Narrative Medicine Monday: Narrative Humility

“Telling and listening become an antidote to isolation, a call for community.” – Sayantani DasGupta

Dr. Sayantani DasGupta is a leader in Narrative Medicine and faculty at Columbia University. What is narrative medicine? DasGupta explains it this way:

“Narrative Medicine is the clinical and scholarly movement to honor the central role of story in healthcare. Long before doctors had anything of use in our black bags—before diagnostic CAT scans, treatments for blood loss, or cures for tuberculosis—what we had was the ability to show up and to listen; to stand witness to birth, death, illness, suffering, joy, and everything else that life has to offer.”

In this TEDx talk at Sarah Lawrence College and in an essay in Creative Nonfiction on the same topic, she expands on the concept by describing narrative humility:

“Narrative humility means understanding that stories are not merely receptacles of facts, but that every story holds some element of the unknowable.”

DasGupta asserts that “listening to another person is an act of profound humanity; it is an act of profound humility. This is particularly true at those charged moments of illness or trauma, change or suffering.” Have you found this to be true, either as a patient or as a medical provider?

In a healthcare system plagued with burnout, DasGupta argues that narrative humility, learning to listen well to patients, can “deepen medical practice, bringing satisfaction and joy back to an ancient profession that is so much more than a business.”

Writing Prompt: Do you agree with DasGupta that we need to “once again train clinicians to elicit, interpret, and act upon the stories of others, that we hold in equal stead multiple ways of knowing—the scientific and the storied, the informational and the relational?” Why or why not? How can we do this? If you’re a medical provider, were you taught how to listen in your training? Have you considered the concept of narrative humility? Do you think it’s possible to practice this way in today’s healthcare system? Write for 10 minutes.

Continue Reading

Narrative Medicine Monday: Creating a Clearing

In “Creating a Clearing,” storyteller Lance Weiler interviews the originator of Narrative Medicine, Columbia University’s Rita Charon. Charon describes how she ended up in medicine and primary care and the origins of the field of Narrative Medicine. She felt she was missing something as a physician from her formal medical training at Harvard. So instead she sought out the English Department: “I figured they were the ones on campus who knew something about listening to stories…” Her time there led to a PhD and, in her words, it taught her “how to be a doctor.”

Charon points out that we are all patients. What do you think of her idea that “we do not have to divide ourselves into mind on one side and body on the other or body on one side and self or personhood on the other, but instead we are all mortals inextricably bound to our bodies, our health, our frailties, our eventual mortality. This is how it is within that element that we don’t become ourselves, but [we] are ourselves”? Do you feel that the medical system tends to separate our bodies from our minds, from our personhood?

Charon explains how Narrative Medicine has grown over the years and now attracts all kinds of people in fields of health care, art, history and beyond. She states that the field of Narrative Medicine has “created a clearing,” a safe space for patients and clinicians and artists to “show people how to listen with great attention and respect.”

Charon describes how we’re traditionally trained as physicians to address a patient’s problem. Western Medicine is a disease model, focused on diagnosing, preventing or treating a problem. Charon takes a different approach. She first listens, focusing on what is important to the patient. I like how Charon begins: “I will be your doctor. I need to know a lot about your body, your health, your life. Tell me what you think I should know about your situation.”

She notes that both sides suffer from the typical patient-physician encounter: “[patients] come in armed with their list of questions that they’ve written down so as not to forget any in their precious twelve minutes, which is all they’re allotted. The clinician, on his or her side, is already looking at the wristwatch aware that there’s another three people in the waiting room waiting for what’s going to amount to the same brusk, impersonal, divided attention. So nobody’s getting what they want or need or desire or can benefit from.” Does this sound familiar to you? Are you hopeful, as is Charon, that if patients and clinicians lead on medical reform we can find a better way? What would that look like?

Writing Prompt: What skills do you find most helpful to listen to another person’s story? What would it be like as a patient to have a doctor ask you: “Tell me what you think I should know about your situation”? How would that question change the conversation? Think about what aspect of your training was most pivotal to teaching you how to be a doctor/nurse/physical therapist, etc. Are you surprised that for Charon it was her studies in English? Write for 10 minutes.

Continue Reading

KevinMD

Excited to share my post on the importance of narrative was published on KevinMD.com this week. KevinMD is a widely read blog that shares “the stories and insight of the many who intersect with our health care system, but are rarely heard from.” Grateful for the work done by KevinMD to give voice to those who work within and are cared for by the health care system, as well as serve as a platform for discussing important current issues. 

Continue Reading

Narrative Matters

As I struggle with how best to respond to recent events, one thing has become clear to me: narrative matters. People’s stories matter. Words and how they are presented in written and spoken form matter. I am just a mother, just a doctor, just a writer. My daily life consists of changing diapers, getting my kids to school, managing diabetes in my patients, picking up scattered toys, treating depression, doing laundry, writing blog posts, weathering tantrums, listening to the news. It’s mundane. It’s commonplace. It feels insignificant beyond my family, beyond my little corner of the world. But recently I’m seized by the enormity of the need to respond, of the urgency to do something. It feels as if we’re ushering in one of those times: a time that tests our resolve, our character, our unity, our faith. What can one person do?

I remind myself: I am a mother, I am a doctor, I am a writer. I am a citizen of this nation and of this world. My words matter. My stories matter. My voice matters. And so does yours. This is what the world needs: our stories. I am the daughter of an immigrant and a person who welcomed a young Iraqi refugee family into her home. This family, made up of brave, intelligent, hardworking people, left behind what remained of their home, of their family and friends to come here to build a better life for their children. Their story matters. And if you sat with this father, who wants to pursue graduate level studies in the U.S., who cares about what food he eats and laughs easily and plays soccer on a grassy park lawn on a summer day with his son, maybe his story would change your perspective and mitigate your fear.

So we must start here, with our stories. Share your story. Listen to one another. Narrative is needed to break down walls and build bridges of empathy; stories are required to combat fear and xenophobia. Words matter. Truth matters. Listen to words, discern truth, share stories. This is the antidote to being paralyzed by indifference, it is the cure to saturation with propaganda, it is the remedy to “alternative facts.” Narrative is the answer to the call of such a time as this.

Continue Reading

Free Write Friday: Goodnight Moon


Her sister loved the book, requested it every night. Her brother, not so much. He wouldn’t sit still to listen to any board book; made me worried about his attention and future schooling prospects. The words rush back to me now with this littlest one, memorized at some point years ago with the repetition I endured. Every night: “In the great green room…” I rock the baby and read. 

She tries to eat the thick pages, colored with orange-red, yellow, kelly green. She too takes to the silly story of bidding goodnight to the bears, to the mittens, to the bowl full of mush. I discover I now find comfort in the rhythmic cadence, the sentences fall out of my mouth sing-song, lyrical and pleasing. 

Maybe that’s why she listens quietly, transported to the simplicity of a warm room, a rocking old rabbit, a nightly ritual of farewell to all the little things that surround us – the comb, the brush, the little toy house, and all the big things too vast for us to comprehend – the stars, the air, nobody, the moon. Goodnight to it all. Goodnight to the immediate and the immense. Maybe this still appeals at a time when everything seems virtual, intangible, rushing by. It’s nice to stop and acknowledge, step into the present space and recognize the greater cosmos above. 

Continue Reading