What To Do When You Feel Invisible as a Patient
The morning after my double mastectomy, I anxiously looked down at the bandages on my chest. While I expected to be wrapped like a mummy following the surgery, instead, there was merely one large gauze pad on each breast. Nine months earlier, while celebrating my 10-year anniversary being cancer free, I never thought I’d be here. My mind raced:
Had the cancer spread?
What lurked beneath the bandages?
How bad were the scars?
What did my new body look like?
How long would it take to heal?
When would I be cleared to pick up my four-year-old daughter and 18-month-old son again?
My husband sat at the end of my bed prattling on about everything – and nothing in particular. I’m not sure whom he was trying to distract more.
In walked the surgical oncology fellow with an entourage of hyper-attentive medical students and/or residents in tow. Living in the greater Philadelphia area, I was blessed to be within two hours of multiple prestigious university teaching hospitals. I had chosen this facility and my oncological and plastic surgeons after considerable research. While I had met both surgeons during pre-surgery appointments, I had never met this fellow before.
He may or may not have introduced himself to me that morning. If he did, his greeting was cursory, at best. He didn’t acknowledge my husband. Focusing exclusively on his students, he began downloading information from my chart to his students, “42 year-old female diagnosed with recurrence of breast cancer, invasive ductal carcinoma. Post bilateral mastectomy, axillary lymph node dissection, and surgical insertion of tissue expanders. . .”
I waited patiently for the fellow to turn to me, to answer my questions. I wanted him to acknowledge me and my husband, to calm my fears, to recognize my pain, physical, emotional, psychological, to see ME. I would have settled, though, for eye contact and a reassuring nod. Instead, the fellow and the entourage exited as abruptly as they had entered. I looked at my husband in disbelief and then burst into tears.
What happened that morning was inexcusable. Instead of comfort, the interaction left me feeling more vulnerable, confused, and scared. I felt invisible, somehow less than human. The fellow, while undoubtedly under considerable pressure, had a responsibility to his patients. No amount of pressure excuses his behavior. In less than 10 minutes, , he violated at least three tenants of the Modern Hippocratic Oath that he swore to uphold:
“I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's knife or the chemist's drug.”
“I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart, a cancerous growth, but a sick human being, whose illness may affect the person's family and economic stability. My responsibility includes these related problems, if I am to care adequately for the sick.”
“I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.”
His inability to acknowledge the enormity of what those precious few minutes meant to me and my husband bordered on cruelty. Even more troubling to me was what the fellow was teaching those in the entourage. Here, at one of the most renowned teaching hospitals in the country, the next generation of doctors was learning the exact opposite of how to treat patients with dignity, compassion, and humanity.
Make no mistake. I will always give every benefit of the doubt to healthcare providers who strive to connect with and serve their patients with sensitivity and excellence in a healthcare system that is fundamentally flawed. Insurance demands, financial pressures, time constraints, and unprecedented levels of burnout are robbing healthcare providers of their passion for medicine, their dignity, and ability to cope. Let’s not forget, doctors are human. Like all humans, they have good days and bad days. Like other service industry professionals ,especially highly compensated ones, they are held – and must rise – to a higher standard.
Feeling I had little to no power, I did the only thing I could think of. I complained. I complained to my oncology surgeon and his staff. I complained to my plastic surgeon and her staff. I met with someone from Patient Relations. Everyone apologized, my female plastic surgeon the most profusely. Notably, the fellow was under the supervision of my other surgeon. See my previous blog on Why Female Doctors Get Better Results. Eventually, I requested a meeting with the fellow himself.
Please stay tuned for Part 2 of this blog, to hear how my meeting with the fellow went and the many valuable lessons this experience offers for both healthcare professionals and their patients.
