Empathy… Can We Be Better At It?
By Firas Saidi, MD, CMD
A year ago, my thoughtful 93-year-old independent-living resident came to me for a follow up visit, armed with a list of issues to discuss. I encourage all of my patients to write things down so that we do not miss any concerns. I admit that I sometimes cringe when I see a patient pull out a large page (or two). The first thought that would cross my mind is how on earth will I get through those in the span of 20-30 minutes! Then I take a deep breath and remind myself to trust my years of experience to get most if not all of these concerns taken care of.
The first item on his list was the war in Ukraine. I thought this was going to be a “conversation starter”. Instead, he said that it has been affecting him in ways that he was not expecting. He felt anxious, angry, and lost sleep.
We started talking and before I knew it, I started to open up. I shared how I personally felt about these atrocities. I have not been able to watch the news consistently myself and opted to only read select articles just to be able to manage the enormity of a crisis like this. After all, unjust suffering and human rights violations of this magnitude were only supposed to happen in the developing world and not the modern one that I fled to and made my home. It wasn’t absent on my patient and friend of 8 years that prior to my arrival to the US in 1998, I lived in Iraq. While it was wonderful to have grown up in the Mesopotamia and the history-filled Baghdad, that came with the price of living throughout a series of wars since 1980 (I was only 10 at the time). Eventually I was forced to leave the country I called home in 1994. Even before the 80s, Iraq was marred by a series of never-ending politically-driven coups and bloody events.
I distinctly remember a night when my wife and I were sitting on the couch watching David Muir sensationally describe the life of Ukrainians under the merciless Russian attacks. We fearfully squeezed each other’s hands, as sirens wailed on TV. I could feel her heart race as she turned pale and we had to turn off the news. You see, we were eerily in a similar position. As kids, teenagers, and young adults. I guess we all came out with some form of PTSD.
The nonstop news cycle and the vivid and the 24/7 coverage, exposes those of us who may otherwise remain comfortable, or happily unbothered, by the unspeakable suffering of fellow humans thousands of miles away. It is the same intensity of journalism that may be directed to other causes, say the environment or politics.
The scenes of displaced families and children, the destruction of their homes and playgrounds, and the not so subtle indicators of the heavy death tolls, however, sneaks into the most cold of hearts and minds to unearth emotions that few of us are able to bury under a stoic facade.
While Elliot[1] made this his first problem, he had another goal in addition to asking for help from his trusted doctor on how to deal with the glut of anxiety, rage, and other emotions that are interfering with his daily life. He was also concerned for me and how I am handling a replay of what I’ve been through.
At the end of what was a 30-minute visit, it seemed that we both had a meaningful therapeutic session as we acknowledged the human suffering and unexplainable loss of life. I consider myself lucky to have many good friends and patients who take the time to check on me in situations like this.
I urge everyone to be mindful when interacting with patients (and others) as things that happen thousands of miles away may affect them in ways more than what is a news headline to me or you.
As Elliot rose from the armed chair and leaned on me to get to his walker, we looked at each other and wished (silently) that we could have a hug. Instead, we bumped fists, and I patted the back of his shoulder as we walked off the room to the checkout window. I told him that we both get something out of his visits, but this time I may have gotten the most.
Any views or opinions presented in this article are solely those of the author and do not necessarily represent any policy or position of PAMED, PMDA, AMDA, its affiliates, and members.
[1] The author has modified the patient’s name to protect his identity.
