How Much to Give
I recently read this great book called Body of Work. It was written by a doctor as she went through her first anatomy class in medical school. She shares her reactions and thoughts as she progresses through the anatomy course and dissecting the corpse. It’s not as gross as that sounds.
One of the stories that she tells is about a time when she had to deliver bad news to a patient. Surrounded by the patient’s wife and daughters, she relayed the bad news that his cancer had returned and tried to walk them through the various choices they had. Finally, at the end one of the daughters asked her what she would do if it was her father. The author/doctor relates that she completely lost it. She started sobbing and couldn’t stop. She felt so much empathy and identified with the family so closely that she couldn’t continue. Through this situation she learned that she had to balance objectivity and empathy. She didn’t want to become calloused and cold, but having so much empathy that she couldn’t proceed with her patients was not a good situation either.
This past week I came across my own version of this situation. I was talking with a client who had lost her daughter and mother, and was grieving their loss. During my conversation with her, I wanted to reach across the table and put my hand on her hand, to comfort her, to say, “I know what that feels like. I’ve been there.” But I didn’t. It was a point where I didn’t know what my role was. I was just supposed to be gathering current information from her, usually a very cut-and-dried process.
But this was new territory. How far do I connect with a person? How deep do I share? How much do I give? I really don’t know. I’m not sure what’s “acceptable”…or if I even want to worry about what is acceptable. But something inside me says that I have to reach out. When I find someone who has gone through a loss like I did, what better way to make that loss worthwhile, to make all that pain mean something, than to reach out and hopefully comfort and connect with someone who is in that loss and pain that I once was. Because if I can’t use that pain in my life to change the pain in someone else’s life, then all that pain remains just that…pain. If I reach out, though, that pain can become so much more, it can morph into something precious and useful. Isn’t that what it should become in my life?