The "One" I've Been

Just the other day, I visited someone in the hospital on my way home from work.  Upon arriving to her room, I saw that her parents were already there - flipping through TV channels and not really talking to their daughter, perhaps unsure of what to say to her.  

Slouched on the edge of a hospital bed, sullen, she stared at the floor.  As I moved closer to sit beside her parents I saw she was anxious.  Tremulous and unsteady.  Confused.  I knew what this was.  This, though, wasn't like every time before.  

Now, she was older.  75 lbs.  Five feet, 1 inch. Black sneakers that were at least 20 years old - surely dug out from one of her parents' closets at home. Black tights that let me know her legs could not have been much wider than my arms.  A shirt that fit her as well as a garbage bag ever could.  A jacket that hadn't been washed in who-knows-how-long, hanging off her shoulders because there was barely any body to cling to.  Black hair thinned, matted and perhaps unwashed because with the $15 she had in her purse she couldn't afford to buy shampoo just yet.  Big-framed glasses that though they looked to be 10 years old they let her see - though she looked no one in the eyes and barely noticed anything around her.  With no muscle, no fat there were veins on her arms that appeared to map roads seen in years of wandering.  This was all she knew.  Medically, she was a train-wreck.  A number of psychiatric issues, unreliable means of transportation, and no insurance plan - she was struggling socially, as well.  She hadn't made the best choices in her life thus far.  Maybe she realized that, maybe she didn't.   

Three years of medical school have flown by...and I have seen countless patients like her.  I've become jaded.  Cynical even.  I accepted that it was the norm to think "He'll be back tomorrow seeking more pain meds" or "She's just here for free food and shelter."  "Sure we're taking care of their withdrawal today but they're just gonna bounce back to us in a few weeks."  I had heard things like this from other students, nurses, residents, and even from my attendings.  

I'm uncertain of how much time had passed before I decided to go home.  Picking up my bag, I headed to leave - stopping in the doorway when I saw that the 'one-to-one' who had just been assigned to her was making her way to the room.  I leaned against the doorway and listened as this woman, Andrea, recognizing that the patient's parents were nothing short of overwhelmed began to talk to them.

From my neck to my cheeks spread this familiar feeling of uncomfortable warmth as I was moved by this woman's words of encouragement, of understanding, of hope.  A thin film of tears settled over my eyes, waiting for me to blink so they were free to fall to the ground as I listened to this woman instill these parents with the belief that no matter what happens in the future - whether today or three years from now - their daughter would be okay.  Somehow.   

As I looked over at their daughter I realized that though she may have heard all this, she wasn't really listening.  And that was okay.  Ultimately, whether she found a way to cease all self-pity, to move past mistakes she had made, and to rid herself the regret born from her missed opportunities was entirely up to her.  If she were discharged from the hospital the next day and she chose to go "home" and drink, that was her choice too.  That's not what mattered most in this moment. 

I realized, at this time, it was just as important to provide support to these parents as it was to provide medical care to this patient.  "Ain't nobody got time for that", you must be thinking.  Sometimes, though, all someone needs to feel better is one question answered, one "How are you holding up?", one "We can get through this."  I left the hospital that day saddened that I had forgotten this.  Spending my medical-student-days running in and out of hospital rooms, I had come to treat my patients like puzzles that once solved, I would forget about.  I was ashamed.
     
In less than one year, I'll be starting my intern year - surely as frazzled and overworked as my co-interns will be.  If I at least once remember this experience during that time, perhaps I can be more like the physician I want to be and less like the "one" I've been.  



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

And After

September 13th, 2023 To live a life without regrets,      One on your own terms and in your own way,     Of your own rules, a mold of your own clay. As a guide, led by those before you,     An obligation to those who come after you,     To those who have lost their light,     To those in a new land, a new culture, a new life. As an exemplar, a role model, a bastion of support,     A father, grandfather,     Partner, brother, uncle, mother,     Sister, friend, chosen family     A source for those in need. As a constant presence,     To express love, affection, adoration,     Even with words or without. To be relied upon and be reliable,     Food on the table,     Clothes on their backs,     For those you cherish to never want for anything. To celebrate the wins, however simple,     But to never forget the losses -- however small. To find the tiniest moments of joy, the humor --      But to not dismiss the pangs of sadness,     The impetus for growth. To continue the legacy of those who
Read more

Thanksgivings Past

November 23rd, 2023 Dear Nandini, I remember half days at school, movie afternoons spent when our collective attention spans had all but vanished.  More time for video games and sleeping in and later on, more time for homework assignments over the long weekend.  For some reason, Jurassic Park reruns occupied the primetime slot on NBC and I was too young to appreciate the holiday-themed Friends episodes at the time.  Don't worry, I do now.  They were times filled with cheer and festivity -- and life!  Constant chatter filled our home, laughter and amusement.  The excitement over Black Friday sales -- the draft of the Christmas wish-list.  I miss it all.  As I got older, I remember chipping in a bit more at the Thanksgiving table -- helping with the sides, mostly just bothering people in the kitchen.  Eventually, I was in charge of dessert -- though I've lost track of the amount of times Ma yelled at me for using granny smith apples in the pie...It felt like we spent less time to
Read more

To Have & Make Room

March 6th, 2024 Friendships of childhood seem so fickle. Fleeting? Maybe those aren't the right words.  So easy to come by in some ways.  A biology project in common, a shared less-than-stellar teacher you felt an allied annoyance of, the struggles of running the 1.5 miles on Fridays in P.E. -- they were connections made in proximity, united by something shared, at very specific points in our lives.  It's interesting to think about how quickly some of those friendships came and went -- how quickly you moved on from one another when you realized you were hitting those pre-teen or teen milestones at different rates.  And not in a bad way by any means -- it just felt like you were experiencing different things at different times and maybe outgrew one another at just as unpredictable a pace. It's interesting to think about some of those childhood friendships that remained and wonder why that is.  I think many of us can think about those that we've stayed in touch with -- th
Read more