photo credit: fffranz

In September 2021, just three weeks before I stopped seeing patients in the clinic, I wrote in response to a poem titled “Things That Can Be Lost.” I wasn’t consciously thinking about the imminent loss of relationships with my patients. At first, I wrote about my feelings.

“I thought I had lost my anxiety until it returned this week, anxiety about nothing, about everything, free-floating anxiety. I’m mirroring the emotion that’s ratcheting up in the world, in social media. Bubbles have been created by politics and by social isolation during the pandemic. The bridges of kindness are worn down like our infrastructure. They are at risk of being washed away.”

And as I wrote, I thought of Melanie.

“As part of my Narrative Medicine studies, I responded to a recorded interview of Melanie Rowan, an attorney who was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in her 20s. She said she used to pride herself on what she was good at, like memorizing and taking tests. She no longer equated goodness with being good at something. Chronic illness and forced dependence on friends and family changed her values. After diagnosis, she defined goodness as kindness and being a good friend. These were her new accomplishments.”

My focus was about to change, too.

“I was good at diagnoses, picking the right treatment, and getting my patients to trust me. Research shows better outcomes if patients trust their physician.”

My worry for my patients finally emerged in my writing. But so did solace. Writing

“flows up like a wellspring from within, flows easily from fingertips onto the page in ink or onto the screen in Times New Roman.”

And:

“I say two Om’s now before I start my mantra. One Om resonates from my lower abdomen to mid-torso, then another Om from the solar plexus to the throat. I reach a pitch that’s easy for me to hold and carry even when I’m tired. I focus on the song of the mantra. I’ve done it long enough now that it flows without thought. I observe my breath. When my mind wanders, I bring it back. Twice a day, I feel centered, grounded, and relaxed. I’m not trying to get anywhere. It’s just something I do, like brushing my teeth.”

Writing and meditation were my new accomplishments.