being thankful

Every year Canadians gather a few weeks earlier than their American counterparts, for Thanksgiving weekend and every year, I stop and wonder what I’m thankful for.

 

Inevitably family and friends mount to the top of the list, with their encouraging smiles or their sometimes discouraging but helpful words. This year though, I find myself thankful for something more: medicine.

 

Last year during my year of flux I found myself resentful of the profession I had worked so hard to become a part of. It could have been the anatomy labs, the unease of the transition or the feeling of unmentioned competition; regardless I found myself dreading much of it. This year has been quite the opposite. I imagine it has something to do with finally feeling like you have the hang of it, learning things that are more relevant and explicitly learning what to do better as a future clinician. Most of this makes my heart beat a little faster with excitement. But a lot of it is also the stories. It’s amazing what people will tell you in that sacred relationship between patient and physician. There is a trust and openness there you won’t find everywhere.

 

It became a little clearer to me  this past Thursday while I interviewed a 78 year old woman who was in a rehabilitation hospital in Toronto. She had fibromyalgia, a disease which meant her life was always lived with some kind of pain. She was in the hospital this time after a back operation to fix her narrowing spine. “I’ve never lived a day without pain, and now, after this operation ... nothing! I feel nothing!” She could not stop telling me how the doctor could not believe the operation had made such a difference."He says he must have done a good job! I say he has."

 

Amid the constant nurse calls over the PA system, and the interruptions as people flowed in and out of the room, Mrs. D as I called her, beamed as she talked about her recovery. She was looking forward to moving back to her daughter, driving her car again, walking in the mall. She admitted she sometimes forgot things more than she used to, but that was the medication, certainly not her age. When I asked her how she was before the surgery though, she became very sombre. “I was depressed. There’s no two words about it.” She explained that after her husband passed life was difficult, she felt like she had no place, and no stability. It was that frankness and honesty I was so thankful for.

 

At the end of our hour interview I, as a second year medical student, had nothing to offer her. I was not part of her treatment team, I would not impact her medications or her discharge, I was really only there to learn. But her "Thank You" at the end of that hour was so heartfelt, just because I had listened. “You will make a great doctor.” She smiled and said to me. I was sure she said it to all the medical students who passed through her room, as a away to continue the role of a teacher, a profession she had left behind years ago. But it didn't matter. I was thankful. Those kind words from a stranger were so meaningful to me, and were going to be what got me through the gruelling years ahead.

 

So this Thanksgiving, along with family, friends and the beauty in every day moments, I am thankful for that amazing relationship between physician and patient. Being part of the same team.