Oh no, I said too much.

"Every whisper. . .
Of every waking hour I'm
Choosing my confessions
Trying to keep an eye on you
Like a hurt lost and blinded fool, fool

Oh no, I've said too much. . ."

~ from R.E.M. "Losing My Religion"

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Sometimes patients ask you things that catch you off guard. Things like, "Hey, what race are you?" or even funny ones like, "When's the baby comin'?" when you aren't even pregnant. And sure. Those questions can be both perplexing and amusing at times -- which reminds me-- why is it that only black folks ask (black) me "what are you?" or even why is it that the very day you feel your most sleek and trim post-pregnancy just happens to be the day that some patient winks at you in the elevator and says, "Is it a boy?"

Um, yeah.

But those questions? Those questions are easy. Here's a question that can be a hard one:

"Do you believe in God?"

Or more specifically if you work at a place like Grady Hospital:

"Do you believe in Jesus?"
Now here's the thing: even for folks that have a very clear answer in their head to that question, it isn't necessarily an easy one. It steps into a fuzzy place that sometimes doctors get squirmy in with their patients. That personal space place. That inner thoughts and feelings place. And for some, that flat out none-of-your-business place.

Hmmm.

Today I'm reflecting on this because yesterday I was leading a session with my second year small group students and the topic was "Spirituality and Medicine." Our discussion started off simple enough and then evolved to this one where we got into a very interesting dialogue about how one responds to patients asking questions about your religious beliefs (or lack thereof.)

The students had some interesting perspectives. They represent many different beliefs on a myriad of intensities, so I was keen on hearing their thoughts. One person asked if the best thing to do was to "just tell the person what they want to hear." Another was firmly against that. Some offered thoughtful examples of how they could navigate respecting where the patient was and protecting their own privacy. A few weren't sure what they'd do. And eventually, they asked me what I thought.

members of "Small Group Beta"

Okay. So, I think I am fairly transparent on this blog, or at least I try to be. Most have probably gathered that I am of Christian faith and wouldn't be surprised when I describe myself as observant. Nope, I'm not fire and brimstone. Nope, I don't have flaming stones to sling from my purse or hateful, disgusted stares for boys who hold hands with boys. Nope. I generally stay in my lane when it comes to judging since the whole judging thing is not my lane. I tend to focus more on that whole "love everybody" thing that Jesus was so into.

Anyways.

I don't pretend to be anyone other than who I just described and have what I like to refer to as a "personal relationship" with God. I pray regularly. Some days more than others. And fortunately, since my relationship with God is personal and we know each other so well, my guess is that He's cool with that. Some people fall into this "personal relationship" category, too, but their relationship with a higher power is so personal that chatting them up about it is like asking them about their weight. A major no no.

Though that isn't usually where I am, I do sometimes wince a teeny bit when the topic comes up. Sometimes it's because I am accompanied by someone else. Other times it's because I fear it will take me somewhere I am not sure I want to go with a patient. So, to answer their question, I tell them something that I heard a resident once say on rounds when asked those very questions:

"May I ask a question of you? Can you tell me why it is that you'd be interested in knowing that about me?"

It was one of the most kind replies to such a question that I'd ever heard. This came out of the mouth of a second year resident, too. He softened his eyes and his voice and respectfully countered with this beautiful response. And I meant to say "beautiful" because it was just that.

This resident happened to not be of Christian faith at all. But the answer the patient gave was so endearing. She simply said, "I want to know because I really like you. I want to know that your soul is saved, so that I can be praying for you if it's not."

And he replied, "I always appreciate prayers."

And she simply smiled back and nodded.
I have used a version of this ever since. One patient answered me by saying, "I want to make sure that the doctors caring for me are believers and that they don't think they God!"

I was with my entire ward team that day, and through this insight was able to answer accordingly.

"Ma'am, to be honest, I am of Christian faith. But more important, I certainly do not think that I am God. I also work with a number of wonderful doctors and students--some of whom are of Christian faith and some of whom are not--and I feel sure that they don't think of themselves as God or all powerful either. We just try our best to do right by you and give you our very best effort. That's something you should want all of your doctors to have in common."

And that answer feels good to me because it doesn't exclude or disrespect the scores of colleagues I have that have different beliefs than my own. Particularly when they are present when I'm asked.
Now. I'd be dishonest if I told you that there hadn't been many a time that I'd joined a patient in prayer or agreed to pray for them. In fact, I've closed my eyes and prayed for a patient right then and there at their bedside before. This has depended upon a lot of factors. The relationship I had with the patient, the urgency of the situation, and of course, the wishes of the patient. Other times, those prayers have been uttered quietly at chart boxes or in stairwells. . . oft times the nearest place I can privately reach to interlace my own beliefs with what I can do medically.

I am not sure these answers are the right answers. In fact, somebody reading this is probably saying that they aren't even close to the right answers. I don't know. But here's what I do know: Medicine is about a whole lot more than medicine. And regardless of what you believe or don't believe. . .it involves having some faith. Sometimes in you. Sometimes in your doctors. And sometimes, if that's your thing, in something altogether different.
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Anyways. That's all I've got today. Happy Wednesday.

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . .



Losing my religion by REM