Joshua Lawton, MS3, Class of 2025
With the coming of autumn comes the falling of leaves, a perpetual nuisance to anyone who has had to maintain a lawn. Whenever a leaf falls, it must be raked and bagged and set out by the curb to be picked up and thrown away. When surveying a yard full of colorful leaves, the last thing I think about when raking is bending over, picking up and intently examining a leaf. I am thinking about getting the task ahead of me done. However, to some picking up and studying a single leaf comes second nature. When I was a child, I remember how my grandmother would encourage us to find the most beautiful leaves. We would bring a handful of leaves inside, in reds, oranges and yellows, from oak, birch, mimosa, maple, and more. Then with crayons and printer paper, we would make rubbings of the leaves so we could admire the delicate veins, spidering outwards from the stem. Once we were done, my grandmother would press the leaves flat between the pages of the book so they could dry and be saved. From time to time, she still will find a leaf pressed in a book that she had forgotten.
When I start my day at the hospital, I often look at what has to be done, studies, presentations, practice questions, papers, and, yes, even patients, like that yard full of leaves, a task that needs to be done. I think about getting done with one task so I can do the next task. However, sometimes I need to set the rake down and appreciate a single unique leaf. Especially when it comes to patients, taking time to look and listen can make a difference for the patient and for you, making sure that they are heard and not forgotten. One experience I will never forget is from my internal medicine clerkship. We had one patient, an older, homeless man with metastatic cancer, who was causing us trouble. He would refuse everything. He would refuse treatments for the cancer, daily labs, and palliative care. He would refuse to allow us to coordinate with his brother, so he could have a place to stay. Then he would just be quiet and grumble about the lights and people. Yet, other than the hospital staff, he was entirely alone. We were not sure what to do. However, when I would go see him alone in the morning on my rounds, he would be more friendly and open to labs, treatment, and discussions about his care. I felt a little nudge inside of me saying to go see him. So, one afternoon when I was dismissed early, I went up to his room to see him and just sit and talk to him.
I did not take a notebook or pen but just went myself. He was wearing a shirt with a bright and flashy hot rod depicted in bold colors, so I asked him about it. First, we talked about cars, how he used to fix up cars, and he told me how he always wanted to own an auto shop. Then he opened up, he told me about his childhood growing up on a ranch, how he and his brother were suspended from school once and how their father sent them to trim every fence post on their land to the exact same height as punishment. He told me about his time selling horses on the West Coast and working on a fishing boat up north. He told me about friends who had been in and out of his life. Like the intricacies of veins on a leaf, branching out from the central stem, this man’s life began to unfurl before me. No longer sat before me a frustrating patient, but instead a man with a life full of experiences, deserving, like all people, of respect. Over the next few days, the team was able to work better with him and create a plan of treatment and a place for him to go.
When a leaf falls from a tree, soon it will be blown away in the wind, but for the brief moment that it falls into my hand, I now take a moment, take in its color, pattern, and shapes. I think about where it has been and where it might go. Patients are more than a disease, demographic, or task to be completed. Everyone has a story to tell.
Med Intima 