This post is a repeat of my post from October 6, 2023. Today I will be doing a Narrative Medicine workshop to raise funds for Amherst Writers & Artists. See below for dates later in May if you would like to try this format for yourself.
In the almost thirty years that I’ve been associated with my hospital, I’ve had many chances to have meaningful interactions with the Internal Medicine residents that train there. I especially liked having residents rotate through the Ambulatory Palliative Medicine clinic, something many of them had very little experience with.
After I stopped seeing patients altogether, I thought my encounters with the residents were at an end. But when I enrolled in a Certificate Program at Columbia University for Narrative Medicine, I had an opportunity to teach and learn from the residents again. In my third semester, I took a required Pedagogy course to learn how to plan and run a Narrative Medicine workshop.
It was a requirement of the course to facilitate a real-life session. I set one up in my clinic with ten medical trainees. It was the first time I had been back to the clinic in several months. I nodded to the security guards, and I walked up the stairs. As I got to the top landing, I heard someone enter the stairwell below. They were too far back, so I decided not to wait and hold the door for them. It would have been awkward rather than polite.
I crossed the hall to the entrance with a keypad. I wondered if I still remembered the code to get in. By then, the person behind me was there. He was young, with dark hair and eyes. He wore a mask and a white coat, and he looked pointedly at my ID badge. “Dr. Bayer!” he said, “I’m Ram, one of the residents. I brought bagels and coffee for our meeting this morning.”
I thanked him, silently grateful that he got to the keypad before I did. We walked together to the end of the hall where the residents’ gathered to set out the bagels, then I returned to the conference room to make sure it was set up. Soon, a few people joined me at the table. They were all there ten minutes before the 8 a.m. meeting. Four people sat at the table with me, two third-year residents, a first-year, and a third-year medical student.
I asked if they had been told anything about why we were meeting. They said no. I laughed and launched into my elevator speech about what Narrative Medicine is. Having people not know why they are meeting with me is not a new feeling. Countless times, when I was practicing Palliative Care, patients would not know why they had been referred to me.
Eventually, ten trainees sat around the table with me, six men and four women. Some were US-trained; some were IMGs (International Medical Graduates). Some were MDs; some were DOs. There was a diversity of backgrounds including immigrants from Southeast Asia and the Middle East. We began by making introductions around the room, mostly for my benefit. Each participant made a comment about one of their names. Some commented on how their names are often mispronounced. They talked about the strategies they use to help people remember the correct pronunciation.
Then we read a poem together, “The Guest House” by Rumi. I enjoyed listening to their insightful comments, and I liked challenging them with an interpretation that none of them hit upon.
“What if,” I said, “the emotions are arriving from inside the person instead of from outside?” They grew silent and pensive for a moment, then agreed that the idea gave a new layer of meaning to the poem.
Then I gave them a writing prompt. “Write about a place where you feel welcome OR write about a place where you don’t feel welcome. You have three minutes.”
They wrote, and then they read what they had written. They wrote beautifully; they wrote with strength; they wrote with hope and maturity. At the end, we went around the table again, and I asked them to speak one or two words about what they had experienced in the workshop. Some felt they needed more than one or two. Here are their comments.
a circle of friends can be a home
everything passes; don’t focus on the negative
perseverance in learning and personal development
humility, honest limitations, much to learn
different perspectives, but similarity in values and in wanting to escape unpleasant circumstances and insecurity
accept, wait, hope, try for the better
a happy place from a long-ago memory
peaceful; grateful for the reminder and the time to be introspective
tachycardic from public speaking
tranquil, centered
I was happy to teach again, and to learn. This time my teaching was about the power of shared writing. I hope I get another chance to interact with the residents in this way.
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I’m featured on the latest episode of The Last Word podcast. Listen to me read some poems from Rope Made of Bandages.
During May, I will be participating in an Amherst Writers & Artists fundraiser called Write Around the World. I am donating my time to support the social justice activities of AWA.
For the calendar of all events and more information, click here.
If you’re interested in participating in one of the events I’m facilitating, the registration links are below. This is a great opportunity to learn more about writing with the AWA method of supportive feedback while helping to fund AWA social justice programs.
Friday, May 17, 12-2 pm EDT (FULL)
Wednesday, May 22, 12-2 pm EDT (6 more slots)
Thursday, May 30, 12-2 pm EDT (6 more slots)
My Chapbook, Rope Made of Bandages, is available for sale at:
Finishinglinepress.com
Bookshop.org
Barnesandnoble.com
Amazon.com
Signed copies are available on my website. If you already own a copy, free signed bookplates are also available.
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Thanks for reading,
Deborah