A Turning

It has been a season for me. I remember when we got married our pastor talked to us about seasons of not just marriage, but also of life. The last two years have been one of these unexpected seasons. Facing the end of this year, I feel a turning, a shift, the wide open expanse of a new season. Struggling through the valley I have during the last two years, gratitude has taken on new meaning.

My youngest is well into toddlerhood, I’ve reached mid-career, mentoring and teaching and taking on new leadership positions at work. Part of it, I’m sure, is turning 40, the new comfort I have in my own skin, my decisions, my priorities. I have friendships that are true, my relationships are richer for the authenticity they now enjoy. I am planning more trips and solidifying dreams, in medicine, in writing, and at home.

Each year for many years, I’ve worked through Tsh Oxenreider’s alternative to resolutions. She has questions to both look back on the previous year and project forward into the next (now called 12 Months From Now, but I’ve used the older version for years.) As I look back this week on everything I wrote down in January 2018, I am aware that the gift at this time, in December, is much more than I dared hope for. May you know that whatever darkness you find yourself in, whatever hope has been lost, whatever stage consumes you, that there always is hope, there always comes a turning. For me, that time is now. Happy New Year.

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Narrative Medicine Monday: Intern

I’ve written about physician and author Dr. Sayantani DasGupta’s concept of narrative humility before. The first piece I read of DasGupta’s was in Lee Gutkind’s 2010 collection, Becoming a Doctor. Her essay, “Intern,” is a compelling snapshot of a brand new physician.

DasGupta writes the piece in third person and reveals the things that she “hoarded.” The essay is reminiscent of Tim O’Brien’s classic “The Things They Carried.” I relate to DasGupta immediately, the hoarding of “Xeroxed protocols and carefully transcribed antibiotic regimen[s].” DasGupta brilliantly captures the unsure medical intern, who “hoards” in order to feel prepared for anything in a very unpredictable new profession where lives are at stake.

In describing the things hoarded, DasGupta outlines the life of the intern. She notes the importance of keeping “bottles of chemical developer” to look for occult blood in stool. They were always “impossible to find when you needed them” and “there was nothing worse than standing in a patient’s room with a gloved finger full of excrement and nowhere to put it.”

As the essay progresses, DasGupta’s hoarding becomes more figurative. She “hoarded her patients—especially the usually healthy infants,” who, she admits, during a hard night’s call provide an escape “just to hold and rock a baby.”

DasGupta describes hoarding her senses, “taste, primarily, because she found herself so empty” and the hand cream she rubbed on as a ritual, because “[s]he missed the feeling of her own skin.” She hints at how a career in medicine becomes all consuming, that “no matter how much she bathed, or how expensive her soap, her nose seemed filled with the smells of the hospital, the sick, and her own stale and sticky body.”

She is sincere about the toll arduous medical training takes on her sense of self, her physicality, her sexuality: “despite all the pain, she often found herself yearning—aching—to be touched.” DasGupta reveals the challenges to her own marriage during this intense time of training and that, as an intern, there is little space to think of anything else but the work: “In that stillness, she allowed herself to consider—would he wait until the end of internship to leave her? For the rest of the day and night, there would be no more time for such thoughts….”

Of course, DasGupta speaks of sleep and time, the difficulties of each as an intern working all hours of day and night, the pressures unceasing: “She hoarded sleep when she could get it, in the darkened backs of lecture halls, on the cheap, scratchy couches in the residents’ lounge….”

Ultimately, DasGupta’s essay reveals the inner dialogue of a new physician’s arduous first year, gives a glimpse of the challenges to those outside of medicine, and evokes memories for those of us who lived through it.

Writing Prompt: If you’re a physician, think back to your intern year or your first year of medical school. What did you hoard? Make a list. If you’re not in the medical profession, think of when you first started a new job — what did you gather around you to make you more confident, better prepared? Write for 10 minutes.

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Free Write Friday: Santa

All she can think about is David Sedaris’ Santaland Diaries. She heard it on NPR a few years ago and now she wonders if she’s scarring her children by taking them to this place. As a child, though, she longed to see Santa, the fancy department store one: billowing beard, velvet suit, matte boots.

