Saturday, July 29, 2006
I would like to tell you a little story about good doctoring. It's something I know from.
Recently, I lost my mind for about a week. Long story. The entire ordeal culminated with me splayed out on the floor of my family practice doctor's exam room and him on a stool in front of me. He was in good shape. Me, not so much.
So we sat there, and we talked. He sat on his stool, resting his elbows on his knees. He leaned toward me as I sat there curled up against his wall, and he engaged me in a conversation. He ignored the overhead pages and the growls of his stomach as we spent an unorthodox and unscheduled lunch hour together, adding another chapter to our long term doctor-patient relationship.
There really wasn't a lot he could do for me medically. I wasn't there because I was bleeding or because I had a rash. He couldn't put a wire on me and get a printout of anything, and his trusty stethoscope* wouldn't tell him anything he couldn't see with his own eyes or hear with his own ears. There was no pill that would help.
But he did have something to offer me. He decided to treat his patient the with the only therapy at his disposal. He made a choice by taking me into that room and closing the door. He administered his prescription by ignoring his tight schedule and dispensing basic empathy, genuine kindness, and most importantly, a very potent dram of personal caring.
He listened and he responded. He agreed and he argued. When I was wrung out, when I was at the end of my words, he reached down to my lap and took my hand in both of his. He was very close to me, and he said, very gently, "I'll pray for you."
He didn't say it like, "I'll pray for you since you're a pathetic crazy girl." He said it like, "This shot of penicillin will clear this right up. Hold still."
He didn't know if I am a Christian or a Druid. He didn't know if I chant in tongues or have a Madalyn Murray O'Hare bumper sticker on my car. But he reached out to me with the purest part of his humanity and offered me this personal gift.
I'm from the South. That means two things. #1 I was raised to be polite to people and #2 People tell other people that they'll pray for them a LOT. So that means I've heard this my whole life. And I always just smile politely, even though I'm probably usually thinking, "Oooook can't hurt!"
But that day, sitting on that floor, I reached up and put my other hand on top of his. I told him, and I meant it with everything I had, "Thank you."
He smiled at me and said, like it was the simplest concept in the world, "God can help."
I smiled at him and said, "That would be really nice."
This isn't a story about God. This is a story about two humans, an hour spent sitting on the floor, and how one particular human with a stethoscope proved himself to be a true healer.
At the end, when he went back to his day and I went back to mine, I was in better health than when I had arrived. I call that good doctoring, and even better human being-ing.
*What is it with MD's and their scopes? I've read so many doctor's posts about various things having to do with their scopes. Apparently getting your first is a right of passage and it stays with you like the first time you got to third base.
Recently, I lost my mind for about a week. Long story. The entire ordeal culminated with me splayed out on the floor of my family practice doctor's exam room and him on a stool in front of me. He was in good shape. Me, not so much.
So we sat there, and we talked. He sat on his stool, resting his elbows on his knees. He leaned toward me as I sat there curled up against his wall, and he engaged me in a conversation. He ignored the overhead pages and the growls of his stomach as we spent an unorthodox and unscheduled lunch hour together, adding another chapter to our long term doctor-patient relationship.
There really wasn't a lot he could do for me medically. I wasn't there because I was bleeding or because I had a rash. He couldn't put a wire on me and get a printout of anything, and his trusty stethoscope* wouldn't tell him anything he couldn't see with his own eyes or hear with his own ears. There was no pill that would help.
But he did have something to offer me. He decided to treat his patient the with the only therapy at his disposal. He made a choice by taking me into that room and closing the door. He administered his prescription by ignoring his tight schedule and dispensing basic empathy, genuine kindness, and most importantly, a very potent dram of personal caring.
He listened and he responded. He agreed and he argued. When I was wrung out, when I was at the end of my words, he reached down to my lap and took my hand in both of his. He was very close to me, and he said, very gently, "I'll pray for you."
He didn't say it like, "I'll pray for you since you're a pathetic crazy girl." He said it like, "This shot of penicillin will clear this right up. Hold still."
