Heroes Not Zombies

This single distinct sunbeam pouring down from under the base of the cloud sitting atop Ben Ledi is beautiful. When I look at it I can’t help but see that it illuminates a particular area of the ground.

On a blue sky day the sunlight illuminates large areas of ground pretty equally but with weather like this where sunbeams drill down through gaps in the clouds we see certain parts, particular areas, more distinctly than the rest.

We do employ these two modes of attention all the time. We have a wide, open attention which takes in the whole scope with a broad brush. And we have narrow focused attention that emphasises certain parts.

I was taught the practice of Medicine in a particular sequence – the story, the physical examination, then the investigations.

Diagnosis begins by paying attention to the whole person, using both these modes to elicit particular aspects of the patient’s story whilst continuously contextualising every element.

I was taught that the bulk of diagnosis would emerge from the story. After that a “relevant” physical examination would allow the potential discovery of certain physical changes in the body. Finally, some tests might be needed to be more sure – blood tests, x rays, scans etc.

We were taught this process in a pretty linear manner. But the idea was that as you gained experience and skill you integrated the various approaches, no longer needing to stick to a rigid, linear sequence.

What I gradually came to realise was that this approach prioritised the subject, not the object. It shone the bright light of understanding on the unique person’s story, on the particulars of their experience and contexts. None of that could be measured.

The accessory elements were those which considered the person’s body as an object, to be examined, probed, observed and measured.

It was all important of course and not hierarchical….each aspect informed the whole, the understanding of the whole person.

The trouble, I think, emerges if we prioritise the object to the exclusion of the subject.

I’ve heard young doctors say they’ve learned “Don’t believe what the patient says. You can only trust the data” (by which they mean the measurements). This strikes me as seriously misguided. If the doctor doesn’t believe what the patient says how can they know them, how can they understand them, and how can they establish trust? In fact how can they even make a good diagnosis?

There’s a danger in putting too much attention onto the physical findings….especially when the physical findings don’t reveal the problem.

So much of what we experience can’t be observed and measured by another – pain, energy, nausea, dizziness, itch, hypersensitivity, emotions, thoughts, values and beliefs.

Only the unique human subject can express those experiences others. And they do that through their story, through their behaviour, and, ultimately through their body.

Funny how we need to pay attention to the invisible to know the human, huh?

You could say “It’s just a cloud”, but that word, “just”, sets up a whole series of limits. It limits the imagination, cutting it off before it gets going. It limits meaning, preferring only the superficial one, and choosing not to dive any deeper. It limits attention, because who is going to linger over anything that is “just” something? Who wouldn’t want to move on and try to find something which is “more”?

So, it’s not “just a cloud” when I look at it.

This cloud has shape and form. It seems to come from a narrow origin point down in the bottom left of the photo, and to swell out rapidly to fill the image’s entire top edge. It has a form like a cone. Or like a river expanding into an estuary. Or it is like a puff of smoke spreading out into the wide blue yonder.

Or it’s a genie……just escaped from a bottle.

I heard that phrase used the other day there, so that’s probably why my mind opened up the possibility of this being a genie. I heard an epidemiologist replying to the question, about covid, “When will this all be over?” (haven’t we all been asking this question again, and again, for many weeks now?) He replied “Once that genie got out of the bottle, there was no putting it back”.

So, that’s that then.

Covid is here to stay.

Or it’s not.

Because, if there is one thing I’ve become ever more sure of during this pandemic, it’s that nobody knows. Nobody is any good at predicting the future.

There’s something else I’ve become sure of during this pandemic. You can’t be sure of anything.

There have been, and continue to be, plenty of people claiming certainty. People claiming they know exactly what to do, what measures to enact, what advice to give. People claiming they know that they are making the best possible decisions based on the best possible science. But then things change again. And it turns out their certainty was misguided, or worse, a pretence.

Does all that sound a bit bleak?

Well, I think it probably does, and there are certainly times during this pandemic where each of us feels somewhat overwhelmed, a bit flattened, a bit done in by it all. Different people have had different challenges, different traumas, different problems to deal with. Some, on the other hand, have profited. Some have cashed in with lucrative contracts. The richest 0.1% have got a lot richer I believe. But that just goes to show, this genie doesn’t have the same effect on every one of us, does it?

But here’s the thing. This genie has made a few things a lot more clear.

It’s clearer now than ever that change is the only constant. The virus has changed, our responses have changed, the pandemic has changed. And that isn’t going to stop. So when the epidemiologist says covid is here to stay, it doesn’t mean life is going to stay this way……because that’s not what life does.

We change too. We adapt, we reflect and re-consider. We make new choices. We can make new choices.

What I see more clearly now than ever is that our societies are vulnerable, our way of life has become precarious, and that we should attend to those failings if we want a healthier, more sustainable, way of life. Just look at who has been hit the hardest by this bug. The elderly, the poor, the disadvantaged, the chronically sick. Is it beyond us to come up with better ways to look after the elderly, to reduce poverty, to address injustice and unfairness, to enable those with chronic ailments to live healthier, stronger lives? Surely not.

Actually a lot of light has been shed on many issues since this genie got out of its bottle.

We’ve learned the value of community, of living locally, of spending more time with family and less time commuting. We’ve discovered some of the joys in the everyday present, some of the wonders and delights of the here and now. We’ve realised how interconnected and interdependent we all are.

We’ve seen and heard countless stories of acts of care, compassion and commitment. Can we build on those? Can we nurture those?

We’ve learned that many of the poorest paid workers are actually “key workers” or “essential workers”. Will we remember that, as the pandemic wanes?

Perhaps more than anything we’ve learned that we human beings are social creatures. We need each other. Relationships and communication are important to us. We’ve learned that when we work together, when we collaborate, rather than competing with, or fighting with, each other, we can achieve some pretty amazing things. Can we build on that? Can we nurture that?

There will be other genies on the way, and we’ll need the same skills, talents and values……care, compassion and collaboration. It strikes me that if we build on those we can create a better, more resilient, more sustainable way of living. Is that possible? What do you think?

A few years ago I was walking through the Southern French town of Bormes les Mimosas and I noticed this little area just outside of a house at the end of a small pathway. It just appealed to me. As I look at it again today, I find it still appeals to me! It’s very simple. There is a small table with two chairs, a pot plant on the table and an old two seat bench just in front of it. The pale blue shutters of a window and a door are standing open and there’s an attractive, irregular, rock wall at the end of the passage. The whole scene is framed by plants giving the area a feeling of nook, hidden away in Nature.

What’s important to me here is the feeling that this scene induces….not the details really. I’m sure every one of us will find particular details appealing and others not so much. But I bet we all have favourite “sweet spots” – particular places we find comfortable, where we can feel content, happy and secure.

I think we all need such sweet spots in our lives.

Where are yours?

Or, if you were to create one, can you describe what it would look like?