We are our stories.
That鈥檚 the basis of , which says humans make sense of the world through stories. Jesus, for example, used parables to convey his message to followers, knowing that ordinary stories can hold deeper truths.
As a journalist I write news 鈥渟tories,鈥� sometimes just three lines long, that put facts in context. Throughout history, nothing captures the human imagination more than the words: 鈥淟isten, I have a story for you鈥︹��
So, it shouldn鈥檛 be surprising that the medical field, despite its culture of detached scientific rigor, would embrace the human need for narrative.
Narrative medicine in the early 2000鈥檚 grew out of medical humanities, a branch of study that looks at the social and personal influences of healing. Narrative medicine trains doctors to be better listeners, not only to better diagnose an illness, but to better understand how that illness is part of the patient鈥檚 story. Sometimes healing the malady means healing the story we tell of ourselves.
Akron Children鈥檚 Hospital in 2019 became the first hospital in the U.S. to hire a full-time narrative medicine coordinator. is part of the palliative care team that treats kids with some of the most serious conditions, as well as their caregivers. She is a published poet, researcher and a long-time friend of mine.
For years I鈥檝e wanted to share her story of bringing poetry to the bedside of some of the hospital鈥檚 sickest kids and the people who care for them.
We decided to collaborate on an upcoming series we鈥檙e calling, 鈥淭he Healing Page.鈥� The five-part, series, coming soon to 89.7 WKSU and online at ideastream.org, features patients, a doctor and a family who process grief and healing through writing.
Doctor Cathy Kelly-Langen, a palliative care physician at Akron Children鈥檚, is a good listener. She鈥檚 also a good writer. In one of her sessions with Robinson, she wrote a poem about dealing with loss as a caregiver.
By its nature palliative is about loss鈥�
Loss of health. Loss of life. Loss of control. Loss of freedom.
Yet we also experience the loss of ignorance,
how sacred life is at birth and at death,
how suffering is inevitable but also necessary.
Loss teaches us.
Loss forces itself on us.
Loss sucks.
Loss, however, is not the victor.
While we were chatting about the poem, Robinson observed that the words are heavy, but the page can hold them. And that really stuck with me. We can write about the hardest, heaviest topics, but the page can hold even the heaviest words.
The Healing Page series provides a glimpse into the narrative medicine program at Akron Children鈥檚, and how the patients and caregivers find healing in the written word.
In the series, we鈥檒l meet a young transplant patient who unknowingly casts himself as a mutant superhero in an adventure comic. We鈥檒l visit with who lost a 13-year-old to cancer and views her poems as 鈥減ieces of peace.鈥� And we鈥檒l meet a disabled teen who imagines herself as a lonely giraffe.
We are our stories, and our words carry the weight of loss and grief, along with hope and resilience. I hope you enjoy these stories.
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