"Worrying is like walking around
with an umbrella
waiting for it to rain."
~Wiz Kalifa~
"The act of putting pen to paper
encourages pause for thought.
This, in turn, makes us think
more deeply about life…"
~Norbet Platt~
~Patricia Reilly Giff~
"The degree to which you can tell your story is the degree to which you can heal."~S. Eldredge
"Worrying is like walking around
with an umbrella
waiting for it to rain."
~Wiz Kalifa~
"The act of putting pen to paper
encourages pause for thought.
This, in turn, makes us think
more deeply about life…"
~Norbet Platt~
But illness also triggers a cascade of cognitive, emotional, and psychological responses. It affects the patient’s relationships, his capabilities, his expectations, and his role in the family and community. Positive mental and emotional changes have been shown to support the ability to heal. On the other hand, negativity is believed to impede recovery. Unless we take into account the patient’s sense of self when tending to his illness or injury, we may neglect one of the most important determinants of his ability to heal.
jan
This past week was difficult, not so much for me individually, but for people I know and love. It can be described in two words: helplessness, which is what I felt, and hopelessness, which was the rock bottom truth.
It started with someone close to my heart who took ill, and required hospitalization for both evaluation and treatment. It turns out the management part of the story will require long, complicated surgery. That happens tomorrow, followed by that treacherous period when we have to wait for results, and hope for healing, while trying to keep everyone's spirits up. The trouble is I can't be there. Not that I would play any role in his surgery or treatment, but I believe in the healing grace of presence. So, I feel totally helpless.
When we refer to the healing power of storytelling, what do we mean? Is there anything to it? How does it work? What happens between us when
we share our personal stories, and why is it important that we do?
This interests me because I’m a family physician. I practiced medicine for over thirty years…until I retired because my other passion in life is writing…and, you know, sometimes you have to make tough choices.
Plus…I had a story in me that I really wanted to tell.
So…our stories go untold…and as such, I’m telling you…they wreak havoc on our bodies. The anger we keep bottled up, the sorrow we can't express, the shame we keep under lock and key all take a toll on us. They increase levels of stress hormones and inflammatory chemicals in our bodies that raise the heart rate, elevate BP, and raise blood sugar levels. This can lead to all kinds of problems in adulthood--hypertension, heart disease, diabetes, and autoimmune problems like lupus and RA. Not to mention anxiety and depression.
There is, in fact, some science to support the idea that telling our stories can help us heal. We know that storytelling can lower levels of inflammatory hormones in the body, because we can measure them. In studies where subjects were asked to write about a traumatic episode they experienced vs a neutral topic like the weather or a favorite food…heart rate, BP, and sugar levels fell in the first group as compared to the neutral group. In another study, participants underwent a small skin biopsy. They were then assigned to write about a traumatic episode or a neutral topic. The open wounds healed faster in the cohort that wrote about trauma.
When the listener is engaged with the story the teller is sharing, functional MRI scans of their brains demonstrate synchronization in electrical activity between the storyteller and listener. EEGs demonstrate the ways their brain waves change.
Think of it. If we had a pill that could lower our blood pressure, control our blood sugar levels, and elevate our mood, we would all be buying stock in that company. So…why not invest in storytelling?
Unless we explore the anger, or despair, or confusion that is at the root of our pain, nothing anyone says or does will touch the cause of suffering. All the medication in the world will not solve the problem.
The point is that telling our stories affects us in ways we can actually measure and observe. When you give your story a title, describe how it unfolded, and name the characters that populate it, you may begin to understand why it still disturbs your peace so many years later. If someone you trust is listening, you may come away with an entirely fresh perspective on it. You may finally be able to forgive yourself or the person who hurt you. You may be able to cast aside some of the things you’ve always imagined were wrong with you, but never were. Your BP and sugar levels may come down. Anxiety and depression may improve. All pathways to healing.
As a physician, I listened to patients’ stories all day long. The history, or story, of the present illness. The past medical history, or story. The patient’s family history, or story. But that was back in the days when I could scan my schedule for the day and envision every patient, I knew them that well. With a quick glance at the schedule, I knew who was getting ready to start chemo, who had just welcomed their first grandchild into the world, whose mother was recently transferred to the dementia unit. I knew because I had asked about it, the patient told me the story, and I made a note of it in the chart.
Nowadays, rather than dictating a note about the clinical encounter (a.k.a. narrating the patient’s story), you open an electronic medical record (EMR) that presents you with a confusing array of bulleted items, complicated charts, and abbreviated details. You can easily pick out a list of symptoms that were problematic at the patient’s last visit, when they started, how often they occurred, and how long they lasted. You know what tests you ordered and how you treated him, but you might not remember anything else about the patient because nothing else is recorded there. He looks like any other older patient with diabetes, or heart failure, or COPD…because you missed the fact that he’s a decorated Vietnam veteran. You can’t understand why your pregnant patient is so anxious because you failed to ask about her sister who had three miscarriages in a row. You don’t know because you didn’t get that part of the story.
If you’re a healthcare provider, it’s easy to understand how missing details can make it hard to come up with the right diagnosis. You miss the fact that your patient’s headaches started the day she discovered the cigarette burn on the sleeve of the sweater her ten-year old wore to school that day. You have no way of knowing that the patient’s heartburn and indigestion have been a problem because of the pile of unpaid bills that are collecting on the kitchen counter. Or that your patient has insomnia because he is headed for divorce...
…unless, of course, you ask about it.
Sharing our stories helps us heal. It is built into healthcare. It can’t be ignored. The stories we share in the back of an ambulance, or in the examination room, or at the bedside describe who we are. They help us process what happens to us. They embody our unspoken fears, our deepest sorrows, and our greatest regrets…
…which is why we don’t tell them. It’s hard to put them into words.
jan