RX, a Poem: How One Doctor Prescribed Listening, Empathy—and a Poem

Jean Determan is a Tax Expert at Intuit who retired as a sales executive from International Paper, VP Field Sales at Revlon, and sales manager for the Drackett division of Bristol Myers. Jean cared for her husband during his serious illness and is the proud mother of two grown children and four grandchildren. Jean is currently enrolled in the Narrative Medicine Certificate Program at Columbia University in New York City, and a volunteer for the Advocate Health Narrative Medicine program. 

By Jean Determan

Having just relocated from Chicago to Cincinnati, one of my first quests was to find new doctors.  Knowing it usually takes a while to get in as a new patient, I didn't want to wait until I was desperate to find one.  My new primary care provider recommended an endocrinologist that she had been hearing really good things about. 

I called for an appointment, but before they would schedule it, the office told me I would get a detailed questionnaire that had to be completed and returned first.  When I received it, it was about eight pages of very detailed questions.  I answered them all and sent it back.   In a couple of weeks the scheduler called and set up a new patient appointment which she indicated would run "longer" than a standard appointment.  Prior to the appointment, I was scheduled to get a bone density scan (Dexa Scan). 

The day of the appointment, I had my Dexa Scan; within minutes, the results were sent to the doctor electronically and given to me as a handout. 

Shortly after, I was seated across from the doctor who had my new test results and the information I had returned via the questionnaire. This doctor had already studied my answers and had more questions for me.   

When he asked the questions, he stopped looking at his papers and looked directly at me. 

He was talking to me. 

He was engaging me. 

He listened to what I had to say. 

Before we moved on to discuss his treatment recommendations, he asked me about ME.  He asked about the treatments I had in the past and how I felt about them,  how they affected me physically and emotionally.   Why had I moved from Chicago?  What had been going on in my life?  I was so engaged by his style; I asked him if he had heard of Narrative Medicine.  Although he hadn't heard that term, I told him there was no doubt he was practicing it on a daily basis.  

When I got ready to leave, he offered condolences on the loss of my husband and my dog, and he pulled a piece of paper out of his wallet.  He said, “I keep this in my wallet and only give it out when I think it might help someone.”  It was a short poem: 

(No title and no author on the paper he gave me. I looked it up on the Internet and AI said the title is Something Beautiful Remains - sometimes credited to Anonymous and sometimes to Martha Vashti Pearson. 

“The tide recedes but leaves behind

Bright seashells on the sand

The sun goes down but gentle warmth 

Still lingers on the land 

The music stops but echoes on 

In haunting sweet refrain

For every joy that passes - 

Something beautiful remains.”

Read more about Jean’s story here.