“I told you, I don’t have the energy for questions,” snarled the man, laying in bed.
“Okay but just one more th—” she was rudely interrupted.
“NO MORE” he yelled as he glared at her.
Frightened by his threatening voice, she turned and left his room. He’d been her patient for two weeks and she had endured this behavior intermittently. He was otherwise pleasant and in fact her favorite patient, but she would walk on eggshells constantly in fear that she might be attacked by his alter ego again. Others had similar experiences with him.
“I need to pee,” he’d once said urgently.
“Okay I’ll help you in a sec,” another caretaker replied.
“No, like NOW.”
He’s in pain, that’s why he’s being rude, she thought. Have patience and empathy and forgive him.
As healthcare professionals, these kinds of interactions are nothing new: we are constantly forced to absorb the actions of those who walk all over us, and ultimately we’re asked to forgive people for being rude.
The twist is that in the stories above, the man in the stories is me, a physician; and the women were my mother and girlfriend, respectively, who do not work in healthcare. Both stories happened in the last two weeks, and I’m not proud of either. But I wanted to share them with you, and my reflections on them, as I look to be a better person for others, and for myself.
Many physicians have written stories about how being a patient has changed them, to allow them to see what it’s like to be “on the other side.” Stories like these have inspired me to proactively anticipate patients’ needs in my own practice – communicating with them often, sitting down with them, giving them more time. When I broke my lower leg, I was almost excited to be in the emergency department. I get to see what all those other doctors saw. But after my hospitalization, I had not undergone an earth-shattering transformation. The hospitalization went as well as could be expected, and I had really pleasant interactions with everyone who took care of me.
Yet here I sit in bed now, lamenting over my behavior of the last couple of weeks. I try to live by the words, “be the person you admire,” yet I have violated that recently. I can remember the moments vividly – I feel the discomfort rise as they speak, and I react. It’s like I don’t even know who’s speaking or why, but I cannot stop it. And when it’s all over, I’m left feeling awful, and I know the same can be said for my victims.
There are certain parasites in the world that enter the body of an insect, and by entering the brain and body of that insect, control its every move. This typically leads to the demise of the insect, after the parasite has achieved its goal and the insect no longer serves a purpose. It feels similarly to what happens to me in these situations, except my parasite luckily tires out before my entire world is destroyed. For that I am fortunate and grateful, but I still know it’s hurting and turning away someone I care for and love. I don’t believe any of us is immune to the parasite of suffering, as I am sure we can all relate with our own similar stories.
As I work on recognizing these moments so I can breathe through them, and handle them in a healthier way, I think about our patients in the emergency department. Many have never been to an emergency department. They’re surrounded by strangers whom they have to trust fully with their lives. Some malady is making them feel awful. They’re worried about finances and are surrounded by the uncertainty of their ultimate fate from their illness. If someone was feeling and acting their best in that situation, I would be concerned about psychosis or methamphetamines. Yet we often expect, subconsciously, for people to be polite and grateful.
Many of us entered medicine to heal the world of suffering. To master this skill, though, we must recognize our own suffering and its effects on those around us. Only through that we can really understand our patients. We might not have their illness, and our resulting behaviors may differ, but none of us is immune to the parasite of suffering. Instead of dividing us, we can use this commonality to unite us and become closer, and better, together.
To do the hard work to be our best, we must first realize how easy it is to be the worst we see in others.
