I was supposed to see Jane for abdominal pain, but within minutes of meeting her, she told me that her boyfriend hits her. Once, so hard that he fractured and dislocated her jaw. She has a lot of bruises, but only in areas covered by her clothes. To the unknowing, Jane appears neatly put together, whole. But, underneath it all, she is unraveling, coming undone.
That day in the clinic, Jane decided to trust me. She let me in on her secret, showed me her scars. I hoped she would let me help her get somewhere safe, but when I offered, she declined without further explanation.
Physicians are not mandated reporters for domestic abuse. Jane was eighteen, and her suffering stemmed from the hands of her boyfriend, thus I was forced to keep everything she told me confidential. I watched her crumble, unable to do anything about it.
As a medical student on clinical rotations, I hear sad things everyday. I place my patients’ burdens on my shoulders because that’s my job–or, at least, it soon will be. And I wouldn’t trade it for the world. But these burdens have weight, and too often, the systems I work within have holes that prevent me from solving my patients’ deepest troubles. The result is that my patients must continue living the unfathomable, and I must live with their undeserving faces constantly on my mind, impossible to ignore.
At the end of the day, I leave the clinic, but I do not forget. I go home thinking about Jane, who left the clinic and went back to being abused. I think about Mr. Fay, who left my patient room and went back to his bed under a bridge in the middle of winter. I think about Mrs. Larson, who left my patient room and went home to an untouched room that once protected her now dead son. I think about my patients. Their faces and their stories are a part of my life. How can I accept their harsh realities?
As a soon-to-be physician, I am not supposed to be affected by the tragedy I see daily. I must strive to attain the utmost composure and resilience. I must stand up tall, be poised, and portray a sense of togetherness. Doctors are supposed to be strong, unbreakable. But are we really bulletproof, or do we just not speak when we come undone?
Mallory Kane
Farmington, Connecticut
9 thoughts on “Underneath It All”
I admire your empathy, but always remember to take care of yourself.
Dr. Kane, thank you for your writing.
I used to be a child abuse forensic examiner and expert witness. I didn’t carry the burdens of the stories and misfortunes and struggles of my patients on my shoulders. I carried them is a basket by my side. When it seemed something was too big or heavy for the basket, I made the basket bigger. Eventually it became infinite and it felt like it was something akin to Love. I could sleep at night because I knew there were suffering children out there but I also knew I was doing everything I could to help them.
I also worked with the homeless and uninsured. I created an art installation depicting the stories I heard in the street and along the river.
The imagination, reframing, and creative expression let me continue to thrive in my work and offer what I had to those who brought their suffering to me.
May you find ways to let service feed your soul and character without becoming collateral damage.
I found two consolations: my garden and writing poems. It helps me maintain balance
A great story shedding light on the hard reality of being a physician. What a powerful message! Proud of you, Mallory
Awesome job, Dr. Kane. Beautifully written.
So beautiful and so real <3 great job mal
So beautifully written Mallory!
So beautiful, the world is lucky to have doctors like you!
Thank you Dr Kane for sharing this. There are just so so many that come to mind. I was on call in the hospital (I think I was a second year resident. Back then we were left on call in the hospital by ourselves. This should never have happened, in retrospect but it was standard practice back then.
Anyway, late one night, I walked by a patients room. He moaned “help me “ repeatedly. I happened to know his history . He had terminal cancer and was on a morphine drip, a DNR. I had absolutely nothing left to offer at 2 AM. But still his plea haunts me even though I had nothing to offer him.