I get anxious when sitting next to a person for several hours, and I don't even know their name. I like to think that despite our smart phones and tablets, that when we travel, that telling our story is part of why we paid for the ticket.
On my flight from Washington D.C. to Ethiopia, as I return to Kenya to work in Palliative Care, I met "Eve" on my flight. I figured since we were going to spend the next 12 hours sitting next to each other in coach we might as well chat. I always start these conversations with the same question - "Are you traveling home, or traveling away." It breaks the ice, because, well, we are all traveling for at least one of these reasons.
Eve was amicable to chat. She smiled and with a sigh, explained that she was headed home to Ethiopia. Eve is American, and she lives in Virginia. She works for an IT company. Eve is also a first generation Ethiopian American. And as she explained, her father died suddenly a year ago. She was going back home for the one year anniversary of his death.
She said this in the way that someone speaks when you know they bare a heavy heart. She told me about her brother, and that his work would not allow him the time off to travel for this event, and that she understood, but was disappointed he was not coming as well. She worried whether she could support her mother back home from so far away, and felt she needed to be there for her family on this solemn anniversary.
We spoke only at length during the first moments of the flight after my opening question, yet I marveled at her story. I felt as though she needed to share this much about her story, and that was enough. I avoided delving into details like I have been trained to do, but rather, just sat and listened.
Her story was tinged with some irony for me as a physician, who was leaving for Kenya, to support patients and families like her, faced with these most difficult times surrounding illness and death. So it seemed fitting that I was able to hear Eve's story on my return to Africa. On my return as a palliative medicine fellow.
I live in a world as a physician where people's names, lives, and stories matter. As palliative care physician stories matter the most to us. The illness narrative is why most people come to see a physician. They have a story to tell. A chronological series of unfortunate events, or an itinerary of symptoms, which our patients hope we can either turn into a defined problem or in most cases be told that "everything is fine." This is why I chat it up on flights, it allows me to ask questions, to hear a story, and not always have to come up with an answer or a solution. I just get to listen. And in most cases, on both airplanes and hospitals, that all anyone ever really needs.
Jason
