Wysłany: 2009-04-14, 03:47 I believe listening is powerful Medicine.
I believe listening is powerful Medicine.
Studies have shown it takes a physician about 18 seconds to interrupt a patient after he begins talking.
It was Sunday. I had one last patient to see. I approached her room in a hurry and stood at the doorway. She was an older woman, sitting at the edge of the bed, struggling to put socks on her swollen feet.World of warcraft Power Leveling I crossed the threshold, spoke quickly to the nurse, scanned her chart noting she was in stable condition. I was almost in the clear.
I leaned on the bedrail looking down at her. She asked if I could help put on her socks. Instead, I launched into a monologue that went something like this: "How are you feeling? Your sugars and blood pressure were high but they're better today. The nurse mentioned you're anxious to see your son who's visiting you today. It's nice to have family visit from far away. I bet you really look forward to seeing him."
She stopped me with a stern, authoritative voice. * Musisz się zalogować aby zobaczyć linki *,"Sit down, doctor. This is my story, not your story."
I was surprised and embarrassed. I sat down. I helped her with the socks. She began to tell me that her only son lived around the corner from her, but she had not seen him in five years. She believed that the stress of this contributed greatly to her health problems. After hearing her story and putting on her socks, I asked if there was anything else I could do for her. She shook her head no and smiled. All she wanted me to do was to listen.
Each story is different. Some are detailed; others are vague. Some have a beginning, middle and end. Others wander without a clear conclusion. Some are true; others not. Yet all those things do not really matter. What matters to the storyteller is that the story is heard — without interruption, assumption or judgment.
Listening to someone's story costs less than expensive diagnostic testing but is key to healing and diagnosis.
I often thought of what that woman taught me, and I reminded myself of the importance of stopping, sitting down and truly listening. And, not long after, in an unexpected twist, I became the patient, with a diagnosis of multiple sclerosis at age 31. Now, 20 years later, I sit all the time — in a wheelchair.
For as long as I could, I continued to see patients from my chair, but I had to resign when my hands were affected. I still teach med students and other health care professionals, but now from the perspective of physician and patient.
I tell them I believe in the power of listening. I tell them I know firsthand that immeasurable healing takes place within me when someone stops, sits down and listens to my story.
The Internet, which was unfamiliar to human beings is totally accepted by most of people. Especially these days, it has been developing faster and faster, people do not have much time to do everything by themselves. So making full use of the Internet is a good way to color one’s life.
For instance, students could learn more and more from all over the world so that they can broaden their horizon and enrich their knowledge. Absolutely, the bridge that connects the whole world is the Internet.
Secondly, scientists and mathematicians, too, can share research results in order to promote the wheel of human society much more quickly.* Musisz się zalogować aby zobaczyć linki *,
I suppose the key factor of importance of Internet is to find a good job . In the society which is full of competition, more information means more opportunities. A job hunter can get on the Internet to browse for a favorable job.
Well, from what has been mentioned above, I believe with the high speed and efficiency, the Internet will become more and more popular among people in the near future. wow power leveling
I am honored to address you tonight. On behalf of the graduating masters and doctoral students of Washington University's School of Engineering and Applied Science, I would like to thank all the parents, spouses, families, and friends who encouraged and supported us as we worked towards our graduate degrees. I would especially like to thank my own family, eight members of which are in the audience today. I would also like to thank all of the department secretaries and other engineering school staff members who always seemed to be there when confused graduate students needed help. And finally I would like to thank the Washington University faculty members who served as our instructors, mentors, and friends.* Musisz się zalogować aby zobaczyć linki *
As I think back on the seven-and-a-half years I spent at Washington University, my mind is filled with memories, happy, sad, frustrating, and even humorous. World of warcraft Power Leveling
Tonight I would like to share with you some of the memories that I take with me as I leave Washington University.
