many patients don’t learn about these options until they’ve already suffered for years. That’s something I hope to change—by educating not just patients, but also other providers.
Have you faced skepticism for integrating emotional and mental health into your pain practice?
Absolutely. Especially early on, some colleagues felt that talking about emotions in a pain clinic was “soft” medicine. But the research is undeniable. Emotional states affect pain perception. Depression can magnify pain. Anxiety can make pain chronic.
Now, with more studies supporting the mind-body connection, it’s becoming more accepted. But I still have to explain to patients why I’m recommending therapy or meditation alongside an injection. It’s not about replacing medical treatments—it’s about enhancing them. You can’t separate the body from the brain.
What has been the most rewarding moment in your career so far?
It’s hard to pick one, but I’ll never forget a young woman I treated during a medical mission. She had a cleft palate and lived in a rural village with no access to surgery. The condition had affected her ability to eat, speak, and socialize. She came to our mobile clinic, scared and unsure.
I administered anesthesia for her corrective procedure, and when she woke up, her entire face lit up. Not just from the physical change—but from the sense of possibility. I’ll never forget her smile.
Moments like that stay with you. They remind you that medicine is more than a science—it’s a human connection.
What role does technology play in your work today?
Technology is transforming how we diagnose and treat pain. Artificial intelligence is starting to help us analyze patterns in large sets of patient data to better predict outcomes. Wearable devices allow for continuous monitoring of pain triggers, sleep quality, and movement patterns.
In procedures, we’re using image guidance like fluoroscopy and ultrasound to improve precision and reduce risks. Regenerative medicine, too, is growing—therapies that promote the body’s natural healing rather than relying on long-term medications.
But with all that said, I believe tech should support, not replace, human care. A machine can help you target a nerve, but only a person can sit with a patient and say, “I hear you, and I believe your pain is real.”
What does leadership mean to you in a medical setting?
Leadership means responsibility—not just for outcomes, but for the culture of your team. As Chairman of the Anesthesiology Department, I focus on building an environment where every member feels heard, respected, and supported.
I also mentor younger physicians and residents. I remind them that empathy is not optional. Technical skill is important, but without compassion, we lose the core of medicine. I want my team to be confident, yes—but also kind.
And leadership also means making space for change. I stay open to new ideas, even from the newest team member. Innovation often comes from fresh eyes.
What do you do to stay grounded?
I run, hike, and play volleyball. Movement helps me reset—physically and mentally. I also spend time with my family, cook when I can, and sometimes just sit in silence.
In medicine, we’re trained to keep moving. But I’ve learned that stillness is valuable, too. It’s where reflection happens. That’s where I process not just decisions, but emotions.
I also keep a journal. Just notes about the day, thoughts about a case, or something a patient said that moved me. It helps me hold on to the human side of what I do.
What’s one piece of advice you give all your patients?
Don’t give up. Chronic pain can make you feel hopeless, isolated, even invisible. But healing is possible. It might not look like a total cure—it might look like a better night’s sleep, being able to walk your dog again, or feeling joy you thought was gone.
And healing takes time. You don’t have to do it alone. Find the right team. Ask questions. Speak up about your experience. You’re the expert on your body, and your story matters.
What legacy do you hope to leave behind?
I hope to be remembered not just as a doctor who treated pain, but as someone who listened, who cared, and who gave people their lives back.
If a patient says, “He believed me when no one else did,” or a student says, “He taught me how to treat people, not just conditions,” then I’ve done my job. That’s the legacy I want—one rooted in service, respect, and humanity.