Narrative Medicine

Narrative Medicine Monday: A View from the Edge

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Dr. Rana Awdish is a critical care physician turned advocate for training in compassionate care following her incredible near death experience in her own hospital. Her essay “A View from the Edge” in the New England Journal of Medicine provides an overview of her 2008 experience as a critically ill patient cared for by her colleagues.

In her book “In Shock,” out this October by St. Martin’s Press, she outlines her harrowing near-death illness and recovery. I’m eager to read Awdish’s book and hear more about how her experience led to advocacy for “compassionate, coordinated care.” In her NEJM essay she describes how “small things would gut me. Receiving a bill for the attempted resuscitation of the baby, for example…. A trivial oversight, by a department ostensibly not involved in patient care, had the potential to bring me to my knees.” After recovering, Awdish channels her grueling patient experience into a drive to transform the way we receive and provide medical care. She contends “we need to reflect on times when our care has deviated from what we intended — when we haven’t been who we hoped to be. We have to be transparent and allow the failure to reshape us, to help us reset our intention and mold our future selves.”

Writing Prompt: Have you noted an erosion of empathy among medical providers? If so, think of a specific example and write about how you felt as the patient. If you’re a medical provider, have you ever been cared for by colleagues at your own hospital? What was it like to be on the “other side,” as a patient? Did you come away from the experience with new knowledge and empathy that you then incorporated into your own practice? Write for 10 minutes. 

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Narrative Medicine

Narrative Medicine Monday: Wernicke-Korsakoff

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Poet and medical student Sarah Shirley describes an evolving interaction with a patient in “Wernicke-Korsakoff.” The patient initially finds complaint with everything: “the too soft too hard bed, the lunch that came with only one spoon though clearly two spoons were required.” Shirley struggles to connect with the disgruntled patient, who clearly wants nothing to do with her as an intrusive medical student.

Throughout my medical training and career I’ve encountered patients, like in “Wernicke-Korsakoff,” where “everything is thrown back.” They were angry at their disease, angry at the medical providers, angry at the system, angry at the world. At times, I’ve been one of those patients myself. There’s no doubt health and illness affect our mood. Many of those who are suffering build a shell to cocoon themselves off from the damaging world. Often they are rightfully skeptical of a medical system that has many failings. Shirley finally breaks through to her patient in the end, after searching for the right connecting point. 

Writing Prompt: Think about a time you were sick. How did being ill affect your mood and interactions with others? Were you inclined to cling to others for support or did you find yourself “raging against the world?” Perhaps you experienced both. What about a time when you were caring for someone who was sick? Did they allow you to connect with them right away or was it a struggle? Write for 10 minutes.

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Narrative Medicine

Narrative Medicine Monday: #3 In Line

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Eliza Callard imagines a lung transplant in her vivid poem “#3 In Line.” She begins by describing the surgeon’s actions lifting “the sodden lungs out,” but then pauses to wonder about the patient: “Where will she be for all this?” Callard touches on the desperation following any transplant to get the foreign object to “stay, stay,” to trick a body into accepting an imported organ as one of its own. 

Writing Prompt: Imagine an organ transplant: liver, lung, kidney. Write about the transplant from several different perspectives: that of the patient, her body, the transplant surgeon, the patient who donated the organ, even the organ itself. Write for 10 minutes. 

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Narrative Medicine

Narrative Medicine Monday: Bedside Rounds

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John L. Wright’s poem, “Bedside Rounds,” speaks to the apprentice-like training of physicians. It is a passing on of skills from the experienced to the inexperienced, from the knowledgeable to the clinically naive. Most medical students, unless they have a background in another medical field, have little to no real experience in the hands-on component of medicine. They take years of study – biology, anatomy, pathophysiology – and translate that book smarts into skills of diagnostic touch, suturing skin, prescribing treatment. 

One method of transforming head knowledge to a practical skill set is through bedside rounds: a gaggle of medical students and resident and fellow physicians (still in training) following after an experienced attending physician. Each morning this group travels from bedside to bedside, discussing the patient’s disease, the patient’s prognosis, the patient’s progress, the patient’s treatment plan. In recent years, medical schools have worked on making this process more inclusive of the patient who, after all, is the subject of the discussion. 

Wright’s poem touches on the experience of that patient, ill and incapacitated, being talked over in a cryptic language, determinations being made about the status and plan while the patient may still be steeped in a cloud of confusion. 

Wright finds himself in a comparable situation when his landscape architect brings her intern along with her one day. As this professional passes on her skills to her protégée, discussing his yard in detail, Wright begins to feel something he hadn’t expected: “I begin to resent them—the little games they play.”

