Journal of Sacred Work

Stories, poetry, art, music, all help us to understand our place in the world.  – Erie Chapman

   "Once upon a time…" It’s one of the earliest and happiest ways we learn about our world. Perhaps that is why of the four things listed above, stories seem to be easiest as a way to communicate meaning. This explains the enormous power of movies, books, television dramas, and situation comedies.

   In spite of the power of stories, many leaders, teachers and sometimes doctors insist on communicating primarily through stiff instruction. We all need the basic tools of learning. Once the tools are clear, we need to appreciate the power of story-telling. The most important things we learn about our families are through stories. And loving caregivers always appreciate that every patient hold many stories in their heart…

   In caregiving, story-telling is one of the ways we humanize each other, our work, and the patients for whom we care. If we see another human being only by their diagnosis, we have denied all of the rich history that brought this patient to the encounter. In fact, the failure to recognize another human as a carrier of many rich stories is actually a problem in caregiving.

   How often have you heard well-meaning nurses refer to elderly males as "that nice little old man?" They don’t mean to be demeaning, but the truth is, I doubt any older gentleman wants to be referred to as  a "little old man" regardless of his size. The next step can be condescension since our description immediately places us as someone "big" looking down on the smaller, older, and perhaps weaker person before us. "How are we today, honey?" the nurse may say, in a tone that suggests that the older person has the mentality of a three-year-old instead of that of a thinking adult with a textured life history.

   Whenever caregivers position themselves as "better than" their patients, loving care is placed at risk. A good solution is to learn some of the patient’s story. As the stories unfold, dimensions are added to the patient’s life and the chance for mutual respect rises.

   Awhile back, I shared the effort of Doreen Dunn, COO of St. Jude Hospital in California, to develp the My Story program. This beautifully simple program enables caregivers to learn by asking the patient and family to fill out a one page form that reports personal information about the patient including likes, dislikes, and some non-medical biographical information.

   Since I reported this in the Journal, at least three other hospitals have adopted the program including Parrish Medical Center in Floriday, Mercy Gilbert in Arizona, and St. Mary’s Hospital in Southern California. I urge you to engage My Story in your organization and in your work.

   Whether you use a story form or not, it is helpful to consider what you would want your caregivers to know about you if you were hospitalized. The trauma of hospitalization is such that when nurses or doctors become patients, they seem anxious to let their caregivers know that they are trained caregivers themselves – part of the "in-group."

   Why is this so? Hospitals can be frightening places. And our stories are critical to who we are.

-Erie Chapman