Studies have shown it takes a physician about 18 seconds to interrupt a patient after they begin talking.
It was Sunday. I had one last patient to see. I approached her room in a hurry and stood at the doorway. She was an older woman, sitting at the edge of the bed, struggling to put socks on her swollen feet. I crossed the threshold, spoke quickly to the nurse, scanned her chart noting she was in stable condition. I was almost in the clear.
I leaned on the bedrail looking down at her. She asked if I could help put on her socks. Instead, I launched into a monologue that went
something like this: “How are you feeling? Your sugars and blood pressure were high but they’re better today. The nurse mentioned you’re anxious to see your son who’s visiting you today. It’s nice to have family visit from far away. I bet you really look forward to seeing him.”
She stopped me with a stern, authoritative voice. “Sit down, doctor. This is my story, not your story.”
I was surprised and embarrassed. I sat down. I helped her with the socks. She began to tell me that her only son lived around the corner from her, but she had not seen him in five years. She believed that the stress of this contributed greatly to her health problems. After
hearing her story and putting on her socks, I asked if there was anything else I could do for her. She shook her head no and smiled. All she wanted me to do was to listen.
Each story is different. Some are detailed; others are vague. Some have a beginning, middle and end. Others wander without a clear conclusion. Some are true; others not. Yet all those things do not really matter. What matters to the storyteller is that the story is heard – without interruption, assumption or judgment.
Listening to someone’s story costs less than expensive diagnostic testing but is key to healing and diagnosis.
I often thought of what that woman taught me, and I reminded myself of the importance of stopping, sitting down and truly listening.
And, not long after, in an unexpected twist, I became the patient, with a diagnosis of multiple sclerosis at age 31. Now, 20 years later, I sit all the time – in a wheelchair.
For as long as I could, I continued to see patients from my chair, but I had to resign when my hands were affected. I still teach med students and other health care professionals, but now from the perspective of physician and patient.
I tell them I believe in the power of listening. I tell them I know firsthand that immeasurable healing takes place within me when someone
stops, sits down and listens to my story.
研究证明，医患开始交谈后，医生会在大概18秒后打断病人的谈话。
那是一个周日，我要去见最后一位病人。我匆匆忙忙地走向她的病房，站到了门口。病人是位老妇人，此时她正坐在床沿上努力为自己浮肿的双脚穿上袜子。我跨进屋，快速和护士进行了交流，然后看了看病人的病历表。根据表格上的记录，她目前状况稳定。一套程序下来，我几乎没遇到什么困难。
我倚在床栏上低头看着她。她问我是否可以帮她把袜子穿上，我没有回答，而是自顾自地说起来：“你感觉怎么样？你的血糖和血压以前有点高，不过今天好多了。你的儿子今天要来看你，护士说你非常想见他。有家人远道来看望自己真是不错。我相
信你真的很渴望见到他。”大概就是这类话。
她用一种严厉、命令性的口气将我打断：“大夫，坐下来。这是我的事儿，不是你的。”
我既惊讶又尴尬。我坐了下来，帮她穿袜子。她告诉我，她的独生子就住在她家附近，但她已经有五年没见到儿子了。她相信，这件事给她的压力很大程度上加重了她的病情。听完她的故事并帮她穿上袜子后，我问她，我还能为她做些什么。她摇了摇头表示没有，然后笑了起来。她要让我做的全部事情就是听她讲故事。
每个故事都是不同的。有些故事详细，有些却模糊；有些故事有开始、经过和结果，有些则天马行空，没有明确的结论；有些故事是真实的，而有些不是。不过，这些要素都不是最重要的。对讲述者来说，真正重要的是，这个故事要有人去倾听——不要打断，不要臆断，也不要去评价。
去听别人讲故事比进行昂贵的诊断测试成本低得多，但它却是治疗和诊断的关键。
我经常去琢磨，那个老妇人究竟让我懂得了什么。放下自己的想法，坐下来真诚地倾听，我提醒自己要铭记这样做的重要性。而就在那次会面过去不久后，事情发生了意想不到的大扭转——我被确诊患上了多发性硬化症，成了一名病人。那年我31岁。
如今，20年过去了，我需要一直坐着——坐在轮椅中。
我曾尽自己所能，继续坐在轮椅上去看病人，但当我的双手也出现症状后，我不得不选择退休。如今我仍然为医科学生和其他医疗专业人员上课，但现在不仅仅是站在医生的角度——还有病人的角度。
我跟他们说，我相信倾听是味良药。我告诉他们，我亲身体会到，当有人停下自己的事，坐下来聆听你的故事时，会在你的身体里产生无法估量的治愈力。
It was Sunday. I had one last patient to see. I approached her room in a hurry and stood at the doorway. She was an older woman, sitting at the edge of the bed, struggling to put socks on her swollen feet. I crossed the threshold, spoke quickly to the nurse, scanned her chart noting she was in stable condition. I was almost in the clear.
