November 8:  My Students Make Me Better

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NaBloPoMo 2019

Oh how I love my medical students!

Every other year I meet a new group of about 10 third year students, at the dawn of their clinical careers.  What a privilege!  I lead a monthly small group for a class called Personal Transition to the Profession.  I have written about this honor before, describing how

  1. My only job in this class is to love these students into the amazing doctors they are meant to be
  2. They help me see physician burnout from different perspectives
  3. Their experience of medical culture resonates with my own

Monthly group meetings are just enough to start to know any one person after two years, and then they disperse and I grieve the loss, just until my new group starts.  After ten years of stimulating conversations on professionalism and the humanity of medicine, I still feel anxious about my impact on these bright, insightful learners.  Did I do a good job?  Did I make a difference?  Did their time with me matter at all, or was it a monthly waste of time?

This June, I finally faced these questions head-on during a coaching call with Christine.  What are my strengths, what value do I bring?  How can I distill the central learning objective each month?  How can I connect more effectively?  We settled on some ideas for setting expectations and being more direct about goals and touchstones.  I instituted check-ins at the beginning of each meeting, something I should have started years ago.

This month’s topic was open; students were invited to write and discuss whatever was on their minds.  Blog posts and check-in comments resonated around words like exhaustion, sleep, and longing for connection.  So rather than delve into the content of their writing, I simply asked how I could help.  One student, ever honest and forthright, said, “let us go home and get to bed.”  The air felt heavy, almost forlorn… but not hopeless.  I found myself monologuing a few minutes about appreciative inquiry, and finally asked them, a little desperately, “What is the most loving thing someone has said to you this week?” and then, “or how have you felt loved this week?”

Slowly, small vignettes of connection, meaning, and hope emerged.  The student who wanted to get home to bed had received an email from a former preceptor, whose patient finally started and stayed on much needed antidepressant medication, which the doctor attributed to our student’s contact with the patient during his primary care rotation.  Another’s parents had driven into the city early in the morning to lend her their laptop after she had spilled water on hers.  Other students had connected with family members and friends, who expressed pride and encouragement.  Once again I was overcome with love for these young colleagues, and I could not help but tell them:  I have one job here, and that is to make sure you know you’re loved in your training.  I am not here to evaluate you.  You will all finish, you will all succeed.  In the time I have with you, my only objective is to hold you up in the process.  I made sure they all have my cell phone number.  I encouraged them to call me if they ever need anything.

Two students (and one’s wife) came to my house for dinner tonight.  It was supposed to be everybody, but I neglected to send a confirmation email so people weren’t quite sure if I meant my invitation last month (probably because I had planned for them to come over last month and then cancelled on them that week).  We ordered pizza and salad, I fried some potstickers, and we sat around the kitchen island with my kids, just talking.  We are all nerds.  We love to read, to learn.  S’s wife is a resident at my former hospital, and knows my friends there.  They have a book club there now, and this year’s theme is wellness.  She asked for suggestions, so I lent her my copy of My Grandfather’s Blessings.  She and S also borrowed our season one DVDs of The Big Bang Theory.

Our group will meet at a local restaurant after next month’s class.  We will plan (better) another evening meal at my house in the spring.  In the meantime, I will extend an invitation to each of them to come down if they ever need a break from school, a change of scenery, or just to feel a little extra love.  I have been where they are, and I remember how much I appreciated the empathy and compassion of my elders in the profession.  I still do.

How does this all make me better?  In medicine we talk all the time about the calling to care for patients.  But caring for one another, our colleagues and trainees, is equally important.  It keeps us and our souls whole, feeds us so we can keep doing the work.  My students recharge me, inspire me, and keep me young.  What an absolute honor to know them.

NaBloPoMo 2019:  What Makes Me Better

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My friends, it starts again woohoooooo!

National Blog Posting Month occurs every November, a 30 day daily blogging challenge apparently founded in 2006, inspired by National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo.  I think this will be my fourth attempt, and it gets easier and more fun every year!

This year’s theme originates from a sense of both gratitude and anticipation.  Increasingly I feel compelled to do more, contribute more, help more.  When I look around I am consistently humbled by those who go before me, on whose broad and strong shoulders I stand.  So I dedicate this month to all of you.

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November 1:  Role Play Makes Me Better.

I was converted to the Church of the Necessity of Role Play in 2003.  I had previously belonged to Tribe of Full-Socket Eye Roll at Role Play.  That year I had the privilege of attending a Stanford Faculty Development Program series.  It was a 7 week clinical teaching program for physicians.  Every week we practiced a specific teaching skill, on camera, then had to watch ourselves and critique our own and one another’s performance.  Even though each ‘encounter’ was only a few minutes, and we were all pretending, it felt real enough to translate into concrete behavior changes in real life—for all of us.

Since then I have always employed role play when teaching motivational interviewing (MI) to medical students.  At first I played the noncompliant or resistant patient, and had students take turns trying MI skils on me.  When I noticed myself feeling defensive and belittled in that role, I realized what the students were missing, and how it could enhance their empathy.  So I started having them take turns playing both patient and physician.  That was an epiphany for us all.  When I attended the Harvard Lifestyle Medicine Conference MI session in 2015, I experienced yet another layer of important experiential learning.  In dyads, we not only took turns playing patient and physician, but we practiced both directive and MI styles of counseling.  The contrast on both sides of each of those interactions solidified in both my cognitive and limbic brains why MI is a superior counseling method for behavior change.

