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Personal Perspectives

Perspectives from a surgeon turned hospital chaplain

Irwin B Faris

MJA 2000; 172: 389-391

At the end of January 1999, I retired from my chair of surgery to study theology full time as a candidate for ordination. The change from surgery to theology has been an interesting experience, and I have been pleased at how many of my clinician's skills are directly transferable to my new calling (eg, my ability to deal with people and my knowledge of the ways organisations function).

As part of my training in 1999, I undertook a placement in the chaplaincy department of a teaching hospital. I chose this placement quite deliberately for two reasons: it was a hospital where I was unknown, except to some of the surgeons, and it gave me a chance to see a hospital from a totally different perspective from my accustomed one.

 

I believe many doctors would be helped by greater understanding and awareness of the emotional responses of doctor and patient


 
My first impression was how poor were the facilities in many wards. Some wards of special units had been renovated and were quite pleasant and well appointed. Other wards, notably those in the general medical and surgical units, with their high turnover and sick patients, were old and run-down with dingy paintwork and corridors cluttered with equipment. My sense from talking to the staff is that the stresses of working in these wards are considerable, and I could not escape the feeling that patients and staff deserve better in a rich country like ours.

The next step was obtaining permission to visit patients. The medical students I have taught have complained from time to time of being refused permission by ward clerks and nursing staff to visit patients. I now have first-hand experience of this -- one ward clerk insisted on asking each patient if they wanted to be visited by a chaplain (access to the patients was easier on the days she was away). However, in most wards, access to patients was easier, particularly when I became known to the staff. It was particularly rewarding when a nurse would say, "Mr X is looking forward to seeing you" or "Mrs Y has some problems at home she might want to tell you about".

My contact with patients was very enjoyable. I was surprised and delighted at how often and how readily patients would begin to tell me their life story. In my surgical practice, I prided myself on my ability to form a good relationship with my patients, but in this new role communication was on a much deeper level. There may be several explanations. A visit to a specialist, as I then was, can be quite daunting and, despite my best efforts, patients may have felt inhibited from talking openly. Alternatively, they may have believed (quite reasonably) that the detail was irrelevant to the purpose of the visit. Family doctors may have a different perspective, although I would be surprised if the interaction in a standard consultation is as deep as I experienced as a chaplain. I think a third explanation is most likely: in these visits, in contrast to most encounters with medical, nursing or ancillary staff, the patient was much more in control of the situation. There was no agenda (apart from my need to prepare a report for my supervisor), and patients could talk or not talk as they wished. The result was that almost all were happy to talk freely.

Two insights caused me concern because they reflect poorly on our profession. The first was the frequency with which patients would tell me that they did not know what was going on with their treatment. I know the difficulty of communicating with sick patients and their families, particularly in the environment of a teaching hospital, and I know that patients have denied having had detailed explanations of planned procedures even when I have explained them myself. In practical terms, this highlights the need for reinforcement of what patients have been told and for testing of their understanding. It is not always easy to find opportunities for senior staff to talk to patients. It was my habit during the preoperative visit to ask patients if they had any further questions about their procedures. I was generally reassured by a negative response. However, this may have been false comfort if the patient did not understand what was to happen or was afraid to ask. Frequent use of written material given to the patient helped, but I think it would have been better had I directly tested the patient's understanding and provided additional information as needed. Nevertheless, there is another side: many patients take the view that the decision has been made, and the sooner the procedure is carried out the better; it may not be helpful to remind them that the carotid endarterectomy they are about to undergo carries a risk of stroke of about 2%, provided the information has been provided previously.

The second issue, which disturbed me at times, was the frequency with which some chaplains expressed negative views of the medical profession. This may have been part of the syndrome "doctors are bastards, but my doctor is good". However, at times I heard sufficient detail of patients who had been hurt emotionally by their encounters with doctors to cause me concern about both our image and the way some of our colleagues appear to function. Although the patients seen by chaplains often have complex and difficult interactions of physical, emotional and spiritual factors, and are clearly not a random sample of the population, if these "difficult" patients are not being dealt with adequately by the medical profession, then we need to look to ways of improving the situation.

During most of my time in the hospital, my background was unknown to the staff and patients. An exception, and a highlight of my time in the hospital, was when I took part in the teaching session to introduce a new group of medical students to the work of the chaplaincy. The object of the session was to point out the importance of spiritual factors in healing ("making whole"), and to claim on behalf of the chaplains to be the specialists in this area. My ability to talk to the students in familiar language may have enhanced their appreciation of this point of view.

The program of training that I undertook is called Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE). Its aim is to allow non-ordained hospital chaplains and ordination candidates to "develop new awareness of their own humanity and of the needs of those to whom they minister".1 This is now an internationally recognised discipline, which began in the United States in the 1920s. The links with medical teaching go back to its originators, one of whom, Dr Richard Cabot, developed the case-study conference at the Massachusetts General Hospital (S Ames, Clinical Pastoral Educator, Anglican Centre for Clinical Pastoral Education, Melbourne, VIC, personal communication). As currently practised, the major element in CPE is the "verbatim" report, which purports to be a literal report of part of a clinical chaplain-patient encounter. This is written from memory and presented either to the supervisor or to the group, which typically comprises four to six students and two to three supervisors. This report is analysed and discussed in detail, often in a way which confronts students with their own feelings and inadequacies. As far as I can determine, this process has no parallels in medical education, either undergraduate or postgraduate.

At least one aspect of the CPE program might be helpful in medical education and practice. I believe many doctors would be helped by greater understanding and awareness of the emotional responses of doctor and patient, which occur in almost every clinical encounter. As doctors, we are trained to act in a detached, "objective" manner with our patients. This may be a necessary part of clinical decision-making, but I suspect that doctors do respond emotionally to patients, often in ways we do not recognise or admit. Explicit acknowledgment of this would enable greater rapport with patients and their families, especially in times of stress. In addition, greater awareness of, and sensitivity to, the patient's feelings and emotions would probably help improve patients' perceptions of doctors.

There are important lessons from this CPE program for all clinicians concerning communication with patients and families. The first is the need for reinforcement and testing of understanding in situations such as obtaining consent for procedures. The second is the recognition of emotional responses of patients and doctors to clinical encounters. A greater appreciation of these issues would improve the quality of our communication and enhance our image.

Irwin B Faris
MD, FRACS, Deacon, formerly Professor of Surgery
The University of Melbourne
The Geelong Hospital, Geelong, VIC
ifarisATozemail.com.au

Reprints will not be available from the author.
Correspondence: Irwin B Faris, 1 Brendan Court, Highton, VIC 3216.

  1. Association for Supervised Pastoral Education in Australia. Standards for clinical pastoral education, 1995: 2.

©MJA 2000
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