I leaned on the bedrail looking down at her. She asked if I could help put on her socks. Instead, I launched into a monologue that went
something like this: “How are you feeling? Your sugars and blood pressure were high but they’re better today. The nurse mentioned you’re anxious to see your son who’s visiting you today. It’s nice to have family visit from far away. I bet you really look forward to seeing him.”
She stopped me with a stern, authoritative voice. “Sit down, doctor. This is my story, not your story.”
I was surprised and embarrassed. I sat down. I helped her with the socks. She began to tell me that her only son lived around the corner from her, but she had not seen him in five years. She believed that the stress of this contributed greatly to her health problems. After
hearing her story and putting on her socks, I asked if there was anything else I could do for her. She shook her head no and smiled. All she wanted me to do was to listen.
Each story is different. Some are detailed; others are vague. Some have a beginning, middle and end. Others wander without a clear conclusion. Some are true; others not. Yet all those things do not really matter. What matters to the storyteller is that the story is heard – without interruption, assumption or judgment.
Listening to someone’s story costs less than expensive diagnostic testing but is key to healing and diagnosis.
I often thought of what that woman taught me, and I reminded myself of the importance of stopping, sitting down and truly listening.
And, not long after, in an unexpected twist, I became the patient, with a diagnosis of multiple sclerosis at age 31. Now, 20 years later, I sit all the time – in a wheelchair.
For as long as I could, I continued to see patients from my chair, but I had to resign when my hands were affected. I still teach med students and other health care professionals, but now from the perspective of physician and patient.
I tell them I believe in the power of listening. I tell them I know firsthand that immeasurable healing takes place within me when someone
stops, sits down and listens to my story.
研究证明，医患开始交谈后，医生会在大概18秒后打断病人的谈话。
那是一个周日，我要去见最后一位病人。我匆匆忙忙地走向她的病房，站到了门口。病人是位老妇人，此时她正坐在床沿上努力为自己浮肿的双脚穿上袜子。我跨进屋，快速和护士进行了交流，然后看了看病人的病历表。根据表格上的记录，她目前状况稳定。一套程序下来，我几乎没遇到什么困难。
我倚在床栏上低头看着她。她问我是否可以帮她把袜子穿上，我没有回答，而是自顾自地说起来：“你感觉怎么样？你的血糖和血压以前有点高，不过今天好多了。你的儿子今天要来看你，护士说你非常想见他。有家人远道来看望自己真是不错。我相
信你真的很渴望见到他。”大概就是这类话。
她用一种严厉、命令性的口气将我打断：“大夫，坐下来。这是我的事儿，不是你的。”
我既惊讶又尴尬。我坐了下来，帮她穿袜子。她告诉我，她的独生子就住在她家附近，但她已经有五年没见到儿子了。她相信，这件事给她的压力很大程度上加重了她的病情。听完她的故事并帮她穿上袜子后，我问她，我还能为她做些什么。她摇了摇头表示没有，然后笑了起来。她要让我做的全部事情就是听她讲故事。
每个故事都是不同的。有些故事详细，有些却模糊；有些故事有开始、经过和结果，有些则天马行空，没有明确的结论；有些故事是真实的，而有些不是。不过，这些要素都不是最重要的。对讲述者来说，真正重要的是，这个故事要有人去倾听——不要打断，不要臆断，也不要去评价。
去听别人讲故事比进行昂贵的诊断测试成本低得多，但它却是治疗和诊断的关键。
我经常去琢磨，那个老妇人究竟让我懂得了什么。放下自己的想法，坐下来真诚地倾听，我提醒自己要铭记这样做的重要性。而就在那次会面过去不久后，事情发生了意想不到的大扭转——我被确诊患上了多发性硬化症，成了一名病人。那年我31岁。
如今，20年过去了，我需要一直坐着——坐在轮椅中。
我曾尽自己所能，继续坐在轮椅上去看病人，但当我的双手也出现症状后，我不得不选择退休。如今我仍然为医科学生和其他医疗专业人员上课，但现在不仅仅是站在医生的角度——还有病人的角度。
我跟他们说，我相信倾听是味良药。我告诉他们，我亲身体会到，当有人停下自己的事，坐下来聆听你的故事时，会在你的身体里产生无法估量的治愈力。