Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Doctors Who Write

Last week I read the following poem, by Warner V. Slack, M.D., on the blog kept by Paul Levy, President and CEO of Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center. Dr. Slack kindly gave me permission to share it here. It's arresting, inspiring, and profound. I am grateful for writers (and doctors) like him, who stop and think, and who make the effort to see, the first task of any artist (or physician).


ENCOUNTER ON THE STAIRS
By Warner V. Slack, MD

Next to Children’s Hospital, in a hurry
Down the stairs, two at a time
Slowed down by a family, moving slowly
Blocking the stairway, I’m in a hurry
I stop, annoyed, I’m in a hurry
Seeing me, they move to the side
A woman says softly, “sorry” in Spanish
I look down in passing, there’s a little boy
Unsteady in gait, holding onto an arm
Head shaved, stitches in scalp
Patch over eye, thin and pale
He catches my eye and gives me a smile
My walk is slower for the rest of the day


***


One of my most sacred "academic" values is a reverence for story and language. As in the case of being a "person of faith," being a person with a deep love of the arts and humanities can sometimes be marginalizing in the medical world. Medical training, in fact, can be a desert for those who thirst for really good writing, as a Time article once affirmed, so when I find a poet like Dr. Slack, I feel like someone who has taken a long-awaited cold drink of water on a scorching day, or who has found a breezy spot under shade trees in an otherwise arid landscape.

I especially admire those who can write poetry. Of all literary forms, I think this distilled form is the most challenging - all that meaning to cram into an itty bitty space! Not a word out of place! Next hardest, I think, is the short story, also a distillation of meaning without the wider "wiggle room" afforded by novellas and novels.

I found this wonderful paragraph by Stephen J. Dubner on the subject of doctors who write:

"So why do these doctors write so well, and so much better (to my mind, at least) than other non-writers? Perhaps there are elements of doctoring that lie in harmony with writing: peeling back the layers to get to the core of an issue; confronting the obvious but being willing to look beyond it; learning where to 'cut in,' of course; and, more than anything, recognizing that this object before you – in one case a human body, in the other a manuscript – is on a certain level a miraculous object with the power to astound, and on another level is a complex, dynamic system which can (and must be) reduced to a schematic, laid out on paper or x-ray film."

We learn as medical students that the most important resource for our healing efforts is a thorough history of our patient. Story, story, story: it's not only what makes us human, but also what drives us and helps us excel at our humanity. I thank Dr. Slack, and his intellectual / artistic / spiritual ancestors and colleagues: Anton Chekhov, William Carlos Williams, W. Somerset Maugham, A. Conan Doyle, A.J. Cronin, Walker Percy, Ethan Canin, Sid Schwab, and so many other doctors who write (or writers who doc!), for their gifts, and their balm.

Tuesday, August 7, 2007

Seek and You Shall Find: Birthday Treasures on the Night Shift

I've seen some pretty filthy O.R.'s, the kind that can gross you out every time you walk into one of them. I've seen O.R.'s where it wouldn't have been unheard-of to find a decades-old blood stain on a piece of equipment that had never been washed properly, or crusted mucus from some prior case...I mean, eeeeww.

So when I interviewed for the job I have now, and saw the spacious, orderly, immaculate O.R.s here, I felt like saying, sign me up. They are clean and beautiful and there's plenty of room for everyone, and I realized you just can't underestimate the importance of work environment, both physically and psychologically in terms of group dynamics, and its impact on work stress.



The reason our O.R.'s are so beautiful is Barb. Barb cleans them expertly ever night. Whenever I am on-call and the main O.R. is a ghost-town, lonely and occasionally even a little spooky, Barb and the night anesthesia tech, Wayne, make the place a little brighter. They joke around with each other and with me and are always pleasant to talk to.

After a quick C-section tonight for which the spinal went in within 60 seconds, thank heavens, I was feeling a little less blue about call. We had just helped bring a beautiful baby girl safely into the world. Her family were abuzz with happiness and excitement in the waiting area, eager to welcome her at the nursery window. The silver lining to my cloud was in great shape.

When I went back down to the main O.R., Wayne told me that it was Barb's birthday. I felt the immediate need to celebrate. I annouced we would be having a party in O.R. 2 and I set about to see what we could do. Barb said she liked chocolate, and luckily I had a brand new, unopened tin of Hershey milk chocolate truffles in my bag (of course). We found a donut in the pantry and put an upside-down syringe on it for a candle with orange-red succinylcholine stickers for flames. We put a little anthropomorphized hand-exerciser from a pharm rep in a denture cup and used surgical tape to affix a hand-made card to an instrument table. Finally we were able to use some anesthesia drug labels, which consist of color-coded tape, for a garland, though we ended up not using the 4-0 vicryl sutures to string it up. We were ready.


We brought Barb into O.R. 2, now spotless thanks to her hard work, and had, for a moment, the most cheerful time on a call night that I can remember.


It was so nice to just talk about life and family with Barb and Wayne. Barb has two teenage kids and a 4-year-old son who jumped on her bed this morning to sing "Happy Birthday" to her. She's only 4 years my senior.


We started talking about another member of the housekeeping staff who wasn't here, a shy, polite guy who always has a kind word for me when I come in for work. I've been saying hi to him for a year without realizing all that time that he was hard of hearing and needed to read my lips. Wayne told me he walks six miles to and from the hospital every day, even in the winter, because he can't afford to do otherwise.

There's always an untold story, isn't there, behind every face, and hearing it can sometimes be a humbling experience.