Personal

One of my friends was recently in the Stanford emergency department. I got a text from her boyfriend and rushed over there. It was odd, seeing a friend in such a familiar yet unfamiliar place. By the time I got there, the diagnosis was made, and thankfully, it was not a serious one. I stayed with her and her family, tried my best not to get in the way, and followed her course as a patient through the ED.

What's it like to see someone you know in the hospital? It's a strange feeling, traversing two worlds. On the one hand, I knew exactly what was happening; I knew the nurse, the resident, the attending, the medications, the abbreviations, the acronyms. I was a sort-of translator, acting as a mediator and an advocate. I held my friend's hand and reassured her that things were okay. I explained what I knew of the (presumed) diagnosis and what it meant. At some level, I acted like a doctor, tapping into my medical knowledge and my familiarity with the system.

On the other hand, I could not do it too much. It would have, for example, been entirely inappropriate for me to read her chart or her radiology films or her blood tests. I didn't want to step on anyone's toes. It was not my place to be impressing my opinions or judgments on her care. I tried to simply take the role of a friend; I didn't actively seek out the resident or attending to ask about things, I didn't leave the bedside.

As a resident, I sometimes find medical family members to be the most frustrating. They want to know everything - including things that probably should only be shared with the patient. They challenge medical decisions, they discount the value of residents, they cloud and bias our judgment. So I try not to be that person, but it's hard.