Tag Archives: empathy

Hopeless/ful

It’s been a year since I wrote anything. Writing is an act of faith. It requires belief that engaging and interacting has meaning; that it serves a purpose. It requires hope. Hope is something I’ve struggled to hold onto over the last year; crowded out by violence, division, hate, and a pervasive feeling that everything has gone wrong.

But here I am. Writing again.

The world is arguably an even bleaker place than it was a year ago. The genocidal actions of the IDF continue; the wealth gap grows ever larger; fossil fuel companies continue to make eye watering profits, further enhanced by war; biodiversity is falling as we live through the sixth mass extinction; the chance of staying below 1.5C of warming gets ever smaller; health and social care are failing people everywhere; the basics of life are more expensive and more children are living in poverty; fascism is on the rise; and every week brings a new reason to fear an apocalypse.

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Salt water

A non-exhaustive list of things that have made me cry this week:

At the margins

There is a great tradition of healthcare professionals working as volunteers, both at home and abroad, and this is highlighted and celebrated by the BMA Doctors as Volunteers competition. I entered a poster this year, and was very pleased to be chosen as one of the two winners. Euston foodbank, where I volunteer, will be putting the £850 prize money to good use, ensuring our foodbank is welcoming, and purchasing essential equipment and stock. 

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The LCP is dead: long live the LCP

Last weekend I was on call in hospital and cared for George,* a patient who was entering the last stages of life. George was no longer conscious so the Consultant and I spoke to his family, discussing which interventions to continue and which we felt were no longer benefiting him. Later in the day I reviewed George and found that he had developed respiratory secretions and was in some distress. I stopped his intravenous fluids, prescribed medications to treat his symptoms and reached for the Liverpool Care Pathway. And then I stopped. In the context of the recent press coverage and the LCP review what should I do?

hold hands guardian image

Image from The Guardian

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What’s in a name?

At work recently I felt like a broken record. “What’s their name?” I said again and again with increasing frustration as I received calls about patients who were referred to as “bed 3,” “side room 1,” and “bed 9.”

Of course, at times it is convenient and even desirable to omit a patient’s name in a conversation. It was suggested on Twitter that it may be better to overhear what ‘bed 9’ needs rather than ‘John Doe is ready for his haemorrhoidectomy,’ and in this case I agree! My worry is that in most cases there is no explicit intent to maintain confidentiality. Instead the convenience of referring to people by their bed number slips into routine communication. I have certainly been guilty of this myself. I worry that this is not merely disrespectful, but that it contributes to the dehumanising experience of being a patient, and negatively impacts on the doctor-patient relationship.

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A Grief Encounter

Last week was particularly stressful; marked by staff shortages, anguished relatives, conflict over complex discharge processes, and pressure to create beds. The amount of time I spent with each patient on my ward rounds was less that what I, or they, would have wanted but despite coming in early and leaving late there are only so many hours in a day. In weeks like these I often feel guilty as I leave work that I am unable to give more time to those patients and relatives facing the end of life.

More than many other people I know, I am acutely aware of the fragility of life.

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