Writing Prompt: Think of a time you’ve experienced bedside rounds as a physician, as a patient or while visiting someone in the hospital. If you were the patient, how did you feel when the medical team discussed your case in front of you? Did they include you in the discussion or explain what they talked about? If you’re a medical provider, choose a memorable bedside rounding experience: running rounds for the first time, being a brand new medical student, noticing something significant with the patient’s demeanor while their case was being discussed. Write for 10 minutes.

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Narrative Medicine

Narrative Medicine Monday: The Colostomy Diaries

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With humor and candor, Janet Buttenwieser writes in “The Colostomy Diaries” about awaiting her gastrointestinal surgery and the aftermath that leaves her with a colostomy. 

I like Buttenwieser’s use of visual details, putting the reader in the room with her, receiving this disappointing news: “‘You’ll have to have your entire rectum and anus removed,’ my surgeon told me over the phone as I sat in my living room, an unread newspaper on the table, cherry blossoms blooming on the tree outside my window.” 

Buttenwieser faces difficulty getting the trash can she needs to dispose of her colostomy bags at work. The humiliating barriers she encounters illustrate the ridiculousness of much “beurocratic red tape.” After her surgery, she struggles with how many details to disclose about her sensitive change in physical status, even to friends. 

Buttenwieser’s candid anecdotes of everyday challenges post-surgery, such as shopping for clothes and dealing with an emergency malfunction of the colostomy bag while out with her small children, show why her new book Guts, set to be released in 2018 by Vine Leaves Press, is likely to be an entertaining and enlightening read. 

Writing Prompt: Think of a time you’ve dealt with “beurocratic red tape” in relation to a medical condition or the medical field. List all of the obstacles you encountered. Can you infuse some humor into the piece, despite the frustrating experience? Write for 10 minutes.

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Narrative Medicine

Narrative Medicine Monday: New York Lungs

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In her poem, “New York Lungs,” medical student Slavena Salve Nissan writes of the intimacy of knowing a patient “underneath her skin fascia fat.”  Nissan notes how her beloved city left a mark on her patient’s lungs. She thinks about the people who loved her patient and how even they didn’t know that the patient looks “like a frida kahlo painting on the inside.”

Place is a central theme in this poem. I like the subtle imagery of the medical student and her patient breathing the same air, from the same city, in and out of their lungs. This commonality, too, connects them.  

As a medical provider, we experience intimacies with patients that are both strange and surreal. It is a great privilege that our patients allow us, for the purpose of diagnosis or treatment, to perform these intrusions: cutting into the skin, sampling cells from the cervix, looking into the ears, listening to personal stories, palpating the lymph nodes. Over time this can become routine to the medical practitioner, but I do still wonder, and hope I never lose keen curiosity, about the lives of my patients beyond the exam room. 

Writing Prompt: Reflect on the vulnerability between a patient and physician. Is it surprising that we can be so open and trusting with a near stranger? Think about such a time, perhaps a surgical procedure or mental illness or embarassing symptom, when you put your complete trust in your medical provider. What was that like? Write for 10 minutes. 

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Narrative Medicine

Narrative Medicine Monday: Found in translation?

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Prolific writer, physician and narrative medicine pioneer Danielle Ofri writes about the assumptions we make and the significance of a shared common language in “Found in translation?,” an excerpt from her book Medicine in Translation.

Using interpreters for a medical interview is a skill learned in medical school and honed in residency. Medical providers are advised not to use family members as interpreters, as this could cause the patient to censor themselves or omit important details.   Sometimes though, given my monolinguilism, there isn’t much of a choice. I’ve needed many interpreters over the years, both on the phone and in person. There have been times, even with trained interpreters, that I’ve had the sinking suspicion that something significant was lost in translation. It may be because I ask a question, the patient and translator chat back and forth for a few minutes and in the end the interpreter relays a one sentence reply. Or simply because I realize, as Ofri points out in this piece, that the nuances and casual aspect of communication is lost when a third person enters the equation. Ofri notes her conversation with the patient through an interpreter was “polite and business-like. I asked the questions, he supplied the answers.”

Ofri makes certain assumptions about what language skills her Congolese patient might have or lack. The patient, in turn, also is surprised to learn that Ofri, a white American, speaks a language other than English. She notes how the dynamic of the visit changes after they discover they both speak Spanish. Suddenly, without an interpreter between them, they’re able to communicate on a more casual level. They each learn specific details about each other’s personal history; they “chatted happily.” 

Writing Prompt: Think of a time you’ve had to interact, either in medicine or travel, with another person who didn’t speak the same language. Did you feel like you were really communicating, getting to know the other person? What were your assumptions? If you’ve worked with a medical interpreter before, either in person or through the phone, how did this affect the interaction with the patient or physician? Were you worried something important was lost in translation? Write for 10 minutes. 

