On Doctors Running Behind

It was the third time she mentioned that she’d ‘been under a lot of stress’ that I finally realized that maybe I needed to take notice.

I mean, people frequently offhandedly mention that, you know, ‘I’m under a lot of stress.’

And Mona*, always a chipper and well put together woman in her 70’s, was much the same. “Well, the symptoms did start when I was under a lot of stress.” Etc., etc., etc.,

I’ve known her for a few years, and didn’t initially pick up on the fact that anything was off. She had kindly inquired about Lil Drummer and congratulated me on his arrival. We had talked about the Holidays. We had discussed her medical conditions.

But then on the third reference to this vague ‘stress’, I stopped her.

“Is everything okay? Is something going on?”

In the millisecond that followed, her carefully composed, cheerful exterior melted into wracking sobs.

“Dr. *, my sister died on New Years.”

I grabbed some tissues for her and moved my chair to sit next to hers. I should’ve grabbed one for myself, because my eyes were tearing up too. The weight of her grief veiled the room—my heart included. Hand resting on her knee, I asked her a few questions, and then mainly let her talk.

She detailed how things had unfolded. Her regrets. Her sadness. Her desperate wish that she’d had the foresight to know how near the end was.

And knowing I was powerless to heal her grief, but hopeful that at least I could be a safe space for her to share it, I listened. Sometimes reassuring. Mostly, just listening.

After she’d shared the story, we re-visited some of her medical concerns and agreed to check-in soon.

As she stood up to go she said, “I feel like I should apologize to the other patients who are waiting for you. But thank you for taking the time.”

And she was right: there were two patients waiting in rooms. Both who ended up waiting about 45 minutes to see me after their appointment times. Both who were so gracious about it. I was grateful for that.

There are a lot of reasons why doctors run behind and it can be hard on everyone: sometimes patients come late. The system demands we see more patients/session than is probably a good idea in many cases. Some people have more concerns than can fit in a 15 minute visit, and understandably don’t want to come back and back again to discuss them all. Sometimes someone is just really sick. And most often, someone just needs you to hear them. To hear about their grief and their triumphs, their divorces and their babies. Their lost jobs and their lost opportunities. Their good days and their bad ones. Because as any good doctor will tell you, these stories are woven into the whole picture, and failing to understand them impairs a doctor’s ability to fully heal.

But stories take time. Time, time, time. There.should.be.more.time.

So, next time you are stuck in a waiting room, frustrated at the delay, maybe this story will come to mind. Maybe you’ll remember Mona, and that when you offer up patience in such a situation, you are paying it forward. Because there may come a day when you are sitting on an exam table, emotions swirling just under the surface, hoping someone will take the time to ask and to listen.

And I hope that they do.

*Alias