The Individuality of Illness and The Doctor as an Individual.

Reflections on the essay “Doctor, Talk to Me,” by Anotole Broyard.

Greatness. It is a requirement of the practice. No patient is looking to be underwhelmed in their dark hour of need. As Anatole Broyard explains, “Every patient invites the doctor to combine the role of the priest, the philosopher, the poet, the scholar.”

A patient’s minimum expectation of a doctor is that they will practice medicine properly. We expect, many times, a hero. “My ideal doctor would be my Virgil, leading me through my purgatory or inferno, pointing out the sights as we go…He would see the genius of my illness. He would mingle his daemon with mine; we would wrestle with my fate together.”

We share things with doctors that we don’t always share with others in our lives. It is a protected relationship. Protected by the hippocratic oath, doctor-patient confidentiality, and we hope protected from judgement. We trust our doctor with not only information but to know what to do with that information. To put it all together based on the mangled information given. Further, we trust them to join us in our journey and lead us from this danger. Perhaps we expect more from them because deep down we know that healing is not only a matter of the body. After all, “the physician is the patient’s only familiar in [the] foreign country” that is our illness.

“Since technology deprives me of the intimacy of my illness, makes it not mine but something that belongs to science, I wish my doctor could somehow restore it to me and make it personal again.” A robot could read off test results. But a connection, a camaraderie would certainly take the sting out of what may be the most frightening moment of your life. Words delivered that will forever be immortalized in the story of your life.

“Each man is ill in his own way,” just as each doctor practices in his own way. When confronting a serious, long lasting illness or facing a traumatic injury, we expect our doctor to be much more than a good doctor. We expect greatness. We expect to trust the eyes we’re looking into for they may be the last we see.

My husband, because of his specialty, will be the last person some people ever see. I take comfort in knowing he is one of the great men out there who happens to be a doctor. I take comfort in the fact that he won’t be robotic in that moment. I even take comfort in knowing that his hands are always warm. I’m not assured that he will be the last person on earth that I see but I take comfort in knowing there are many doctors out there who wouldn’t let me feel alone in my last seconds.

Yes, I’m Walking in Alone – No Sympathy Needed

We’ve all walked into a gathering/party/restaurant without DrH and heard “D’aw, your husband couldn’t make it?”

It takes an independent woman to go to get-togethers alone. You take a deep breath as you step out of the car and prepare to answer questions on your other half’s behalf. It never fails. That door swings open and you don’t even get a full hug without hearing what a bummer it is that DrH isn’t with you.

It’s not just the fact that the evening starts on a “glass is half empty” mentality, it’s that people always make it seem as though you’re being neglected. I signed up for this journey in pre-med. I knew what was coming. It isn’t neglect when he would be there (and would prefer to be) were he not providing for our home whilst saving lives!

There is no way to stop this from happening in social settings. People care and they feel that it’s polite to give you a little extra attention on the subject. No real harm done. The real purpose of this post is to give you a 2 second high next time you’re out with the other doctors solo. That hug is finished. You may even get to tell them how your week is going before DrH even comes up. Chances are, they know exactly what rotation he is on, who his attending is, and what the rest of that month may look like for him. No questioning needed. No sympathy needed.

This Blog

This blog is directed towards the brave & independent individuals who are labeled: Doctor’s Wife/Doctor’s Husband. It is meant to make you laugh, offer some fresh perspectives, and make you think, “Me too!” 

Perhaps a doctor or two will stumble upon these entries, “Welcome, I hope scrolling through can help you see that your spouse is not alone in their feelings and offer a new perspective on life as your spouse. Please keep in mind as you read that the work you do is respected and very much appreciated.”

For those of you visiting for entertainment because Grey’s Anatomy isn’t new this week, “Welcome, you will find entertainment here but I hope you leave with a better understanding of what it means to be the spouse of a doctor. It’s not glamorous, it’s hard. It’s a long road. It’s extremely lonely at times. My hope for you, if not one other thing, is that you will leave this site never uttering the words “Lucky you, you married a doctor.” It’s not that we aren’t lucky. It makes assumptions about why I married the love of my life. It implies that life has been and always will be easy. And most importantly, it forces us to either go on a rant or give you a politically correct (amazingly genuine-looking) fake smile because you just socially bitch slapped me and today has been too difficult to argue with your misconceptions (shall we consider that my first rant?).