So she takes her children now, clothes them in glittery dresses, in dapper sweaters. The youngest likes fancy “party shoes” so she buys gold flats on clearance at the Nordstrom Rack, presents them to her with a flourish. Unfortunately, the toddler refuses to wear socks, shuns tights. Instead her tiny heels blister, redden with the rubbing of a stiff shoe. By the time she gets to Santa’s lap she has kicked them off, bare feet dangling. Her face clouded by the confusion of curiosity about, and fear of, this large stranger.

The five-year-old has written a letter this year, presents it to the man in the red suit. He wants mom to sidle up, support his entreaty. Head down, he makes his requests in a small voice, so different from his usual chatty nature. He is lately into jewels, into diamonds, into geodes, the shiny treasures of this world. He is lately into big cats, wants to travel to the Serengeti, tells any who will listen his animal factoids. He makes his request, then shuffles away to the safety of mom’s sturdy legs, strong arms and the reward of a sticky candy cane.

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Narrative Medicine Monday: The X-ray Waiting Room in the Hospital

“The X-Ray Waiting Room in the Hospital” by author Randall Jarrell thrusts us into his “big shoes and wrinkled socks,” and one of those “much-laundered smocks” that all the patients wear. Jarrell laments “[t]hese new, plain, mean / Days of pain and care…” and that “routine / Misery has made us into cases.” He describes the “machine” that each smocked patient suffers in, and the reader gets the sense that Jarrell is referring to more than just the mechanics of the x-ray, but also the greater “machine” that is medicine.

Jarrell was an American poet and critic who lived in the mid 20th century but his commentary on the patient’s experience of modern medicine still rings true. Jarrell wants each “nurse and doctor who goes by” to acknowledge him and each patient as an individual, but instead finds that “we are indistinguishable.”

Jarrell concludes that instead of trying to “make friends” with the medical professionals and get them to recognize his individuality, “It is better to lie upon a table, / A dye in my spine.”

Writing Prompt: As a patient, have you ever felt “indistinguishable” from other patients to your medical provider? If you’re a medical professional, do you agree with Jarrell’s assertion that “this routine / Misery has made [patients] into cases?” Can you think of a time when a patient has become merely a case, to you or a colleague? What are the consequences of this, to both the patient and they physician? How can we help doctors and nurses to see patients as individuals again? Write for 10 minutes.

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Narrative Medicine Monday: Brilliance

Poet Mark Doty’s “Brilliance” shows a dying man changing his perspective near the end of life. In Doty’s poem, the man has “attended to everything, / said goodbye to his parents, / paid off his credit card.” He gives away his pets, finds the risk of owning too great, realizes that he “can’t have anything.” When someone suggests he get a bowl of goldfish, he replies “he doesn’t want to start / with anything….” For just a moment, the man allows himself to imagine the goldfish he might like: “hot jewel tones, / gold lacquer.” The fantasy, though, is fleeting because “I can’t love / anything I can’t finish.” Eventually he recants that decision, saying “Yes to the bowl of goldfish. / Meaning: let me go, if I have to, / in brilliance.”

Writing Prompt: Have you ever been at a place in your life when you didn’t want to start with anything new? What prompted that feeling? If you’re a medical provider, think of a time you’ve seen a shifting perspective in patients near the end of life. Write for 10 minutes.

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Narrative Medicine Monday: Reasons for Admission

I opened up a nondescript brown package last week to discover Bellevue Literary Review‘s latest issue, showcasing a beautiful new redesign.

In this 35th issue, Gaetan Sgro’s poem “Reasons for Admission” reveals the complexities surrounding modern day hospitalizations. Sgro notes that often the reasons are contradictory: “Having just gotten insurance. Never having had insurance…. Because you are terrified of dying alone. Because you are terrified of living alone.” Sgro is clearly attune to the many and varied kinds of hospital admissions, including the seemingly non-medical. I like Sgro’s play on words that shows two hospitalization realities: “Because of a broken system. A positive review of systems.”

Writing Prompt: This poem is part of Bellevue Literary Review‘s “Dis/Placement” issue. Why do you think this poem fits this theme? If you work in a hospital, list the reasons, obvious or more subtle, each of your current patients was admitted. Alternatively, think of a patient who has been admitted for one of the reasons Sgro lists in his poem. What was their story? Write for 10 minutes.

