The schema of medical training is built around the diagnosis and treatment of illness. But how do we treat patients who are ill but lack a diagnosis? Join the #MedHumChat community as we discuss what it is like to live at the edge of diagnostic medicine.
A very special thank you to the curators of this chat: Brianne Benness (@bennessb) and long-time #MedHumChat participant Ody (@OdyO11), who wishes to remain anonymous.
Brianne Benness: Dear Problem Patients - An open letter to anyone who’s ever felt dismissed by their doctor
“Dear Problem Patients:
I want you to know that I believe you. No matter what is going on with your body or how strange it sounds when you try to explain it, I want you to know that I believe you.
Maybe your friends are pulling away because you keep canceling plans and you don’t have the words to explain why. Maybe your job performance or your studies are suffering because it takes all you have just to keep a healthy-looking face on during the day. Maybe you’ve stopped working entirely because your foggy brain and your tired aching body can no longer perform tasks that used to be easy. Maybe your family thinks you need to stop being so dramatic; maybe they’ve said this to you explicitly or maybe it’s implied when they roll their eyes, when they stop asking you how you’re doing. Maybe your doctor leaned away from you when you brought up your concerns and suggested you see a therapist. Maybe you feel really alone right now. Maybe you’ve been feeling alone for a long time.”
Read the full text HERE (we will be discussing the full piece) or Listen to the video
Anzhelina Polonskaya: Rain (Translated by Andrew Wachtel)
The rain came down all day.
The drops clattered against the iron benches
and Chekhov, ill, sitting on some sort of old-fashioned sofa,
came to mind.
That long day I never got out of bed.
I felt weighed down by the sleeping pill, like a cloud.
There's a limit to everything, it seemed to me.
But love passed and even yearning faded,
like a jackal baring her teeth in anticipation.
In sum, nothing remained — just my room.
The rain poured down it got dark.
And suddenly the whistle of a night train slashed through me
and I started to cry.
Because words can't say it.