The Beauty of Not Knowing.

As a first year medical student, I define the wide-eyed and often overwhelmed stereotype. Every new clinical experience brings excitement and anxiety. Each experience is an opportunity to learn, to apply practically and to look into what could be my future. Each experience also presents the chance of feeling completely lost.

I know my clinical knowledge is limited. I know that I don’t know very much — yet.

Whenever placed in real-world clinical settings, this limitation often makes me feel inadequate. I’m dressed the part, and I carry the necessary accessories. But I often feel undeserving of the privilege of hanging my name-badge from, and draping my stethoscope around, my neck. I used to wish that I could be of more benefit to all these patients I’m seeing — ignoring the fact that I have years of learning left before I reach that stage.

I say used to because these very clinical experiences, with real patients, have caused me to discover the benefits — or rather, the beauty of not knowing. The inability to lose myself in the diagnosis and prognosis of disease, in the complex mechanisms, its causes and the plethora of medications have forced me to shift my focus to finding other ways of being beneficial to patients. Instead, I focus on that which I know, that which I find natural, and most importantly on those who are right in front of me. My focus is placed on simply connecting and communicating with these individuals — I offer an ear and a shoulder.

My limited knowledge keeps me humble, focused on the patient and their well-being. In medicine, it seems that it is far too common for physicians to become desensitized to the human experience — likely a consequence of the workload and of repetition, among other causes. In an age of long queues and long hours, it’s hard to blame doctors for focusing on treating a diagnosis.

I have grown to appreciate my role as a communicator, and its value in treating the well-being of a patient. My experiences, albeit limited, have convinced me that compassionate and caring interaction with a patient by those responsible for their care is a necessary pillar of their road to recovery — the benefits of which are in parallel with their medications and social support networks.

The belief in the benefits of effective and genuine communication has arisen from transformative interactions that I have had with patients suffering from terminal illness. Asking these individuals how the disease is affecting their lives and how they are coping has resulted in some of the most profound conversations I have ever had. I have witnessed some of the most beautiful, and some of the most painful, moments of individual vulnerability. These introspective experiences have never gone unacknowledged, with patients often considering them as therapeutic emotional-releases. Although each patient’s experience differs, I have yet to come across one that has not appreciated the ability to talk to someone from the medical side of their current battle.

Selfishly — for me, these experiences have been humbling, satisfying and inspiring. I have been able to connect to these people on a level that I would never have deemed possible previously, and the impact has been as profound on me as it has been for these patients. I have yet walk out of one these conversations without goosebumps and a sense of overwhelming joy. Although dying, the perspective offered by these patients and the appreciation they have shown me affects me to my core.

As I continue my medical training and gain skills and knowledge in the diagnosis and treatment of disease, I hope to never lose sight of the value of sincere communication. The beauty of being a first year medical student that does not know has opened my eyes to the value of communication in ensuring the well-being of those I have been given the privilege of caring for.