Without a doubt it is the medical expertise of talented physicians and the success of their delicate procedures that led to my mother's happy dismissal from the hospital last week. With equal certainty, the unconditional compassion extended to her throughout her stay was a healing balm beyond any measure. What do we mean by health care? What is it? Here's how it looks and sounds and feels....
On the afternoon of her arrival, her primary care physician stopped by the room to say hello and that he was going on vacation, and he assured her of his confidence in the next morning's surgery. A year ago my mother was a patient on this renal care unit, and her nurse at that time arrived this year, on her day off, wearing snappy clothes, an irresistible smile, and the fragrance of her warm spirit. We laughed and talked, and as my sister-in-law and I sat there, you could feel anxiety waft out of the room upon the high heels of Wanda's merry arrival. Though not her patient, Wanda was briefly at my mother's side early the next morning with quiet, professional reassurance. The deservedly-legendary nephrolologist who manages her overall care stopped by, and he brought into her room his steady presence and natural, compelling compassion. He stroked her cheek as he answered any questions. He knows her well; my mother is both a patient and a person, indeed a "fashion queen," to him. He remembers me by name, warmly, and asks details about my life. Dr. Starkman moves quickly and no movement is wasted. It all matters. Everyone who works with him embodies his tenderness and dedication. Microbes of empathy spread down the hallway and filter into rooms. Contagion works to the patient's benefit in this special case.
When the physician came out to speak with us after successful arthroscopic surgery, his pleasure was obvious; his optimism washed over my mother's family. Afterwards, I went to collect her belongings to take to her new room, and all the nurses cheered the news as Wanda popped out of nowhere with a hug. The next morning at 6:15AM the head physician from the surgical team, my grandmother's beloved doctor, came to see my mother. When she asked what in the world he was doing there at such an hour, he responded that "I have sick patients who need me." Later that morning, a childhood friend was waiting outside the room to see my mother; the curtain was drawn and someone was with her. Her description of the conversation between my mother and the person giving her a bath is poignant symbol of this constant care for patient as individual: casual and professional dialogue that assured dignity and comfort. Over the weekend and with time to do so, her nurse let my mother sleep and offered to reheat her meals. Nancy sat and rested a bit, talking with my mother so that she had a dinner companion, if only for awhile. When she had a second, unrelated procedure the day before she was discharged, my mother awoke to Wanda's presence, brief and buoyant.
Dr. Starkman's hug for both of us when he saw us off, headed for home, required no words. My mother had been given a strong dose of compassion and it worked. You can't buy it, but it is worth everything. Can such empathy be taught? Yes and no, probably. These are all very, very busy professionals with so many people counting on them. They found moments to give. It was these little things - rubbing the sore foot and smoothing back hair -- that to patient and family prop up the heart.
The body relies on mental and emotional fuel to heal through and through. How profound to be touched, literally, by health care: Patient as person, technical wizardry enhanced by pure feeling.