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Narrative Medicine Monday: How Storytelling Can Help Young Doctors Become More Resilient

Physician and author Dr. Jessica Zitter shows “How Storytelling Can Help Young Doctors Become More Resilient” in her recent essay in the Harvard Business Review. We know that this issue is vital to increasingly stretched and stressed medical providers, the consequences of which are discussed in previous Narrative Medicine Monday posts here and here. I wrote a short piece in Pulse for their “Stress and Burnout” issue that outlines a typical day for a modern primary care physician and have also studied and taught narrative medicine as a tool to better care for our patients and ourselves. Zitter has a unique perspective on the particular challenges for physicians and patients in end of life care, given she is board certified in both critical care and palliative care medicine.

Zitter addresses this issue through a “new program which uses storytelling to help young doctors reflect on how they handle the emotional and psychological toll of caring for suffering patients.” She opens up to a group of new physicians about running the code of a young woman in the ICU, the resistance to letting a patient go, even when nothing remains other than suffering: “We are expected to be brave, confident, and above all, to never give up.  And all the more so in particular cases, such as when a patient is young, previously healthy, or has a condition that appears reversible on admission. And in cases when our well-intended but risky interventions might have actually made things worse, it is almost impossible to let go.”

When the experienced Zitter suggests that they instead institute pain management and sedation rather than attempt resuscitation the next time her heart stops, the physicians-in-training bristle. She questions a culture that promotes doing everything, including “this technique, that intervention, a whole host of options that would never have saved this woman.” Zitter admits she gives in to the other physicians, decides to fight “to the end, the way real heroes do.” The result is tragic. “The patient died a terrible death.”

Zitter reflects on this experience and shares it in the hope that it will help other young physicians who will certainly encounter the same, given that our culture and medical training makes it so “we often feel unable to question or diverge from scripted approaches — ones which may actually cause more suffering than benefit.”

To combat this, Zitter looks to storytelling, asserting that “[d]ata show that the use of stories to process the challenging experience of being a doctor increases empathy, enhances wellness and resilience, and promotes a more humanistic health care culture.” After Zitter shares her story with the group, others begin opening up about their own experiences and a “genuine conversation proceeded, one which addressed the emotional pitfalls and psychological challenges of this work.”

Zitter is also part of a 2016 Netflix documentary called “Extremis.” This short film takes a hard look at the grueling decisions patients’ families, and the physicians who inform them, make near the end of life in the ICU. In it, you can appreciate the need to “provide safe spaces for healthcare professionals to reflect on and process their own suffering. Then we will be fully available to do the hard work of patient-centered decision making in the moments when it is really needed — at the bedside of a dying patient.”

Writing Prompt:  Have you had to help make decisions for a patient who is critically ill in the ICU? What issues came up? How was your interaction with the medical team that cared for your loved one? Alternatively, consider watching the short documentary “Extremis” and write about a moment that struck you or perhaps changed your way of thinking about end of life care. If you’re a medical professional, think of a time you witnessed an end of life situation when the patient experienced more suffering than was necessary. Do you agree that our culture contributes to performing “risky interventions” that “might have actually made things worse,” because we insist on fighting “to the end, the way real heroes do?” How do you think sharing such stories might promote wellness? Consider writing about a challenging situation from the perspective of the attending doctor, the resident, the patient, the nurse, the family member. Write for 10 minutes.

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Narrative Medicine Monday: Caring for Ms. L

Dr. Audrey Provenzano explores the difficulties in treating opioid use disorder in The New England Journal of Medicine‘s “Caring for Ms. L.” Provenzano has already developed rapport with Ms. L when one day the patient admits to her doctor that she had “taken a few of the oxycodone pills prescribed for her husband… [a]nd like a swimmer pulled into the undertow, she was dragged back into the cold, dark brine of addiction.” Ms. L is eager to try a treatment called buprenorphine but Provenzano doesn’t have the special license or training to prescribe the medication. Ms. L expresses disappointment at needing to establish care with a different provider. She trusts her doctor and doesn’t want to tell anyone else about her addiction.

Provenzano confesses that “the reason I didn’t have a waiver to prescribe buprenorphine was that I didn’t want one…. Every Friday I left the office utterly depleted, devoid of the energy or motivation it would take to spend a weekend clicking through the required online training.” She admits that more than anything, she avoids the training because she “did not want to deal with patients who needed it.” Provenzano had witnessed the toll addiction can take on a patient’s relationships and life and “[a]lready overwhelmed, I did not want to take on patients with needs that I did not know how to meet.”

Most primary care physicians can relate to Provenzano. There is already an alarming amount of burnout that exists among today’s physicians; the thought of adding another degree of complexity seems untenable to most, especially if it seems the therapeutic need is insurmountable.

