I read this article shared by the Foundation for Excellence in Mental Health Care. It's written by Murad Moosa Khan.
To me, it's about the healing power of stories, sharing and truth-telling. It's about the power of witnessing. Donna Jackson Nakazawa writes beautifully about the healing power of listening, in general and in particular about being asked about ACEs.
But still, there's so much fear about asking people about ACEs, hesitation and worry and anxiety about if or how to do so. There's worry that it will upset or harm people. There's worry about what to do with whatever is shared.
But listening is doing. Being heard is healthful. It doesn't mean there's not more to do, as well. It doesn't mean that it's not hard or means knowing or being reminded of grief, trauma, tragedy and injustice. But listening is an action, a healing one that can bring comfort.
It's not as though not asking and not listening is benign - as this article shows. Because what's done, often for years, in the absence of listening can be ineffective or harmful.
Not asking. Not hearing. Not knowing. Not listening. Those things are all actions as well and they also have consequences.
There is a wonderful aphorism in medicine: “Listen, listen, listen. The patient is telling you the diagnosis.” This has been all but lost in this cacophonic age of instant communication and multi-tasking, an age where physicians neither have the time nor the ability to listen to patients’ stories. It is much easier and safer to hide behind the sacred pages of the DSM manual and ICD codes, to diagnose a condition such as ‘major depression’ and prescribe medications for it. .
Is that what the patients want as well?
Actually, many do not want the prescriptions, and for many the medicines will not work anyway. Many want their stories to be heard. They want to be listened to and understood, and for physicians to help them come to terms with their fears and apprehensions, their guilt and trauma, their pain and suffering.Many want us to practice slow medicine.
As she and her husband (whom I had called back in the room to explain what may he happening and how we need to address the problem) gathered their papers and got up to leave, I caught her eyes again. She gave me a brief smile.
It was at that moment I knew I had made a connection with the troubled lady with a weight upon her heart….
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