Richard E. Waltman, MD, a family physician from Tacoma, Washington is undergoing treatment for bladder cancer. His article And Today Is Another Day in Medical Economics reveals what he's learning about himself and his profession in the process.
He writes of the love and support he has received from family, friends, and patients. He notes, however, that one group in particular has had difficulty acknowledging his disease, his physician colleages. He writes:
When I finally asked some (physician) colleagues why they didn't say anything about my illness, the answers were instructive. "I didn't think you wanted to talk about it," said one. "I didn't know what to say," said another. And perhaps most interesting of all: "You're one of us, not one of them. They get sick. We don't."
Now hear this: We are them and they are us. We get sick and we die. We want to talk about it, and we want you to listen. Extend your hand, make eye contact, and say something like this: "I'm sorry to hear your bad news. My thoughts and best wishes are with you."
Perhaps this account touched me because a physician I know, an oncologist, had a similar experience when diagnosed a few years ago with advanced breast cancer. Most of all she expected support and compassion from the partners in her oncology practice. To say that she didn't get it would be an understatement. I'm happy to report that she beat the long odds against her, and now practices solo.
When caring for patients, some emotional distance is necessary in order to function objectively. But let's make sure that when we build those necessary emotional walls we remember where we put the hidden doors. As Dr. Waltman reminds us, there are times we might just need to step through to the other side.
Previous Medical Economics Article by Dr. Waltman:
And Tomorrow is Friday
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