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Archive for May, 2007

Meaning-full Disease. Brian Broom
ISBN 978-1-85575-463-8

I read a reference to Brian Broom’s work in “Why Do People Get Ill?“, and like that book, his “Meaning-full Disease” should go on every doctor and would-be doctor’s reading list – not just on their shelves, but in their active reading list. Professor Broom leads the post-graduate programme in MindBody Healthcare at Auckland University of Technology and works as a physician specialising in allergies and clinical immunology, a psychotherapist and a mindbody specialist in Christchurch. That tells you something about what you might expect from this book. His main area of interest is psychosomatic disease. This is a term which has fallen out of favour and come to mean illnesses without any associated physical disease. However, it is making a comeback thanks to work like this and Leader and Corfield‘s work amongst others. It is particularly making a comeback because of its focus on the links between the body and the mind in illnesses where there are significant pathological changes to be found.
Broom explores the truly fascinating observations that patients’ physical diseases are often best understood by uncovering the meanings that their illnesses have for them. He pleas for a more holistic, more humane practice of medicine by placing the scientific world view in its rightful place – not as the bearer of all truth, but as a subset of experience.

“the lifeworld is a rich, multidimensional, experienced reality of which the scientific world is a part-representation, a reduction, or an abstraction.”

He sets out a powerful argument for seeing both subjective and objective experience as different manifestations of an underlying unified phenomenon, referring to both phenomenologists such as Merleau-Ponty and Husserl, and Japanese writers, Yasua and Ichikowa (the latter he quotes as saying “my ‘object-body’ and my ‘subject-body’ are inseparably united in their deeper layer, and cannot be separated clearly and decisively, except through intellectual abstraction”. I particularly enjoyed his reflections on this so-called divide between objective and subjective where he says to touch your left hand with your right – as you do this you experience you left hand objectively and in the same moment subjectively your left hand feels touched. He goes on to muse about the position of hands pressed together in prayer which similarly dissolves the barriers between subjective and objective. A lovely image and a nice way to get us thinking about these two ways of experiencing the world.
There is much more to illness than the biomedical model elucidates for us. This in no way devalues the model which is still a powerful way to not only conceptualise disease but to treat it, but trying to understand a person’s whole experience by seeking what lies behind the pathology requires quite other skills which doctors are sadly not so strongly encouraged to acquire. One of the best passages in Professor Broom’s book is where he describes the process of his work moving back and forth in a consultation between the “thing of the illness and it’s meaning”. Sounds like how a consultation should be.

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Richard Horton has written an excellent review of “How Doctors Think” by Jerome Groopman here.

The main point he makes is that doctors make mistakes primarily because of failures in the ways they think.

Good doctoring is about listening and observing,
establishing a trusting environment for the patient, displaying
authentic empathy, and using one’s skills and knowledge to deliver
superb care. But a neglected aspect of this professionalism is getting
doctors to think about their own thinking. Only by doing so are doctors
likely to reduce the number of errors they make. What should they do?

Here’s a summary of his recommendations in answer to that question –

  • Encourage patients to tell and retell their stories. “a critical element of any mutually respectful therapeutic partnership
    that the doctor acknowledges the patient’s version of the truth of his
    or her story.”
  • Slow down. “The more time a doctor takes, the fewer cognitive errors he will make”
  • Once a decision is made, always retain an element of doubt.

None of these recommendations is in tune with current medical thinking. Doctors are encouraged to make diagnoses on the basis of the results of investigations. The art of listening to a patient’s story to make a good diagnosis even before a physical examination and any tests are run has receded as doctors are increasingly encouraged to treat patients according to protocols and guidelines created on the basis of statistical analyses of what’s measurable (stories are dismissed as anecdotes and unreliable subjectivity). Rather than slow down, health authorities around the world push doctors to see more and more patients more and more quickly. And doubt? Still, young doctors are encouraged to be certain and to believe in the rightness of their decisions. Retaining a healthy amount of doubt would make doctors more humble and more able to recognise when they are not getting it right after all.

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A healthy being has certain qualities or characteristics. Health is much more than the absence of disease. Health is a positive phenomenon in its own right. How can you know if you are healthy? And how can you increase your health?

