By: Shereen Farooq, PGY-1
Intern year is busy. Perhaps the understatement of the century, but the fact remains true: Intern year is busy. From pre-charting and pre-rounding to rounding, placing orders, calling consults, completing discharges, updating families, attending conferences and writing notes, it often feels like there’s no time to catch your breath. Amid this whirlwind, it can seem almost impossible to build meaningful relationships with patients.
The unyielding tasks often overshadow the moments that truly matter in patient care.
On a routine day on the oncology wards, I found myself in the midst of completing a discharge for a young patient diagnosed with advanced small-cell lung cancer in her early thirties. I had met her family the day before, discussed her care plan with her husband, and even gathered some coloring pages for her two young children. As I wrapped up the discharge and counseled her on her medications, I asked, “Do you have any questions?”
Her response caught me off guard: “Can I give you a hug?”
Six simple words, yet they made me pause.
As physicians, how often do we truly connect with our patients through physical touch? I don’t mean the compulsory placement of a stethoscope or the brief contact during a physical exam, but rather, when was the last time you held a patient’s hand, placed a hand on their shoulder or gave them a hug? During medical school, I was taught that unnecessary physical contact should be avoided. Anything beyond a formal handshake or the physical exam was considered unprofessional. Perhaps that’s why I hesitated in that moment. Or perhaps it’s because the culture of medicine is shifting. When most of a patient’s information can be found in the “Results” tab of the EMR, visiting the bedside can sometimes feel like an afterthought.
Yet, I believe it’s at the bedside where the practice of medicine truly transforms into the art of medicine. As this year has progressed, I’ve realized that the patients I’ve felt most connected to — those who have left a lasting impact on me — are the ones with whom I’ve spent just a few extra minutes. The ones for whom I took the time to learn about their hopes, fears and desires. In doing so, I’ve found a sense of purpose that helps me combat burnout in a small way. It serves as a reminder that, despite the flaws in our health care system, I am making a meaningful difference in an individual’s life. That, ultimately, is what matters.
So, I urge you, dear reader, to consider bringing medicine back to the bedside. Take a few extra minutes to truly understand what matters to your patients and, yes, to offer a healing touch. You may be surprised by how much it can impact not only your patients, but also yourself.