5. Empathy is Key
Shortly following his release from the hospital after head and neck surgery for cancer, the One Ear Man decided, along with his doctor he could resume teaching healthcare students.
So, he did. He began his first class on a Tuesday afternoon, right after lunch.
I consider myself to be in a very fortunate position, the One Ear Man began. I am both a college teacher who stands in front of you day-after-day teaching Microsoft Office and Google Docs within the context of the healthcare profession. I am also a cancer survivor. So by being hospitalized, I have observed both sides of the business; what we teach and how my former students practice.
What a window of opportunity I now have handed me by being able to talk to you here today. You, who sit in front of me will be within a year of working in a medical clinic, on a ward in a hospital, or perhaps an 'old folks' or extended care home. Maybe you will be working in a hospice. You will be nursing the very people I spent some time with during and following my surgery.
This brings me to the point of this lecture. The healthcare textbooks that I am familiar with are long on protocols and short on caring, compassion and empathy; the feeling that you understand and share another person's experience and emotions. The importance of understanding is understated in the classroom. I am well aware of this. So, I am going to refer to the experience of Sarah to make my point.
Sarah is an Inuit who lived all of her life in Cape Dorset, Nunavut (Over 2,000 km Northwest of Winnipeg). She is an Elder, respected in her community. She speaks very little English. I learned that the Winnipeg hospital I was in is responsible for NW Ontario, Manitoba and Nunavut. The spoken and written language is English. No French, even with a substantial French-Canadian suburb nearby in Winnipeg called St. Boniface. Indeed, no Inuit is spoken or written. Even the Welcome booth is English Only. How welcoming is that!
Sarah is fighting breast cancer, so she ended up here. She survived a very complicated double mastectomy surgery. All of her breast tissues were removed as a way to best treat her cancer. Now she is in recovery, in the bed beside mine...alone.
Please try to put your mind where hers is. Sarah is alone. She is in a strange environment. This Elder has great difficulty talking to and understanding the people in uniforms that come and go from her bedside. Is she frustrated? Likely. Scared? Yes. Wants to be among her own? You bet she does! Is she longing for any companionship? Likely. Will her friends and family visit? Not likely.
I lost an ear. It is quite another thing to lose two breasts. Breasts have a particular significance in our society, especially for women. What does Sarah think about all of this? Would she like to talk to someone with a kind heart and a sympathetic ear who will listen to her thoughts? Likely.
In the middle of the first and subsequent nights, I heard Sarah whimpering and softy crying.
During the time Sarah and I spent in the ward, we see the same healthcare workers over and over again. After all, they are on a 10-day shift cycle. It is not the doctors we see most often. They come and go. I don't think I saw the same doctor on the ward more than two or three times even though rounds are done twice a day. Usually, there is an entourage of residents with them, learning their protocols. Sarah and I will not see nurses either unless it is an emergency. We see healthcare aides and nurse's aides. Again, and again.
I am suggesting that it is up to these healthcare workers to build a relationship with their patients. You. That is what I discovered as a patient. Nobody else will do it.
Talk to us. Smile. Get to know us. Refer to us by name. Reader's Digest was correct when they publish “Laughter is the best medicine” in each issue. If the patient’s culture permits, sit down for a minute or two and look us in the eyes and dialogue. Show a little compassion and empathy. That is what Sarah and I are most looking for. Above all, don't merely be robotic going about fulfilling your protocols and completing forms and charts. For their well-being, talk to your patients. The swiftness of their recovery really depends upon it.
So, he did. He began his first class on a Tuesday afternoon, right after lunch.
I consider myself to be in a very fortunate position, the One Ear Man began. I am both a college teacher who stands in front of you day-after-day teaching Microsoft Office and Google Docs within the context of the healthcare profession. I am also a cancer survivor. So by being hospitalized, I have observed both sides of the business; what we teach and how my former students practice.
What a window of opportunity I now have handed me by being able to talk to you here today. You, who sit in front of me will be within a year of working in a medical clinic, on a ward in a hospital, or perhaps an 'old folks' or extended care home. Maybe you will be working in a hospice. You will be nursing the very people I spent some time with during and following my surgery.
This brings me to the point of this lecture. The healthcare textbooks that I am familiar with are long on protocols and short on caring, compassion and empathy; the feeling that you understand and share another person's experience and emotions. The importance of understanding is understated in the classroom. I am well aware of this. So, I am going to refer to the experience of Sarah to make my point.
Sarah is an Inuit who lived all of her life in Cape Dorset, Nunavut (Over 2,000 km Northwest of Winnipeg). She is an Elder, respected in her community. She speaks very little English. I learned that the Winnipeg hospital I was in is responsible for NW Ontario, Manitoba and Nunavut. The spoken and written language is English. No French, even with a substantial French-Canadian suburb nearby in Winnipeg called St. Boniface. Indeed, no Inuit is spoken or written. Even the Welcome booth is English Only. How welcoming is that!
Sarah is fighting breast cancer, so she ended up here. She survived a very complicated double mastectomy surgery. All of her breast tissues were removed as a way to best treat her cancer. Now she is in recovery, in the bed beside mine...alone.
Please try to put your mind where hers is. Sarah is alone. She is in a strange environment. This Elder has great difficulty talking to and understanding the people in uniforms that come and go from her bedside. Is she frustrated? Likely. Scared? Yes. Wants to be among her own? You bet she does! Is she longing for any companionship? Likely. Will her friends and family visit? Not likely.
I lost an ear. It is quite another thing to lose two breasts. Breasts have a particular significance in our society, especially for women. What does Sarah think about all of this? Would she like to talk to someone with a kind heart and a sympathetic ear who will listen to her thoughts? Likely.
In the middle of the first and subsequent nights, I heard Sarah whimpering and softy crying.
During the time Sarah and I spent in the ward, we see the same healthcare workers over and over again. After all, they are on a 10-day shift cycle. It is not the doctors we see most often. They come and go. I don't think I saw the same doctor on the ward more than two or three times even though rounds are done twice a day. Usually, there is an entourage of residents with them, learning their protocols. Sarah and I will not see nurses either unless it is an emergency. We see healthcare aides and nurse's aides. Again, and again.
I am suggesting that it is up to these healthcare workers to build a relationship with their patients. You. That is what I discovered as a patient. Nobody else will do it.
Talk to us. Smile. Get to know us. Refer to us by name. Reader's Digest was correct when they publish “Laughter is the best medicine” in each issue. If the patient’s culture permits, sit down for a minute or two and look us in the eyes and dialogue. Show a little compassion and empathy. That is what Sarah and I are most looking for. Above all, don't merely be robotic going about fulfilling your protocols and completing forms and charts. For their well-being, talk to your patients. The swiftness of their recovery really depends upon it.
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