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Narrative Medicine

Narrative Medicine Monday: Falling Fifth

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Anesthesiologist and poet Audrey Schafer aruges that anesthesiology is actually an incredibly intimate medical specialty. In her poem, “Falling Fifth: The Neurosurgery Patient and the Anesthesiologist,” she tells NPR’s Sara Wong that her speciality is incorrectly viewed as more “knob-and-dial oriented than people-oriented.” Her poem outlines a poignant moment between her and a patient, hugging over “wires, bandages, the spaghetti of tubes, the upright side rail” in the sterility of the OR.

I think of the specialties that seemingly don’t interact as much with patients: radiology, pathology. I can see a familiarity that goes beyond even my most personal interactions with patients as a primary care physician. Radiologists see beyond a person’s skin, through their muscles, bones and vital organs. Pathologists meet a patient on a microscopic tissue level. I like how Schafer displays the connectedness between the anesthesiologist and patient: the physician serves as a trusted guide out of and back into consciousness. 

Writing Prompt: Have you ever had anesthesia? What was your experience both going under and coming out of a conscious state? Alternatively, are you in a medical speciality or type of profession that doesn’t traditionally interact much with people? Is there a component of your daily work that’s surprisingly intimate or keeps you connected to others? Write for 10 minutes. 

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Narrative Medicine

Narrative Medicine Monday: The Evidence-Based Metaphor

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Medical student Brit Trogen argues that metaphor is not only an important tool in doctor-patient communication but that physicians should be trained to use the most effective metaphors to deliver medical information. Her recent article “The Evidence-Based Metaphor,” uses the example of the medical student’s simulated patient encounter, where actors portray patients and then provide feedback to aspiring physicians about their communication skills. All medical students go through rigorous testing to ensure they can manage the science of medicine, but the more nuanced communication skills required to be an effective clinician can be more difficult to both train and test. Trogen wonders what if there were a way to help guide young physicians toward better communication with their patients, thereby improving the health and well-being of those they’re tasked to care for.

Trogen notes that time pressures are evident for physicians in today’s medical system: “With appointment times creeping ever shorter, a physician may have only moments to explain a complicated scientific concept to his or her patient in a way that is both clear and memorable.” I struggle with this every day in my own practice; many of these concepts take years of study to understand fully. How can they best be distilled down so patients can make a truly informed decision?

I appreciate Trogen’s idea to promote “evidence-based communication” just like we adhere to the values of evidence-based medicine. This is the idea that the treatments we prescribe, the screening modalities we suggest, the procedures we perform be based on research-driven facts, substantiated studies that show that this plan is the best course of action for most. Instead of basing medical care on a whim, it’s based on evidence. Research-based evidence could also have a role in how best to convey information to patients effectively in a time limited way. 

Do you agree with Trogen that physicians would be more effective if equipped with better communication tools, rather than just scientific knowledge? What do you think about her statement that “knowledge is important, but not always sufficient?” As a primary care physician, much of my day is spent helping patients brainstorm how they can remember to take their medications, what changes could be made in their lifestyle to add in some exercise or improve their diet, why they should consider a colonoscopy or cutting back on alcohol or get certain screening tests based on family history. I know I’ve honed some of my own communication skills over my years in practice, but I would welcome a way to reach each patient, if possible, in a more effective and proven way. 

Writing Prompt: Do you recall a physician using a metaphor to describe a treatment plan, disease process or other medical process? Was it helpful? Write about the experience. If you’re a medical provider, think of something you often counsel patients about. Try brainstorming metaphors or consider writing a complete fable on this topic. Alternatively, think about a doctor-patient interaction that hinged on very good (or very poor) communication. Describe the encounter and the benefit or consequences. Write for 10 minutes.

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Narrative Medicine

Narrative Medicine Monday: Reprieve

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In his poem “Reprieve,” Jeffrey Harrison writes about the several months following a cancerous brain tumor removal. Everyone is able to take a breath while the patient resumes his daily activities. Although it seemed “a miracle almost,” they “all still wondered how long it would last.” The narrator questions if this time period felt like an “afterlife” to the patient. I like how the narrator lists the simple daily tasks the patient was able to resume, giving us a glimpse into his life and what he had been missing because his illness. 

Have you or a loved one had a serious illness that, for a time, seemed resolved? How did you feel when the treatment worked? If the illness recurred, how did you look back on that time period?

Writing prompt: Think about a time when you, a patient or a loved one was well following a serious illness. Were you able to trust in that period of wellness? Were you always wondering if the illness might come back? If so, how did that undercurrent of worry limit you? How did it feel to grow strong again or resume your daily activities? Write for 10 minutes. 

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