I’ve traded away my privacy around my own deeply personal medical issues for the chance – the mere hope really – that maybe someone will listen, will learn.
This is what validation feels like:
This is what validation feels like:
https://twitter.com/colleenmfarrell/status/1042022184275922944
I was being worked up in the ED one night for a small bowel obstruction, the imaging was _very_ concerning.
The surgical team came through, reviewed the EMR, peppered me with questions, felt my abdomen, and then left.
Except the surgical resident came back in a minute later.
The surgical team came through, reviewed the EMR, peppered me with questions, felt my abdomen, and then left.
Except the surgical resident came back in a minute later.
She saw how scared I was, felt my unasked questions as her team treated me like a talking, anatomically interesting, mannequin that they were subjecting to a rapid-fire pit-stop...
And so she came back in to make sure I was ok. I wasn’t.
And so she came back in to make sure I was ok. I wasn’t.
I was even more scared and confused than I had been.
She answered my questions methodically, matching the level of detail I needed. She was kind. She was patient. She was present.
It turned out her own training had been interrupted by a cancer diagnosis.
She answered my questions methodically, matching the level of detail I needed. She was kind. She was patient. She was present.
It turned out her own training had been interrupted by a cancer diagnosis.
We can’t rely on the “my clinician has been through at least as much shit as I have” model of #meded.
Empathy is a skill. We can teach clinicians to imagine others complexly, we can teach them to be present, to listen, to believe patients.
Empathy is a skill. We can teach clinicians to imagine others complexly, we can teach them to be present, to listen, to believe patients.
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