I take with me the memory of my office on the fourth floor of Lopata Hall - the room at the end of the hallway that was too hot in summer, too cold in winter, and always too far away from the women's restroom. The window was my office's best feature. Were it not for the physics building across the way, it would have afforded me a clear view of the arch. But instead I got a view of the roof of the physics building. I also had a view of one corner of the roof of Urbauer Hall, which seemed to be a favorite perch for various species of birds who alternately won perching rights for several weeks at a time. And I had a nice view of the physics courtyard, noteworthy as a good place for watching people run their dogs. It's amazing how fascinating these views became the longer I worked on my dissertation.* Musisz się zalogować aby zobaczyć linki *, But my favorite view was of a nearby oak tree. From my fourth-floor vantage point I had a rather intimate view of the tree and the various birds and squirrels that inhabit it. Occasionally a bird would land on my window sill, which usually had the effect of startling both of us.
I take with me the memory of two young professors who passed away while I was a graduate student. Anne Johnstone, the only female professor from whom I took a course in the engineering school, and Bob Durr, a political science professor and a member of my dissertation committee, both lost brave battles with cancer. I remember them fondly.
I take with me the memory of failing the first exam in one of the first engineering courses I took as an undergraduate. I remember thinking the course was just too hard for me and that I would never be able to pass it. So I went to talk to the professor, ready to drop the class. And he told me not to give up, he told me I could succeed in his class. For reasons that seemed completely ludicrous at the time, he said he had faith in me. And after that my grades in the class slowly improved, and I ended the semester with an A on the final exam. I remember how motivational it was to know that someone believed in me.
I take with me memories of the midwestern friendliness that so surprised me when I arrived in St. Louis 8 years ago. Since moving to New Jersey, I am sad to say, wow power levelingnobody has asked me where I went to high school.
I take with me the memory of the short-lived computer science graduate student social committee lunches. The idea was that groups of CS grad students were supposed to take turns cooking a monthly lunch. But after one grad student prepared a pot of chicken that poisoned almost the entire CS grad student population and one unlucky faculty member in one fell swoop, there wasn't much enthusiasm for having more lunches.
* Musisz się zalogować aby zobaczyć linki *,
I take with me the memory of a more successful graduate student effort, the establishment of the Association of Graduate Engineering Students, known as AGES. Started by a handful of engineering graduate students because we needed a way to elect representatives to a campus-wide graduate student government, AGES soon grew into an organization that now sponsors a wide variety of activities and has been instrumental in addressing a number of engineering graduate student concerns.
... You see that big nail to the right of the front door? I can scarcely look at it even now and yet I could not bear to take it out. I should like to think it was there always even after my time. I sometimes hear the next people saying, “There must have been a cage hanging from there.” And it comforts me. I feel he is not quite forgotten. * Musisz się zalogować aby zobaczyć linki *
... You cannot imagine how wonderfully he sang. It was not like the singing of other canaries. And that isn't just my fancy. Often, from the window I used to see people stop at the gate to listen, or they would lean over the fence by the mock-orange2) for quite a long time — carried away. I suppose it sounds absurd to you — it wouldn't if you had heard him — but it really seemed to me he sang whole songs, with a beginning and an end to them.
For instance, when I finished the house in the afternoon, and changed my blouse and brought my sewing on the verandah3) here, he used to hop, hop, hop from one perch4) to the other, tap against the bars as if to attract my attention, sip a little water, just as a professional singer might, and then break into a song so exquisite5) that I had to put my needle down to listen to him. I can't describe it; I wish I could. But it was always the same, every afternoon, and I felt that I understood every note of it.
... I loved him. How I loved him! Perhaps it does not matter so very much what it is one loves in this world. But love something one must! Of course there was always my little house and the garden, but for some reason they were never enough. Flowers respond wonderfully, but they don't sympathize. Then I loved the evening star. Does that sound ridiculous? I used to go into the backyard, after sunset, and wait for it until it shone above the dark gum tree. I used to whisper, “There you are, my darling.” And just in that first moment it seemed to be shining for me alone. It seemed to understand this... something which is like longing, and yet it is not longing. Or regret — it is more like regret. And yet regret for what? I have much to be thankful for!
