The gift of trust

I feel compelled to caution any discriminating readers that my blogs may take more of a medical twist, and as such, may seem a little more unsavory. When one deals with certain topics all day, one things about such topics all night, and one necessarily blogs about such topics.
With that out of the way.... today I had a pretty interesting day at the doctor's office. I gave lots of injections (not too interesting!), and I also gave my first vaginal exam and pap smear. It was entirely unexpected. I found myself at the foot of this lovely lady's bed and being asked, "Would you like to try, Heather?"
I suddenly remembered the stellar advice Dr. Rust gave me in Antigua: If you're asked if you want to try a procedure, your answer is always "yes", and then you do it. And do it well.
"Yes." I said.
As I sat down and prepared for the procedure I had a rush of thoughts coursing through my mind: What if I hurt her? What if I don't know what to do? What if.... It was too late. I was holding the speculum in my hand and talking in a soothing voice to the patient, and the doctor was leaning over my shoulder and guiding me through it.
Well, without going into all the details, I did it, and I did it well, or at least I think I did because the patient said it didn't hurt at all and I'd make a good doctor. I just about floated out of the room. It's amazing what a piece of metal equipment and someone's privates can do for one's self esteem.
Speaking of private, my self esteem took a nose dive with the next patient. She was about 18 years old, and when the doctor introduced me as the medical student who was helping out, the girl looked darkly at the doctor and said flatly, "It's private."
The doctor gave me one of those 'sorry, can't do anything about it' looks and I went out of the room during the consultation. Unfortunately that girl wasn't the only one that day that didn't want me there. Later in the afternoon I sat down with a middle-aged man and the doctor, and the man said, "excuse me, doctor, but I feel really uncomfortable with her here."
I went out and sat with my textbooks until they were done. The doctor waited until the man had left and then turned to me, barely able to conceal his laugh. "You know why he didn't want you there? He wanted to talk about his problem with 'sticky poo'".
We laughed, and I thought grimly, if only he knew of my extensive experience as a nurse with sticky poo. But that didn't really matter, did it?
On the bus home I thought about it in great detail. From my perspective, I wasn't about to be put off by an embarrassing topic. For goodness sakes, I'd successfully done a pap smear that day. And although it made things a little different with someone of the opposite gender, even if I did feel a little embarrassed I never would dream of showing it.
But from his perspective, of course, it was worlds different. There I was, a 5-foot-3 23-year-old girl who didn't possibly look old enough to be a doctor. How could he possibly trust me with the intimate details of his bowel habits? I looked in the mirror in the bathroom and for the first time, wished for wrinkles. If only I looked older and more mature, then people would feel they could trust me.
It is such a privilege to be studying medicine. Today I sat in the consultation room with a beautiful middle-aged woman as the doctor explained to her that she had MS, a progressive, debilitating disease. The woman was a nurse. She looked at me and I looked at her and we both knew what it meant and why it was so devastating. There is no cure for MS, and it cripples and affects every part of a person's life before it finally takes it. Some people manage to have many years of quality life, but in the end MS will win. "Everyone dies." The doctor had said to me that morning. "Sooner or later, from something or other. What matters is the quality of life while they live."
She was fighting back tears and as she got up to go out of the room she said to me in a pitiful, quiet voice, "I have a young daughter."
"How old is she?" I asked. "12 years old." She said.
I thought about her symptoms and wondered if she would still be able to function at her daughter's graduation. I put a comforting hand on her shoulder and said "I'm so sorry."
We talked for a few minutes and then she went out, giving me a brave smile, and I thought, how blessed I am to be with her in this vulnerable time. How privileged that she would trust me, not because I look old and mature and tall, not because I'm the same gender, not because I'm a clever doctor with years of experience. She simply chose to trust me, as another human being, and because of that I'm so grateful.