Writing Life

A periodic record of thoughts and life as these happen via the various roles I play: individual, husband, father, grandfather, son, brother (brother-in-law), writer, university professor and others.

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Location: Tennessee, United States

I was born on Shaw Air Force Base in Sumter, South Carolina, then lived a while in Fayetteville, North Carolina, before moving, at the age of 5, to Walnut, NC. I graduated from Madison High School in 1977. After a brief time in college, I spent the most of the 1980s in Nashville, Tennessee, working as a songwriter and playing in a band. I spent most of the 1990s in school and now teach at a university in Tennessee. My household includes wife and son and cat. In South Carolina I have a son, daughter-in-law and two granddaughters.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Listening Generously

This is a passage from Rachel Naomi Remen's book Kitchen Table Wisdom, read as part of a Speaking of Faith program entitled "Listening Generously: The Medicine of Rachel Naomi Remen." While this passage is particularly about doctors and patients, it could just as easily be about any number of professions.


For some time now Dieter had suspected that the chemotherapy was no longer helping him. Convinced at last of this, he spoke to his doctor and suggested that the treatments be stopped. He asked, if he could come every week just to talk. His doctor responded abruptly, 'If you refuse chemotherapy, there's nothing more I can do for you.' And so Dieter had continued to take the weekly injection in order to have those few moments of connection and understanding with his doctor. The group of people with cancer listened intently. There was another silence. Then Dieter said softly, 'My doctor's love is as important to me as his chemotherapy, but he doesn't know.'

Dieter's statement meant a great deal to me. I had not known either. Medicine is as close to love as it is to science, and its relationships matter even at the edge of life itself.

But I had yet another connection to Dieter's story. His oncologist was one of my patients. Week after week, from the depths of chronic depression, this physician would tell me that no one cared about him. He didn't matter to anyone. He was just another white coat in the hospital, a mortgage payment to his wife, a tuition check to his son. No one would notice if he vanished, as long as someone was there to make rounds or take out the garbage.

So here is Dieter bringing the same validation, the same healing to his doctor that he brought to me. But his doctor, caught up in a sense of failure because he cannot cure cancer, cannot receive it.


http://speakingoffaith.publicradio.org/programs/listeninggenerously/index.shtml

5 Comments:

Blogger quig said...

Thanks for sharing that Michael.

In 1987 (seems long ago now) my oncologist, May Votaw, was a warm and gentle person who treated my cancer and listened to my every word. She talked with my then wife and my children about my cancer and what to expect.... I thank God often, not often enough, for May Vatow. Sometimes I see her around town though she has retired and her husband recently passed away.... When she sees me she smiles and calls me her miracle... Why, because my cancer disappeared after one treatment, which suprised her to no end!!!

Anyway, thanks for that story because it reminds me that I wish I could be like May Votaw with my students, but I know I am not, not enough anyway.

Cheers, John

2/13/2008  
Blogger mac said...

You're welcome, John. I thought it was a beautiful little piece. And thanks for sharing your story as well.

2/13/2008  
Blogger nbta said...

Great post and a great reminder for us all. We all need each other.

2/13/2008  
Blogger Israel said...

This is very interesting. I had no idea you had a blog. I have one on myspace, but I am quite sure it should remain incognito since I often rant about uni. Your autobiography was also really interesting. We should talk about it sometime. Nice!

Israel.

2/13/2008  
Blogger mac said...

Thanks for checking in, Israel. Drop by sometime--in the "real" world, that is--and we'll talk.

2/13/2008  

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