Adaptation. How are you coping with change? Nothing stays the same. No two days are the same. Sometimes we feel stuck but always our bodies, our minds and the environments in which we live are changing. Change is the reality of life. When we are healthy we cope with change. We adapt. I was once invited to teach in Santa Fe, and flew to Albuquerue from Edinburgh arriving late at night. My host, a doctor colleague, picked me up and took me to his house about 10pm. I went to bed and fell asleep only to wake about 4 hours later gasping for breath. Alarmed I wakened my host saying “I think I’ve developed asthma!”. “Don’t be silly,” he said, “We’re 7,000 feet up here. You’ve come from sea level. It’s the altitude.” By the next afternoon I was breathing completely normally. I had adapted. A healthy organsim adapts. Whether the changes in your life are physical, emotional or social, coping is a fundamental part of health.
Creativity. Human beings don’t just cope by maintaining some kind of status quo however. We continuously grow and develop. Physically and psychologically. Creativity is the ability to both express yourself and to make something new. In biological terms we use the word “emergence”. This is the word coined to capture the idea that things change in a growing system so that new behaviours and new phenomena appear (usually unexpectedly). The abilities to solve problems with new solutions, to express ourselves and to continuously make our lives new is also a fundamental part of health. An organism that is not growing and developing is dying. Think of your house plants for example!
Engagement. “No man is an island.” We all exist within multiple environments – geographical, social, cultural and so on. It is actually impossible to consider someone fully without situating them in the world. In fact, there is a kind of paradox at the heart of all our lives. We need to be separate, unique (we even have a whole immune system dedicated to recognising what is not us and keeping it out!), but we also need to be connected, to love and be loved, to share. Depression is a real black hole. It sucks everything of life inwards and cuts us off from others and from the world. A healthy person is engaged with the world, interacting, loving and being loved.

So, there’s my three criteria. If you want to know how healthy you are check yourself out against them. How are you coping? How are you growing? and How are you connecting?

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When you feel ill, you want to try and figure out what’s going on. If it’s not something simple and obvious then you might need to go and consult a doctor. It’s likely the doctor will ask some questions. These questions are not random. The doctor has been trained to ask them. In fact, the doctor will have a lot more questions in his or her head than the ones you are actually asked. It’s these “back questions” that interest me. The ones running continuously through the doctor’s mind which form the basis of the whole consultation.
Doctors are trained to think about illness in a particular way. The thinking model is known as the “biomedical model”. The biomedical “back question” is this –

“What is the diagnosis?”

By diagnosis, we mean, what is this disease? Of course, there are other “back questions” which become more important once the diagnosis is made – “What action do I need to take?” and “What’s the prognosis?” for example. However, those questions are completely dependent on the answer to “what is the diagnosis?”. In the biomedical model, the diagnosis is the identification and naming of the disease. Once that’s done, the treatments are applied with expectations wholly informed by the doctor’s understanding of disease.
But disease is only part of the problem. You don’t feel diseased, you feel ill. Illness involves both the disease and the person who has the disease. Illness is the whole experience of your suffering. We are not machines and no two of us are identical. If a doctor wants to more effectively treat a patient they should use a different model from the “biomedical” one. They need a model which helps them understand the person who has the disease. This other model has been given many names but let’s use the one “holistic”. To understand the whole of a person’s illness the doctor needs to have different “back questions”.
I think to do this a doctor needs to use these four key “back questions”

  1. “What’s this person’s experience?” – the doctor needs to hear your story including a good clear description of what you are feeling, what sensations you have been experiencing, when you’ve had these sensations and in what circumstances. Your experience of illness is subjective. Nobody else can experience the pain, or nausea, or breathlessness, or distress, or whatever it is that you are experiencing. The doctor can only try to understand what your subjective experience is by enabling you to tell your story.
  2. “What kind of world does this person live in?” – we all experience the world differently. We pay attention to different aspects of life and we are affected differently by them. To understand who the person is who has this illness, the doctor needs to know what you are affected by, what’s important to you and how you experience the world.
  3. “How does this person cope?” – we all have different coping strategies. Some cope by retreating, hiding away, shutting down, whilst others cope by crying for help, needing company and support. There are many other patterns but if the doctor is going to figure out how best to help you he or she needs to find the treatments that will work best with your particular coping strategies.
  4. “What sense does this person make of this?” – we are meaning-seeking creatures. We always want to make sense of our lives. Why has this happened to me? Have I done something wrong? Is it because of my diet, or a bug that’s infected me, or my genes, or is it God punishing me? The sense we make of our illness may not only influence our chances of recovery but can actually determine the prognosis.

