interaction warning

What is it about doctors? I understand they’ve logged hundreds of hours of specialized training; that they work long days; that they’ve got state-of-the-art treatment options at their fingertips. What I don’t understand is why so many seem to have lost track of the big picture. When I log into a spreadsheet at work, the spreadsheet does not expect me to speak to it reassuringly. It does not have questions regarding what I’m about to do. It does not expect an encouraging pat on the back. It’s a spreadsheet. It carries no secret aspirations of one day becoming a movie poster. It is my canvas, so to speak, and I understood its limitations when I entered my chosen field.

I, on the other hand, am my doctor’s canvas; and when he’s proposing an action on me I sure as heck want to understand the implications. I am not part of the chair upholstery, and I strongly prefer not to be talked at, talked over, or talked about like I’m not even in the room. It may be a “disease,” a “disorder,” or an “illness” to you, but kindly remember that it’s taking place where I live. I sleep there, I wake up there, and I will break daily bread with the pain and the scars and the void where things used to be. So I am not always going to be understanding, or stoic, or docile, or even polite, because there’s a good chance what you’re dryly pontificating about has me at least unnerved, possibly terrified. And, as your human canvas, I would like to assume you understood my limitations when you entered your chosen field.

What I’m saying is, I think some doctors need to revisit why they became doctors in the first place. Were you trying to help people like me? If so, kindly remember that I am more than a collection of cells to be studied and manipulated. And consider taking a refresher course on what it means to treat actual human beings – perhaps something akin to “art appreciation for the healing sciences.” In the meantime, I’ll draw what lessons I can from my more daunting doctor-related interactions. Because I’d be lying if I said there weren’t a time when somebody really needed me, and I was too busy to look up and talk. I’d be fooling myself if I told you that I’ve always been a perfect listener or a reassuring shoulder; that my eyes were always kind or that I’ve always fought fair. And I’d be ignorant indeed if I assumed the problem I’m describing rests with medical professionals alone.

Chosen or not, we are all each other’s canvas -- and part of what we paint reflects the state of our selves.