Tag Archives: Memoir Moment

Memoir, Narrative Medicine, Uncategorized

Narrative Medicine and the Fine Art of Listening: A Memoir Moment

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Posted by Kathleen Pooler/@kathypooler

 

“The greatest gift you can give another is the purity of your attention.” Richard Moss, MD

 

The field of Narrative Medicine has emerged gradually over time.

 

Dr Rita Charon, professor of medicine and executive director of Columbia University’s Narrative Medicine program defines narrative medicine as “medicine practiced with narrative competence to recognize, absorb, tell and be moved by the stories of illness.”

 

She is the author of Narrative Medicine: Honoring the Stories of Illness.

 

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Narrative Medicine: Honoring the Stories of Illness by Dr Rita Charon

 

When I attended nursing school in 1964-67, we studied ‘interpersonal relationships and therapeutic communication.” It was a given that the nurse’s role was to consider the individual person in caring for the patient while the physician’s role was to concentrate on diagnosing and treating disease. We called it the nursing model and medical model. Together we would work as a team to deliver safe and compassionate care to our patients.

 

Listening to the stories of illness is at the heart of any compassionate, caring relationship. As Dr Charon cites in this article from the Journal of American Medical Association (JAMA),

 

“words nurse the wounds medicine cannot describe.”

 

It comes as a welcomed relief to me to see that the field of Narrative Medicine encourages a holistic approach for all healthcare providers.

 

I have been privileged to have served as a health care provider both as a registered nurse for forty-four years and as a family nurse practitioner for the last fifteen of those years.

 

Here is a story of a time I listened to a patient. It was 1974 and I was a staff RN in a busy emergency department of a 400-bed hospital:

 

Sacred Ground

 

“50 year-old  male with crushing chest pain of three-hour duration. No known heart history. His wife is on her way,” the paramedic reported while whisking the ambulance stretcher past me on the way to the trauma room.

 

As I helped pull the man onto the exam table, his wide eyes and ashen color left no doubt about the urgency of his condition. We buzzed around him like a swarm of bees. While hooking him up to the monitor, starting an IV (intravenous), rattling off questions, I looked over at him and noticed his eyes searching. He clutched his chest and looked so scared.

 

“Mr Michaels, we’re giving you some medication in your veins to help the pain,” I said as I leaned in closer to his stretcher.

 

“Where’s Rachel? I need to see Rachel. Please go get her,” he pleaded, his salt and pepper hair now drenched with sweat. He had a look of terror in his eyes.

 

Sensing the desperation in his plea, I signaled to a co-worker to take my place and briefly left the room while the frenzied attempt to save his life continued.

 

A thin, scared young girl with long straight light brown hair and big brown eyes slowly inched her way around the corner when I called out for Rachel.

 

“Rachel, your dad wants to talk with you,” I said. When I bent down to put my hand on her shoulder, I wanted to wrap my arms around her frail, frightened body.

 

“Is my Daddy going to be OK?” she asked as she looked up at me and fiddled with the button on her dress. I sensed she knew he wasn’t.

 

“We’re doing everything we can, Rachel. Come with me,” I said as I took her hand and led her to the room.

 

I guided her to the head of her father’s bed through the maze of IV tubing, monitor wires, medical orders and staff rushing by.

 

Mr Michaels reached out his arm and pulled her head next to his, kissing her forehead.

 

“Take good care of your mother, Rachel. Daddy loves you very much.” He said. 

 

I love you too, Daddy.” She said and began sobbing.

 

He nodded, signaling me it was time to leave.

 

After ushering Rachel to the waiting room to the care of another nurse, I returned to the room. He was being resuscitated. As soon as I left the room with Rachel, he had gone into full cardiac arrest. After all attempts were deemed futile , he was pronounced dead.

 

Precious moments and sacred ground.

 

 I’m so glad I listened.”

 

 

I hope you will enjoy this YouTube video of a TED talk by Dr. Sayantani Das Gupta, professor in the Medical Humanities program at Columbia University. She talks about “Narrative Humility and the importance of reading and interpreting our patients’ stories.”

 

How about you? Have you experienced the healing aspect of storytelling and being listened to?