This week at ICCH I innocently volunteered to play the physician in yet another role play.  Little did I know what I was in for.  I should have seen it coming, as the workshop title was “Teaching Medical Students How to Deal with Challenging Patient-Physician Encounters.”  I, unknowingly, stepped into a scenario of recurrent asthma exacerbation brought on by stress, due to domestic violence.  I felt anxious with a circle of international colleagues watching, and also confident that I could enter the play encounter the same as I aspire to enter a real one—present, open, grounded, kind, loving, and smart.  The physician teacher who played my patient stayed solidly in character and immediately drew me in with her slumped posture, dejected facial expression, and barely perceptible voice.  And she, like so many victims of violence, was not giving it up easily.

I had to conduct a medical interview as well as a psychological one, at times alternating between them.  I wanted to get at what I suspected (first generalized stress, and then clearly violence at home), but we had just met, and she really wanted to get out of the hospital.  Her fear was obvious; but she held its cause close to her chest, like the rest of her, until she could trust me.  I approached with general words at first, “Anything else going on lately?”  I kept my questioning as open ended as possible, and tried to leave space for her to answer.  Nothing.  Then I confessed my own inner dissonance:  “I feel like there’s something else…”  When that didn’t work, I continued with the general history.  No other chronic medical problems, no surgeries; allergies that can trigger her asthma, but no recent exposures.  You have 4 young kids, a full time job, a house to take care of.  Are you partnered?  Yes, married, to Bob.  Pause; a breath.  Then, “How does Bob treat you?”  Pause.  Why do you ask me that?  “I’m asking about abuse.”  And then it opened.  How did you know?  “I’ve been doing this a long time…  And someone close to me was abused.”  Do I look like her?  “You remind me of her.”

She was mortified that I would tell anyone.  How could I possibly help, then?  There were longer silences as I, frantic on the inside and slow breathing on the outside, racked my brain for solutions.  The harsh reality eventually settled on us both:  Neither of us could do much about her situation in that moment, her asthma attack was resolved, and the longer I kept her away from her family the worse I might make everything for her in the near term.  We agreed that I would look for ‘stress management’ resources, and I would give her my phone number.  And I would discharge her later that day, back to her violent husband, who had promised he would never hit her again.

It was so real.  I was almost able to forget about the audience.  I was personally invested in the health and well-being of this one person in front of me.  I imagined if she were a real patient.  Would I actually give her my phone number in this moment?  Absolutely I would.  We had to start somewhere, and I was the only person who knew, who could connect her to resources for help.

After it ended, I felt pretty drained.  We had both been tearful at times.  I also felt proud to have gotten through—both the exercise and to my patient.  I connected.  And even though I had no immediate solutions, I had established a relationship that had hope for helping a person who really needed it.

I have not encountered this scenario in real life in a while—that I know of.

I hope I’m not missing something, somewhere, for somebody who needs me.  Yikes.

Role play makes me better.  It reminds me to always beware my blind spots, to keep practicing, and to remember the deep humanity of every person I meet.

Birthday Sock and Washi Love

 

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What’s the best birthday gift for you?  How do you feel when you get it?

I turned 46 last week; I am now officially in my late 40s, YAY!  It feels pretty awesome—what a great age!  I am a seasoned clinician, at a point in my career where I have earned some respect and status, and still have plenty yet to accomplish.  My kids are maturing, getting wise; we have fun and deep conversations.  I am, finally, understanding how to do this complex thing called marriage.  I know what I will tolerate from others and what I will not, and I stand up for myself better than ever.  I know who I am.

Apparently others know, too, and they showed me this week in the most loving celebrations.

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I used to wear the most boring socks.  I worried whether they matched my outfit or my shoes.  Then one day my manager gleefully wore the loudest, brightest striped socks to work.  Suddenly hosiery became the easiest mode of self-expression that I could exercise daily, with abandon!  Soon I discovered mismatched sock trios, launching my sock loving life to the next level.  Thereafter my socks did not match; they coordinated (but I did it less expensively by just mixing regular pairs).  These days I wear compression socks, but even they come in fun styles (I have no financial interests in any of the businesses linked here)!  It just brings me that little bit of joy each morning pulling them on, and then seeing them all day—a splash of color, a flourish of design.  On Thursday, in honor of my birthday, colleagues came to work sporting fun socks of their own.  We gathered briefly and bonded with exuberance, took a picture, hugged, and went, a little more joyfully, back to work.

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The next day, at the other office, I was greeted with a big printed sign, shiny streamers, and a delicate, hand-decorated, washi tape banner.  My newest colleague brought a huge box of assorted donuts.  Hugs abounded from all over.  And one friend wrote me a lovely birthday note—on one of a stack of washi tape cards I had made and left in the office for folks to use on each other.

I have a friend who always feeds me when I go to her house—whatever she has around, often that she has made—and she always has something awesome…  It’s usually sweet.  This day she went to special trouble to make a perfect dessert, which we enjoyed with coconut green tea while catching up on work, relationships, life.  We sat in her beautiful front room, afternoon sun streaming in, surrounded by books, leather, and special papers—all of my favorite things.

 

It was the best birthday yet, I must say.

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I wrote recently that we have 5 fundamental needs:  To feel seen, heard, understood, accepted, and loved.  Over these two days and in the past week, so many people in my life have not only met these needs for me, but fulfilled them in the deepest, most touching and poignant ways.  Simple gestures.  Heartfelt words.  Slow, quality time.  They may seem small.  But make no mistake, their impact and resonance cannot be adequately measured.  I felt absolutely lifted, and my heart was—is still—warmed, through and through.  “Gratitude”, even rendered by the eloquent and wise David Whyte,  just doesn’t quite capture the whole experience.

Gifts like these—conceived from an intimate knowing, presented joyfully, and shared in generosity and love—make birthdays, both mine and my friends’, some of my favorite days of the year.