He didn't know if I am a Christian or a Druid. He didn't know if I chant in tongues or have a Madalyn Murray O'Hare bumper sticker on my car. But he reached out to me with the purest part of his humanity and offered me this personal gift.
I'm from the South. That means two things. #1 I was raised to be polite to people and #2 People tell other people that they'll pray for them a LOT. So that means I've heard this my whole life. And I always just smile politely, even though I'm probably usually thinking, "Oooook can't hurt!"
But that day, sitting on that floor, I reached up and put my other hand on top of his. I told him, and I meant it with everything I had, "Thank you."
He smiled at me and said, like it was the simplest concept in the world, "God can help."
I smiled at him and said, "That would be really nice."
This isn't a story about God. This is a story about two humans, an hour spent sitting on the floor, and how one particular human with a stethoscope proved himself to be a true healer.
At the end, when he went back to his day and I went back to mine, I was in better health than when I had arrived. I call that good doctoring, and even better human being-ing.
*What is it with MD's and their scopes? I've read so many doctor's posts about various things having to do with their scopes. Apparently getting your first is a right of passage and it stays with you like the first time you got to third base.
Labels: medicine
# posted by Carol : 9:51 PM
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Hello
I really enjoyed reading your blog. I always look for blogs with great content like this one. in fact, if i were you i would go to http://www.autosurfmonster.com and submit this blog so thousands of others can see it for free. well, i look forward to all the updates. thanks again'
Jessica
I really enjoyed reading your blog. I always look for blogs with great content like this one. in fact, if i were you i would go to http://www.autosurfmonster.com and submit this blog so thousands of others can see it for free. well, i look forward to all the updates. thanks again'
Jessica
# posted by 
: 4:28 PM
: 4:28 PM
Your lucky to have been able to find such a good doctor! Having a good relationship with your doctor is one thing you have to have, because if you can't get along with or trust your doctor you are not going to get anywhere.
Jessica: thanks and no offense but I'm still trying to decide if your comment is spam. Why would I have to sign up with autosurfmonster for people to see my blog for "free"? Hmmm...didn't YOU get here for free? A little confused.
Drytears: you're right - I'm crazy lucky and I'm keeping my fingers crossed for your search!
Anon: Hmmmm who do I know who is crude enough and obnoxious enough to read THIS post and end up with THIS comment? Hiya, Mitch. I'm THIS CLOSE to deleting your comment, but I love you and try to overlook these issues that you have.
Drytears: you're right - I'm crazy lucky and I'm keeping my fingers crossed for your search!
Anon: Hmmmm who do I know who is crude enough and obnoxious enough to read THIS post and end up with THIS comment? Hiya, Mitch. I'm THIS CLOSE to deleting your comment, but I love you and try to overlook these issues that you have.
what a fabulous post. i read it the way you intended, as a moment between two people. thanks for sharing this, it keeps all us docs' spirits up. your next post can be about what an assh0le he was the next visit...
hope you're feeling better.
i've never rounded the bases with my stethoscope.
hope you're feeling better.
i've never rounded the bases with my stethoscope.
You're too kind, Dr. C. but keep it up. I wallow in praise.
I've thought of three different ways you could have meant "I've never rounded the bases with my stethoscope."
The first one is stupid because it's about baseball. The second is a little funny because of the visuals (how many places CAN you listen to a pulse?). The third one made me blush and hope that you have a significant other. :)
I've thought of three different ways you could have meant "I've never rounded the bases with my stethoscope."
The first one is stupid because it's about baseball. The second is a little funny because of the visuals (how many places CAN you listen to a pulse?). The third one made me blush and hope that you have a significant other. :)
Do you have an IP address for that Jessica spammer? If so, can you email it to me? lewis[AT]blogexplosion[DOT].com.
I think they're using our service...and I'm trying to nail 'em!
Thanks! :)
Lewis
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I think they're using our service...and I'm trying to nail 'em!
Thanks! :)
Lewis
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