Sometimes these days, with the dominant biomedical model of health and illness it can seem like people don’t actually matter. The individual stories of patients are dismissed as anecdotes and treatments are divided into one of two categories “proven” or “unproven” on the basis of statistical analyses of clinical trials (experiments on pre-selected groups of volunteers). The implication is that what works in health care is the intervention, be that a drug or a surgical procedure. Who the patient is, and who the doctor is, seems to be of secondary, or, sadly frequently, of no importance at all.
Yet, if you are ever unwell, I bet it matters to you who you consult and how they behave. I think we all want to consult a doctor who, frankly, gives a damn! I know I do. How many of us would seek a health care system based on dispensing machines which dole out drugs after you input your symptoms?
Amazingly, this idea of the importance of the person in medicine is having to be fought for. So, it was with great interest that I read a review of a book in the BMJ this week. The book is “When Doctors become Patients” by Robert Klitzman (ISBN 978 0 19 532767 0). The author is a psychiatrist who became depressed and was so shaken by his experience of becoming a patient that he set about interviewing other doctors who had become patients too.
Time and again Klitzman found that becoming a patient transformed the doctors’ views (and of practice) of medicine.
Non-specific complaints, side effects such as weight gain and fatigue, fear, humiliation, and spirituality acquired new significance. Struggling to adhere to burdensome schedules, they became less draconian about poor adherence to treatment. In presenting medical information, they became aware of the importance of framing the information sensitively.
I guess this is not a surprise. You’d expect experience to change your views. However, you’ll probably find it more than a little shocking that the doctors needed the illness experience to figure this stuff out. We’re clearly missing something in medical education.
The phrase that really hit me between the eyes though was this –
In choosing their own doctor, most interviewees preferred bedside manner over technical skill.
It’s what I’ve always felt personally. I’ve always felt that what’s really important is that you find a person who cares, listens and puts your interests at the heart of the consultation. I take the technical skill bit as kind of a given. ALL doctors should have the technical skills they need to do the job and the processes of continuing education, annual appraisal and the coming revalidation procedures of the General Medical Council are all designed to ensure that. But what about the human bit? What about the importance of the person? We need to make this case more clearly. Too often, the technical skills are attended to, and then we stop.
Finally, the BMJ reviewer concludes –
Klitzman, like Gawande and Groopman, is part of a contemporary group of reflective doctors who, through their writings, contribute to the less palpable but nevertheless crucial moral, social, and experiential dimensions of medicine.
We need more of this. Maybe we are building a body of knowledge and opinion but we’re sadly lacking in the areas of research into the “experiential dimensions of medicine” and in providing medical education which considers this as of equal importance to the knowledge of drugs, trials and the technical skills required to do surgical procedures.