Provenzano notes, though, that when Ms. L returns to her for diabetes treatment after seeing a colleague for the buprenorphine “a space had opened between us.” Ms. L doesn’t return for follow up and it is a year later that Provenzano learns that Ms. L died of an overdose. Provenzano experiences a “profound sadness” for Ms. L’s family, though “it was the shame that kept me awake.” She can’t help thinking that, given the strong patient-physician relationship they had previously developed, if Provenzano had treated Ms. L herself things might have turned out differently.

Provenzano goes on to get buprenorphine training and experiences both the therapeutic and complex social aspects of managing patients with opioid use disorder. She advocates for moving beyond just the training needed to prescribe medications for this chronic disease, but also urges us to “recognize, name, and talk about the social issues that must be addressed” and establish “team-based behavioral health and social work resources.”

Provenzano eventually finds treating patients with opioid use disorder “the most meaningful part of my practice.” She ultimately experiences great satisfaction in providing some normalcy to patients who are “roiled by overdose and estrangement.” Have you experienced the same?

Writing Prompt: As a patient, can you understand or appreciate Dr. Provenzano’s hesitation at first? If you’re a physician, have you experienced a similar hesitation? If you’ve suffered from addiction, what has been the most therapeutic intervention you’ve received? Think about an experience with addiction, either on a personal level or with a patient, that was particularly difficult. Then consider an interaction or moment that was a breakthrough. Write for 10 minutes.

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Autumn YAWP

For the second year in a row, I’m attending Centrum’s Autumn YAWP (Your Alternative Writing Program). It’s quickly becoming a favorite retreat as it’s designed just for introverted writers like me. Late morning is an optional gathering for a communal free write, the rest of the day is for your own writing, revision, reading, and exploring.

The setting is serene and includes trails, beaches and modest comfortable accommodations at Fort Worden. Nearby Port Townsend provides plenty of cafes, restaurants and a wonderful bookstore and theater.

I have specific goals for the weekend, including developing a new syllabus for a Literature & Medicine program I’m leading for physicians, working on a book proposal for a new manuscript, and final edits on a poem I plan to submit soon. Grateful for the time and spaciousness of this place to read and write and rest.

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Narrative Medicine Monday: My Human Doctor

Dr. Sara Manning Peskin writes in the New York Times about the fallibility of physicians and its emotional toll in “My Human Doctor.” Peskin introduces us to her patient, Shirley, who was given a diagnosis of multiple sclerosis. This patient finds that in assuming this chronic, often debilitating, disease, even the very word itself “crippled her. She’d stopped driving, stopped working, and adjusted to the stigma of having a chronic disease.” After a hospitalization due to a serious reaction to one of her medications, it was discovered that “Shirley might not have had multiple sclerosis at all.”

Peskin reflects that in medical training we do discuss errors but “[w]e don’t talk about the emotional trauma of hurting a patient. Instead, most physicians cope with guilt, self-doubt and fear of litigation in private. After our patients, we become ‘second victims’ of our mistakes.” Given the recent spotlight on depression and burnout in medicine, Peskin highlights an important point that we ignore to our peril. Some organizations are realizing this and offering more programs such as Balint, peer support groups, and expanded counseling services to explore and address this emotional trauma.

When Peskin suffers the consequences of a mistake made by her own physician, the response she receives is “‘I can’t turn back time.'” Peskin experiences first hand that “[a]pologies are difficult for doctors, not only because we have to cope with hurting someone, but also because we are scared of the legal implications of admitting culpability.” Peskin outlines how the U.S. system differs from many other countries, where the “‘no-fault’ system is based on injury from medical care and not on proof of physician negligence…” and “doctors and patients remain on the same side, and more patients get paid.”

Peskin does end up apologizing to her patient, Shirley, for the misdiagnosis of multiple sclerosis. They were then able to move forward in the doctor-patient relationship and discuss Shirley’s adjustment to the “possibility of not having a chronic disease.”

Writing Prompt: Think of a time your doctor made a mistake. How did they approach the error? Did they apologize? If you’re a physician, think of a mistake that you or a colleague made that is particularly memorable. What happened and how did you respond? How did the situation affect the patient-physician relationship? Consider writing about this experience from both the patient and the medical provider’s perspective. Write for 10 minutes.

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