The Educators' Pause is a regular column for the CHA Academic Newsletter. It has three components:  

A Story: about a meaningful moment in medical education
A Question: that invites community conversation
A Conversation: Select reader reflections will be shared in the subsequent installment

The Story:

“Being a patient is the hardest job in the hospital,” my resident, Sruthi, said to our patient. I can’t remember the particulars of the patient or the situation, but I do remember how Sruthi’s statement jolted me to attention. 

This was before I came to CHA, and Sruthi and I were working together on a procedural service performing paracenteses, thoracenteses, and lumbar punctures for admitted patients. The highlight of staffing this particular service was teaching the residents. Having finally emerged from my own long years of training, it was such a thrill for me to coach a total novice to near independence. 

But the work could also be tedious. Our patients were spread across a large tertiary care hospital and we spent a lot of time pushing our procedure cart in and out of elevators and up and down hallways. Our snazzy hand-held ultrasound was incredible when it worked, but so often it faltered. When we finally arrived at a patient’s room to do a procedure, we often discovered they were off the floor for another test or they needed medication for pain or anxiety that hadn’t been ordered yet. Like anyone in a busy clinical environment knows, all the small delays added up. My impatience would build as I weighed bumping a later patient’s procedure for the next day versus asking our family’s nanny to do overtime so I could work late.  

That’s where my mind was when Sruthi and I met our patient. The patient was telling us about why it had been a hard day. I was listening, but I also wanted to get on with things. Sruthi was fully present. She listened and said with sincerity, “Being a patient is the hardest job in the hospital.” The patient’s relief was palpable. She had been heard.

Sruthi was right, of course. Hospitalized patients experience such a profound loss of control. They are poked and prodded and awoken at all hours. They face immense uncertainty–Will the pain ever go away? Will I go home again? How long do I have? Sruthi had found such a succinct way to communicate so much empathy and understanding. 

Sruthi’s comment pulled me out of my ruminating thoughts and back to our purpose: caring for the patient in front of us. She reminded me of the kind of doctor I aspire to be, and helped me put my own challenges as a busy working mom into perspective.

 Since then, I’ve added Sruthi’s statement to my own bedside vocabulary, saying her exact words to patients when the moment calls for them. I’ve brought Shruthi’s words to CHA with me. Whenever I say them, I become more grounded in empathy and remember the resident who taught me while I was, supposedly, teaching her. 

The Question: What is something a student or learner taught you while you were teaching? It could be as small as an EPIC hack, as big as a perspective shift, or anything in between.

The Conversation: I hope you’ll share your answer to the reflection question with a colleague. One way to do that is by submitting your answer here, Your submission can be anonymous. I’ll choose a few responses to share in our next installment of The Educators’ Pause.

 

Bio: Colleen Farrell, MD, is a pulmonary and critical care physician, medical educator, and writer. She teaches CHA residents in our ICUs and Harvard Medical students in their medical ethics courses. Her reflective writing on medical training and practice has been widely published and is available at colleenmfarrell.com.