 

I’d love to hear from you. Please leave your comments below~

 

Next Week:

Monday, 3/31/14:  ” Finding My Way From Memoir to Fiction by Author Doreen Cox”

 

 

 

 

Historical Events, Memoir, Memories

When Historical Events Trigger Memories: A Memoir Moment

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Posted by Kathleen Pooler/@kathypooler

 

 Author’s Note: This post was adapted from a previous post from January, 2011.

 

“When a loved one becomes a memory, the memory becomes a treasure.”  Author Unknown

 

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Photo Credit: Creative Commons

 

 

Single significant events can implant in our psyche and leave a lasting mark. Don’t we all remember where we were and how we felt the day JFK was shot? Or for those who have given birth, the minute details of labor and delivery?

 

Every year, whenever January 28 comes around, I immediately flash back to that date in 1986.

 

On January 28,1986, the world watched in horror as the Challenger space shuttle exploded 73 seconds after lifting off from the Kennedy Space Center in Cape Canaveral, Florida. Anyone over the age of thirty-five will remember what they were doing on that day. School children everywhere tuned in that morning to watch the launch of the first schoolteacher and ordinary citizen bound for space, Christa McAuliffe. While this high-tech catastrophe was unfolding on live TV, life was unfolding in living rooms, kitchens and offices around the world; moments in time when life events would forever be connected with the Challenger explosion.

 

For my mother, Kathryn, it was the moment she asked her mother, my Nan, for forgiveness. She and Nan seemed to have a tentative relationship at times. From my point of view, Nan was a wonderful, loving grandmother, but there were times I would sense from my mother that there was friction between Nan and her children. I never really knew why. Nan had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer  in November 1985 at the age of  83. She was living with my mother’s sister, my Aunt Rose and my mother was visiting to help care for her.  My mother recently shared the following story of that day in January,1986 with me:

 

“Mama and I were sitting in the living room of my sister Rose’s home watching TV. Mama was in the floral upholstered rocking chair in the corner and I  was on the blue Broyhill couch across from her. A Special Report on the Launch of the Challenger Space Shuttle interrupted the Maury Povich show. I looked over at Mama. She looked so frail and thin.  Her eyes were sunken in and her skin had turned yellow.

I have to go back home soon and I may not see her alive again, I thought to myself.

In the background, the seven astronauts, one of them a young school teacher from New Hampshire, flashed across the screen, smiling and waving  before boarding the Challenger.

I got up from the couch and knelt before Mama as she sat still and quiet in the chair. Holding out my hand, I put her tiny, wrinkled hand in mine and, sobbing, said,

“Mama, will you please forgive me for all the times I may have hurt you or was mean to you?”

Looking surprised, she said,

“Kathryn,  you have nothing to apologize for. You have never hurt me.”

 I felt her small, weak hand rubbing my shoulder as I  sobbed uncontrollably ,my head bobbing in her lap.

We remained in that position for awhile. With my head resting on her lap, I watched the smoke from the space shuttle furl up in the sky out of the corner of my eye. I sat straight up and we both glared in shock at the scene.

The moment of the Challenger explosion was the moment Mama forgave me. “

 

This memory is precious to me because I realized that my mother allowed me to have a special, loving relationship with my Nan even though she was not able to experience that same special relationship with her, until the end. When Nan died on May 28, 1986, my mother had the peace of forgiveness in her heart.

 

So on January 28, the anniversary of the Challenger Explosion, I pay tribute to the seven astronauts who sacrificed their lives. I also pay tribute to my Nan who showered me with love my entire life and who showed compassion, love  and forgiveness to my mother when she needed it the most,and to my mother for allowing me to have a lifetime of precious memories with my Nan, through her love.

 

These memories are a treasure.

 

What memories do you have that you pay tribute to? Do you have memories triggered by historical events?

 

 

I‘d love to hear from you. Please leave your comments below~

 

 

 

 

Announcement: Congratulations, Jayne Martin! Your name was selected in a random drawing of commenters to receive Bridget Whelan’s  book, Back to Creative Writing  School.

 

 

 

Next Week: Monday 2/03/14:  Therapeutic Musician Robin Gaiser will share “How Music Led Me to Memoir Writing.”