As I navigate this world, I often feel overwhelmed by its harshness, making peace and harmony seem elusive.
Today, the atmosphere feels particularly heavy with distrust and anger, leaving me caught in a constant “me” versus “you” mindset. At times, it feels as though a corrosive glue has enveloped the workings of my heart, preventing me from experiencing emotions and diminishing my willingness to seek the truth or ensure my story is heard.
Everything in this world seems to be classified as black or white, yet I exist somewhere in the vast space between those two extremes, alongside many others. It often feels like the world wants to dismiss individuality, blurring each unique identity to fit everyone into convenient categories.
I find this to be true when I enter into the realm of health care, where I often lose my sense of self and become defined solely by the disease or the affliction I suffer from. Instead of being seen as a person—someone who is uncertain about her future and needs to understand what’s happening with her body—I am sometimes regarded merely as an “outlier” concerning my condition, just an incidental piece of a larger puzzle.
In these situations, the focus seems to be on inputting data into a computer program rather than looking me in the eye and hearing my words. Appointments feel like tasks to complete quickly before moving on to the next patient, creating a conveyor belt of patients that is always in motion.
So much could be learned if I were given the opportunity to tell my story—why I am in this exam room seeking help. There is far more to me than what is visible in the numbers and charts you scrutinize on the computer screen. For example, my hesitation to visit a doctor for about 10 years was connected to the death of my mother, who died from colon cancer that had metastasized extensively. Before this devastating event, she had made intermittent visits to her doctor for other concerns, but cancer was never addressed as a possibility. To be fair, this occurred many years ago, and the testing for this cancer has improved considerably. Regardless, the fear of hearing bad news for myself prevented me from getting a medical check-up. Had I done so, it may have prevented the heart attack I had several years following her death.
I understand that I am not the only patient you will see today, that your time is valuable, and that your job is challenging. However, how can I entrust my health to your care if I feel I am simply patient 32 on your to-do list of patients for this day?
The practice of medicine is not just about curing an illness or demonstrating a skill; it is also about displaying kindness and empathy to the person who sits before you. It’s about acknowledging their presence, and for those ten minutes or so, to feel that their story has been heard.
Michele Luckenbaugh is a patient advocate.
