What matters most

In times of great physical distress, doctors can appear to be some kind of supernatural beings with the power to cure or lessen suffering. In truth, in spite of their highly polished medical skills, doctors are human beings like the rest of us. And humans that they are, doctors are basically susceptible to fatigue and monotony of work.

Busy, overworked doctors have little time to spare for making the patient or his family understand what is going on. The doctors'' scanty words and medical lingo can all the more bewilder an already distraught person. In the process, doctors and patients at times find themselves in an adversarial situation, instead of working closely together as joint participants in a healing process to which each brings special qualities of mind and heart.

I have been witness to this recently as my family is faced with our father''s failing health. We are all in distress: my father is in apparent great discomfort and the rest of the family is in great quandary about what we can do to alleviate his condition. It is perhaps the hope of every patient''s family that doctors don''t lose sight of the whole circle of suffering that needs to be taken care of. The patient is only the one at the center; around him, family and friends are suffering, too.

The other participants in the patient''s illness also look up to the doctor to heal them. The ones on the sides, who can do nothing but helplessly watch their loved one''s suffering, likewise need to be relieved of their anguish or their guilt. Even the doctor himself also needs to be healed from his own obsession to give cure, and come to an important realization that he can give more than mere physical treatment. Some doctors are truly special people, whose sense of duty and compassion remain ever fresh all throughout a most grueling, draining day. They are the real healers. They may not always be able to provide cure for their patients, but they often give those that come under their care a better understanding of their ailments, if not a lasting positive outlook in life.

I know of a young doctor who would spend time just sitting by the bedside of his sickest patients. He would make it all look so natural, perhaps in order not to unduly alarm the patient or the attending family that something had gone terribly wrong. He''d often pretend to be waiting for a lab report or something. He''d talk to the patient, if the patient is conscious, or to family members around.

He would casually draw from the patient or the family not only vital information-but their strength and courage, as well. The time he spends with the patients makes him uncover their deepest need, which most of the time is beyond mere physical relief. Then, the doctor is able to respond in a way that matters most to his patients.

The doctor-patient relationship is a two-way street. Many good doctors attribute their vast knowledge from their patients, citing that the greatest resources in their profession are the people they take care of. Indeed, doctors can learn a lot from their patients. Every new insight they gain from a patient''s condition enhances their own stock knowledge. Doctors who recognize the special bond between them and their patients often become very good healers, not only to their patients but also to themselves.

Every doctor''s obsession to cure is understandable; that''s what his medical training is about. Many doctors have a deep sense of mission about their job, way beyond simply making a living. This trait is so admirable. Sad to say, this mind set can also be so exasperating. A series of unsuccessful medical procedures can certainly make a doctor begin to doubt his own professional competence, even make him feel at fault. Doctors are not God; and the field of medicine is not even an exact science. A treatment that works with one patient may not work with another. One of the resident doctors that regularly come to check on my father doesn''t have a circle of light over her head. But she has compassion in her eyes. And how wonderfully it works. It''s an assurance to the family that we have brought our patient to the right place, where we are not alone in our distress because there is, at least, someone who understands what we are going though. My sister''s little boy, my nephew, has a habit of seeking his mother''s attention by crying and complaining of an ache here or a pain there. No one knows whether the complaints are real or plain imaginary. Nonetheless, the mother has an effective way of treating most of the boy''s pains. She would simply kiss the cited parts, and the pain would magically go away.

I thought the same thing could probably also work with our father. I am not a doctor and don''t know for sure whether such technique has any medical merit. But if I were in the same vaguely conscious state and confined to the bed all day long like our father, it would certainly matter so much to me to know that people care about my suffering.

I would surely want to be talked to kindly by those around me - doctors, family, friends - and my presence acknowledged in some way, so I may know that I continue to exist in their hearts, even in my condition. I''d want to know that they''re interested in my wellbeing. That may not always mean finding a cure to my affliction. Sometimes it can mean getting me ready-helping me to understand and accept what is imminently coming.

Then, at the right time, my passing will be peaceful, and I will not feel cold in my solitary journey because I will have in me the gift of warmth of all those that showed me their compassion during my earthly suffering.

(E-MAIL: modequillo@hot mail.com)