If these four “back questions” continuously run through the doctor’s mind, the question “what is the diagnosis?” will fall into place, not as THE important question, but as AN important question. The disease can still be named, but it will now be understood within the context of the person who has the disease. Only then will this individual, will YOU, get the most appropriate help to restore your health.

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Breaking and Entering is the new film by Anthony Minghella. I watched it on the plane last night on the way home and it completely grabbed me and reduced me to tears that took ages to stop. It’s Juliette Binoche’s acting that does it for me. I think she is SUCH an amazing actor. There are two scenes that really, really moved me and they both involved her. One is where she begs the Jude Law character for help. Begs desperately, hysterically. And the other is a very quiet scene towards the end where in response to his courageous act of kindness she looks at him, with an intensity that transfixes you, and then a tear appears from the corner of her right eye and slides down the side of her face. Oh, that did it! I started right there and didn’t stop, right through the credits which roll to the soundtrack of a beautiful piece by Sigur Ros that seems to hold you in that intensity of emotion, holds you steady, till you think this feeling, this upset, can’t go on any longer then it increases. Heart-rending.

Here’s the trailer

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There’s an interview with David Lynch in this month’s AirFrance inflight magazine. In response the question “What kind of human being are you?” (I know, strange question!!), he replies

I’ve been practicing transcendental meditation for 33 years and it’s given me a profound love for the world and for life. It may sound slightly jarring, or seem a little out there to you, but I’m optimistic because I feel that humanity is growing more aware. I sense that a genuine dynamic for peace is emerging, and I’d like to convince people of the power that they have within themselves, of all the energy, the love, the fullness we have inside.

Well, David, what a delight to read that! That’s what this blog is all about. I hope some of these posts will contribute to that growing awareness that turns us from zombies into heroes.

He’s right you know, you DO have amazing powers of energy and love inside. Using them to grow, to connect and to create, is, I think, what life is about.

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Harry Eyres’ column in the Weekend FT this weekend was about colour vs black and white photography. He was making the point that he had always preferred to work with black and white, but when he printed some old colour slides of his father’s he found the colour made the photographs much more emotional. This is an interesting observation and I think it happened for him because the slides were about family, specifically about his last holiday with his grandfather. Our visual memories always seem to be in colour, don’t they? So colour photos, personal colour photos, can much more powerfully reconnect us to strong, emotional memories.

I think colour memories also begin to produce largely subconscious general responses to particular colours. I read this article while waiting for a connecting flight to Edinburgh in Charles de Gaulle airport this morning. The amazing thing for me is that the particular colour photos Harry Eyres was writing about were taken around Tain and Dornoch, exactly where I spent a few days with friends at the end of the previous week. My friends are South African and commented on how the colours of the north of Scotland were so reminiscent of the colours of Africa for them – until we came across the gorse in bloom. That incredible yellow is utterly Scotland for me, especially next to blues and browns. Later in the year when the heather comes into bloom it’ll be the shades of purple which will do exactly the same for me.

So that got me thinking (surprised?)……

  1. If memories are usually in colour, why do many people say they don’t usually dream in colour? (I always dream in colour!)
  2. Which colours create which emotions for you? (I know that psychologists have ascertained common colour influences but what about your personal responses?)
  3. Yet again, I am struck by synchronicity. What are the chances that first of all, Harry Eyres would have been to that particular part of Scotland and the photos from that very holiday were the ones which stimulated him to write this particular piece? And secondly, what are the chances I would read it? (I don’t buy the FT, just happened to be one in the airport lounge). And, thirdly, what are the chances that I would have just taken photos in that very same part of the world mentioned in the article?

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footprint, originally uploaded by bobsee.

I took this photo last week up in the North of Scotland. I don’t know whose footprint it is but it reminded me why I started blogging. I think it’s important to remember that we don’t go through life without leaving footprints, without making impressions. But we don’t think about that as we live the average day. It’s not possible to live without making impacts on the world and on the other people who share it with us.

This is not a “carbon footprint” but it does make me think about that whole issue – how we change the world by just living in it.

You know, I think life is better when we raise our awareness of living, and that means noticing BOTH the way we are affected by the world AND the way the world is affected by us.
What kinds of footprints did you leave today? On the physical world? And on other people? Remember Yeats’ poem?

