Spark [Robert_Klitzman]_When_Doctors_Become_Patients(Boo | Page 113

102 Becoming a Patient are inherently more subjective, and less quantifiable, than medical con- ditions diagnosed through laboratory findings. Suzanne, the psychiatrist on lithium, observed: Even psychiatric residents have problems when they talk to pa- tients: ‘‘Why don’t you take your medicine?’’ As if it’s easy taking seventeen pills a day! A delusional and paranoid person living on his or her own, trying to make it, not working, is not going to take six of one pill in the morning, four of another in the afternoon, and five of another at night. They’re not going to remember. Sadly and revealingly, shame and fears of stigma and discrimination led many physicians to hide their own psychiatric symptoms. Frank, the surgeon who had an MI in the OR, for example, saw other ill physicians he had treated as terrified, and embarrassed by their fear. ‘‘They’re just like regular patients—frightened to death and superafraid. But they put on a show of nonchalance.’’ Losses of Dignity and Identity Ill physicians heightened their sensitivity, too, to the indignities and losses of sense of self that patients endure. Patienthood radically altered outward appearances and self-images. As suggested earlier, sick doctors literally found themselves clothed differently—forced to undress and to wear only flimsy patient gowns or lie naked—in ways that carried both real and symbolic import, signifying dramatic loss of power. For Brian, who had hepatitis, having to disrobe for his doctor marked the defining moment of his change in institutional status. To get undressed for the biopsy, and put on this paper gown—I’m exposed, not in my regular clothes. Even though they give me a gown, I feel impersonal exposure. It was awkward, knowing that people walk in and out of the room. As mentioned earlier, many physicians resisted wearing such patient robes. Deeper senses of loss of individuality and self ensued. The disappear- ance of hair due to chemotherapy disturbed many profoundly. For Nancy, loss of her hair robbed her of a significant part of her self and her identity.