When patients write to doctors, and what it means
(ED NOTE: This post is good, and it is nice to hear good things now and then. You know, even in a busy ER, the most uplifting thing a doc could hear, and a thing that invigorate you, was when a patient stared you in the eye, and said a sincere “Thank you”. It is truly priceless)
Where I come from, when most people refer to the Good Book, they are referring to the Bible. This is not true for my father, because to him, the Good Books are something else entirely.
He describes a scene early in his career as a plastic surgeon, when he had taken his doting mother to see his new office. Coincidentally, a lovely thank you note had just arrived from one of his patients. He read it appreciatively and passed it on to my grandmother, so that she could “kvell” over her son the doctor even more, as if that were possible.
His secretary, having a penchant for scrapbooking and noticing the mutual positive reinforcement going on, decided that from that day on, when Dad received a thank you note or letter of appreciation, she would put it in a scrapbook, which he anointed as his “Good Book.” By the time he retired from full time practice at age 75, he had accumulated a series of five very thick Good Books. And he advised me to do the same. He said that when he felt tired or depressed, he would read his Good Books and feel revived.
I’ve never been as organized as my father, who keeps meticulous files on everything that interests him, to this day. Nor, as a young female physician just starting practice in the early 1980’s, did I ever have a secretary that I would dream of asking to “scrapbook” for me, much less bring me a cup of coffee.
But I had many appreciative notes from patients, and I read and treasured each one. I put them in the top drawer of my desk, and would reread them when I came upon them while searching for a highlighter, or a directory of local doctors. And when I left that particular job, or that particular city, or that particular office, I would read them one more time, remember the patients who wrote, and let them slip into the recycle bin. There’s only so much you can take with you, apart from the memories.
Exactly two weeks ago, I received a letter at my office addressed to me personally. The letter originated in Bradenton, FL where I know no one. I did not immediately recognize the name or the return address, but I opened it and read:
Dear Dr. Fielding:
It has been 25 years since I completed treatment by you for stage 4 Hodgkin’s lymphoma. I came to the Leonard Morse Hospital from Turkey with a tumor in my chest. I was treated by Dr. Jao and referred to you for radiation therapy. My treatment included radiation therapy and chemotherapy from November 1987 to October 1988.
I will always remember that when I would meet with you during my radiation therapy I usually felt “lousy.” You would come into the exam room and tell me I looked great. Your positive and caring manner always lifted my spirits and renewed my confidence that I would overcome Hodgkins.
I retired in 1995 and have enjoyed good health and my retirement in Florida. Your caring and medical expertise saved my life and I am forever grateful. I thank you and wish you a happy New Year. Sincerely, RB.
The letter was accompanied by a photograph of my patient and his wife, riding gilded carousel horses on a merry-go-round, hands held high to reach for the golden ring. They appear to be very happy.
I have been thinking a lot lately about retirement myself. There are places I want to go, people I want to see, and things that I want to do while I am still healthy enough to do them. When I got home the evening I received that letter, I showed it to my husband who said, “I bet you won’t want to retire now!”
I thought about it for a minute and said, “No, you are very wrong about that. That letter made me cry, but not because I want to continue to do radiation therapy forever. It made me cry because it made me feel that what I have done since I graduated from medical school in 1978 was worthwhile. That it MEANT something. That I have not wasted my time.”
To my patients who have taken the time to write over the years — you have no idea how much that means to us doctors. To my daughter, struggling through a tough internship year in Boston, and to my medical students — stick with it. Thirty years from now you will be very happy you did, with or without some Good Books of your own.
Miranda Fielding is a radiation oncologist who blogs at The Crab Diaries.