It’s Not What You Say

“Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it.”

J.K. Rowling

Growing up, my mom would often sound like a broken record, reminding us for the thousandth time that “It’s not what you say. It’s how you say it”. Of course we would roll our eyes and go on with whatever we were doing, as this was a nearly every day occurrence. Now that I have begun to see patients in the hospital as part of the medical team, this phrase has taken on new meaning.

Communication is such an important part of what we do. We interact with numerous people daily as we see new patients, meet new team members who often come and go, and work together to provide the best care for each patient. That communication looks different when I’m meeting a new patient than when I’m presenting what I learn about my patient to the team. I like to pride myself in my ability to be able to talk to pretty much anyone, but this is a difficult skill and I have lots of room to grow.

It’s difficult to determine how I can best help my patient when they are unable to or decline to answer questions I ask about how they are feeling. Many patients I’ve met recently have had surgery, a tracheostomy, or experienced impaired thinking for a multitude of reasons. As much as I feel stuck when patients are unable to respond or my typical interview tools don’t work, I can only imagine how frustrating it must be to those who want to speak so badly but can’t. Thankfully, most if not all have access to a white board so they can write out what they need or can respond to some of the team’s questions there. It might take longer, but the care shown by meeting patients where they are is invaluable.

These individuals can so easily become overlooked, it’s up to us to give them a voice and pay attention. I might feel awkward presenting to new attending physicians or that I don’t have much to contribute, but I can help with the little things like filling a glass with water, trying to find a missing TV remote, or informing the patient’s nurse that they were experiencing pain and may need another dose of medication. If I can help patients feel heard and understood, at the end of the day that’s what really matters. Then I’ll have done my job.