Monday, July 31, 2017

empty-handed and broken-hearted

 


I learned something new today. This is reason to celebrate because some people like to joke about my incipient dementia. At least, I think they’re joking.

I was contemplating the theme for this post—“primum non nocere”—and its English translation—“First do no harm.”—when I learned that this saying has nothing to do with the Hippocratic Oath. This was news to me. It actually comes from Hippocrates’ writings in “Epidemics”: “The physician must…do no harm.” These words are the bedrock of medical ethics and practice even today.

In fact, many of the traditions that influence the way we practice modern medicine were passed down to us by men like Hippocrates. Not because women were excluded from the practice of the healing arts in ancient Greece. On the contrary, way back then, women were highly respected as physicians and healers. Even Plato held them in esteem. Though they were few in number, patients sought them out. They were regarded as the “wise women” of the community. Their “soft hands” were considered to be “healing hands”.

“Have a heart that never hardens,
a temper that never tires,
a touch that never hurts
~Charles Dickens~
 
But as the science of medicine advanced, the feminine ethic lost credibility. Its wisdom and power to heal were disdained in favor of dispassionate technical expertise—testing, procedures, and proofs. Today speed and efficiency reign, and reimbursement issues drive the system. Over time, tradition has suffered, and as a result, patient care has suffered.
 
Unfortunately, one of the time-honored traditions that did survive is the one that expressly prohibits the physician from entering into a personal relationship of any description with a patient. This, of course, is an impossibility. It disavows the emotional intimacy that is the inevitable fruit of shared suffering. It contradicts the compassionate physician’s experience and denies him a powerful tool.

Today, the physician is taught that it is unprofessional to share his personal experience, insight, beliefs, or values with the patient. This rule of non-engagement was hammered into our heads during training when we were still easily moved to empathy, at a time when connectedness with other human beings was still something to be desired and defended.

“The good physician treats the disease.
The great physician treats the patient
who has the disease.”
~William Osler~
 
Sadly, this means that patients may know more about their hairdresser or mechanic than they know about their doctor—the person they trust with their health, with their children’s health, with their lives. This can be troubling for patients. They may have little choice when it comes to selecting a physician, and except for the credentials displayed on the walls in his office, they may know nothing at all about him. They worry about it and they should. Is he competent? Is he caring? What motivated him to undertake years of grueling study and training? What sustains him? What is it like for his family? How does he manage it all?
 
This precedent distances us from our patients at times in their lives when what they may need from us more than anything else—more than another prescription or another test or another procedure—is our presence with them, our strength, our compassion and support especially at times of serious illness and suffering. At times when fear and grief cut deep. At times when they may need to understand that nothing more can be done for them…or for someone they love—a friend, a spouse, or a child.

When our patients need us the most—that is, when there is no hope for recovery—we are trained to turn their care over to the nurses, their family, their pastor, or to hospice. We leave the patient’s bedside the way we approached it—as a stranger. We lose sight of the greatest gifts we can offer as healers—our time and attention. Our presence. Our touch.

“Some patients,
though conscious that their condition is perilous,
recover their health simply through their contentment
with the goodness of the physician.”
~Hippocrates (460-400 BC)~
 
We leave the bedside empty-handed, and sometimes broken-hearted.
 
“Tell me your story,
show me your wounds,
and I’ll show you what Love sees
when Love looks at you.
Hand me the pieces,
broken and bruised,
and I’ll show you what Love sees
when Love sees you.”
~from “When Love Sees You”~
~lyrics by Mac Powell~

jan

 



Sunday, July 16, 2017

where brilliance abounds

Kripalu  Center for Yoga & Health


 
I learned three great truths at the conference on narrative medicine at Kripalu Center last week:
 
            ~Storytelling is an act of raw courage.
 
“It takes courage to grow up
and become who you really are.”
~e. e. cummings~
 
~Brilliance abounds.
 
“That was brilliant!
Brilliant!!!”
~Nancy Aronie~
 
            ~ “The news from the mountains is good.”
 
“These mountains that you are carrying
you were only supposed to climb.”
~Najwa Zebian~
 
…that, and a little bit about the root of all suffering and how to alleviate it, how the mind has the ability to change the brain, and how listening can be a healing practice. I learned about dismantling the walls that surround issues of ethnicity and race, about poetry as a storytelling tool, and how meditation can fuel creativity. I watched skepticism morph into curiosity, curiosity lead to connection, and connection grow into trust.
 
If you noticed a slight jolt around noon on Friday, it was caused by the release of energy, intention and wisdom by fifty or so students of narrative medicine as we returned to our lives inspired, encouraged, and supported as storytellers, as listeners, and as healers. We learned that:
 
“There is no greater agony
than bearing an untold story inside you.”
~Maya Angelou~
 
Deepest gratitude goes out to Rita Charon, MD for sharing her work in the practice of narrative medicine, to Stephen Cope for helping us embrace our calling in life as a spiritual practice, to poet Marie Howe, to Rev. Jacqueline J. Lewis for her efforts to abolish the artificial constructs of ethnicity and race, to Lisa Nelson for introducing us to the neurobiology of listening, to Nellie Hermann on memoir, to Judith Hannan and Nancy Aronie for inspiring us to write, to Jillian Pransky for connecting us in mind, body, and spirit, and to Paul Morris for moderating our “open mic” in the tradition of The Moth.
 
Many thanks to Lisa Weinert and her staff for orchestrating, choreographing and conducting this conference. But most of all, thanks to everyone who dared to share their own stories with the rest of us.
 
“You are braver than you believe,
stronger than you seem,
and smarter than you think.”
~Christopher Robin~
 
jan

Ps: Your thoughts and comments are welcome and encouraged.