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

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Stirling Castle and Wallace Monument, originally uploaded by bobsee.

What does it mean to live in a place with a castle? I was born in Stirling, Scotland, and now, after a few years living in Edinburgh, I live in Stirling again.
The town of Stirling grew up around the castle and in my opinion it’s the loveliest castle in Scotland. I do like many other castles but for different reasons. There’s something of real beauty about this castle and the fact it’s not a ruin somehow gives it continuing power over the town and countryside around it. It has lovely gardens inside the castle walls and that’s one of its most unique features.
For me, this castle, which I see every day (unless I’m away on a trip), gives a sense of history, of roots, of durability, of strength and of constancy.
I BELONG here. I feel a sense of home that somehow stretches way back to long before I was born here.
For some people a castle is scary. They think of ghosts, or of soldiers, and, sure, there have been many soldiers in Stirling Castle over the centuries and there may well be ghosts (but I don’t know anyone whose ever seen one there!) Stirling Castle isn’t scary for me. I draw strength from it, power from it, a sense of reassuring calm from it.
If you look carefully you can see Wallace Monument behind the castle. It’s a powerful symbol of this area too but it doesn’t have the same impact as the castle for me.
I realise as I write this that our experience of our lived environments is complex, affected by both personal and collective histories. For every one of us a physical structure (like Stirling Castle for me) not only influences how we feel but we interact with it, imbuing it with our own views, our own perceptions, our own stories.
What physical structures influence you?

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On the plane to Tokyo I watched three movies. The best one (the one I’ll buy on DVD to watch again and again) was “Stranger than Fiction”. One of my all-time favourite end of movie voice-overs is Kevin Spacey in “American Beauty”. I play that end scene frequently and it gets me every single time. Well, at the end of Stranger than Fiction we hear Emma Thomson as Kay Eiffel saying this –

As Harold took a bite of Bavarian sugar cookie, he finally felt as if everything was going to be ok. Sometimes, when we lose ourselves in fear and despair, in routine and constancy, in hopelessness and tragedy, we can thank God for Bavarian sugar cookies. And, fortunately, when there aren’t any cookies, we can still find reassurance in a familiar hand on our skin, or a kind and loving gesture, or subtle encouragement, or a loving embrace, or an offer of comfort, not to mention hospital gurneys and nose plugs, an uneaten Danish, soft-spoken secrets, and Fender Stratocasters, and maybe the occasional piece of fiction. And we must remember that all these things, the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties, which we assume only accessorize our days, are effective for a much larger and nobler cause. They are here to save our lives. I know the idea seems strange, but I also know that it just so happens to be true. And, so it was, a wristwatch saved Harold Crick.

Kay is an author whose voice Harold (played by Will Ferrell) hears in his head. Hearing voices that nobody else can hear is usually regarded a sign of mental illness but Harold refuses to believe that. The voice is clearly narrating his life as if he is the main character in a novel. That would be disturbing in itself but when the narrator makes it clear she is about to kill off her main character Harold decides he has to find her and persuade her to change the ending – he doesn’t want to die yet! It’s a clever movie based on a really interesting idea. After all, aren’t we all the main characters in the stories of our lives? Where do the stories of our lives come from? Are we both author and reader as we create a sense of self? I think so!

There’s a good scene where he goes to consult a psychiatrist who diagnoses schizophrenia but when he declines medication and asks for an alternative solution she sends him to a Professor of English Literature (played by Dustin Hoffman). I love that this is the character who helps him make sense of this problem rather than a doctor who prescribes drugs. This is a scene I think I’ll use when teaching medical students.

A big added bonus is the character Harold falls in love with, Ana Pascal, played by the wonderful, always interesting Maggie Gyllenhaal. She plays unusual, challenging quirky characters so well. Did you ever see “Secretary“? Probably one of the worst packaged DVDs I’ve ever bought – terrible cover! It’s actually one of the most challenging movies about relationships and sexuality you’re ever likely to see.

So does Harold die at the end of the movie? Dustin Hoffman makes it quite clear the novel is great with the ending which kills Harold off (and tries, successfully, to persuade Harold, that’s that how it should be left), but, he argues with the author, that with a different ending the novel would be just ordinary. What do you think of that? Is it the ending that makes a novel great? Reminds me of that Penguin project Amy blogged about.

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