We Can Barely Dream In The Place That Empathy Dies

It was a vulnerable time.The man sitting next to me in the car shifted gently.  His arthritic hands curled into a bow and rested on his lap.  He melted into the seat as if all those years working on automobiles had somehow strangely made him part of one.  I self conscioussly placed the key in the ignition and glided out of the parking spot.  I could feel his gaze upon my shoulder as we both strained to listen. After the accident, almost the whole body needed to be repaired.  I marveled at the clean finish and drove home overjoyed to forget all that had just happened in the last few weeks.  The shell, however, often betrays that which dwells within.  It only took a few miles before I noticed the knocking coming from somewhere behind the left rear wheel well.So I drove a few miles with the elderly man from the body repair shop in my passengers seat to see if we could tease out the problem.  I marveled at how uncomfortable I was with this stranger in my personal space.  I was aware of my every movement, my every breath.  For him, this was routine.  How many times had he ridden in the car with a complete stranger trying to diagnose a bump or squeak?  But for me, secretly shattered and struggling with my confidence after an unexpected car accident, my skin bristled with every displacement of the intervening air.I couldn't help but think of my patients.  Their presence, the exchanging of secrets, the caress of skin, a...
Source: In My Humble Opinion - Category: Primary Care Authors: Source Type: blogs