... But after he came into my life I forgot the evening star; I did not need it any more. But it was strange. When the Chinaman who came to the door with birds to sell held him up in his tiny cage, and instead of fluttering6), fluttering, like the poor little goldfinches7), he gave a faint, small chirp8). I found myself saying, just as I had said to the star over the gum tree, “There your are, my darling.” From that moment he was mine! * Musisz się zalogować aby zobaczyć linki *
... It surprises even me now to remember how he and I shared each other's lives. The moment I came down in the morning and took the cloth off his cage he greeted me with a drowsy9) little note. I knew it meant “Missus10)! Missus!” Then I hung him on the nail outside while I got my three young men their breakfasts, and I never brought him in, to do his cage, until we had the house to ourselves again. Then, when the washing-up was done, it was quite a little entertainment. I spread a newspaper over a corner of the table and when I put the cage on it he used to beat with his wings, despairingly, as if he didn't know what was coming. “You're a regular little actor,” I used to scold him. I scraped, dusted it with fresh sand, filled his seed and water tins, tucked a piece of chickweed11) and half a chili12) between the bars. And I am perfectly certain he understood and appreciated every item of this little performance. You see by nature he was exquisitely neat. There was never a speck13) on his perch. And you'd only to see him enjoy his bath to realise he had a real small passion for cleanliness. His bath was put in last. And themoment it was in he positively leapt into it. First he fluttered one wing, then the other, then he ducked his head and dabbled14) his breast feathers. Drops of water were scattered all over the kitchen, but still he would not get out. I used to say to him, “Now that's quite enough. You're only showing off.” And at last out he hopped and standing on one leg he began to peck himself dry. Finally he gave a shake, a flick15), a twitter16) and he lifted his throat — Oh, I can hardly bear to recall it. I was always cleaning the knives by then. And it almost seemed to me the knives sang too, as I rubbed them bright on the board. (* Musisz się zalogować aby zobaczyć linki *)
... Company, you see, that was what he was. Perfect company. If you have lived alone you will realize how precious that is. Of course there were my three young men who came in to supper every evening, and sometimes they stayed in the dining-room afterwards reading the paper. But I could not expect them to be interested in the little things that made my day. Why should they be? I was nothing to them. In fact, I overheard them one evening talking about me on the stairs as “the Scarecrow17)”. No matter. It doesn't matter. Not in the least. I quite understand. They are young. Why should I mind? But I remember feeling so especially thankful that I was not quite alone that evening. I told him, after they had gone. I said, “Do you know what they call Missus?” And he put his head on one side and looked at me with his little bright eye until I could not help laughing. It seemed to amuse him.
... Have you kept birds? If you haven't, all this must sound, perhaps, exaggerated. People have the idea that birds are heartless, cold little creatures, not like dogs or cats. My washerwoman used to say every Monday when she wondered why I didn't keep “a nice fox terrier”, “There's no comfort, Miss, in a canary.” Untrue! Dreadfully untrue! I remember one night. I had had a very awful dream — dreams can be terribly cruel — even after I had woken up I could not get over it. So I put on my dressing-gown and came down to the kitchen for a glass of water. It was a winter night and raining hard. I suppose I was half asleep still, but through the kitchen window that hadn't a blind, it seemed to me the dark was staring in, spying. And suddenly I felt it was unbearable that I had no one to whom I could say, “I've had such a dreadful dream,” or — “Hide me from the dark.” I even covered my face for a minute. And then there came a little“Sweet! Sweet!” His cage was on the table, and the cloth had slipped so that a chink18) of light shone through. “Sweet! Sweet!” said the darling little fellow again, softly, as much as to say, “I'm here, Missus. I'm here!” That was so beautifully comforting that I nearly cried. (* Musisz się zalogować aby zobaczyć linki *)
... And now he's gone. I shall never have another bird, another pet of any kind. How could I? When I found him, lying on his back, with his eye dim and his claws wrung, when I realised that never again should I hear my darling sing, something seemed to die in me. My breast felt hollow, as if it was his cage. I shall get over it. Of course. I must. One can get over anything in time. And people always say I have a cheerful disposition. They are quite right. I thank God I have.
... All the same, without being morbid19), or giving way to — to memories and so on, I must confess that there does seem to me something sad in life. It is hard to say what it is. I don't mean the sorrow that we all know, like illness and poverty and death. No, it is something different. It is there, deep down, deep down, part of one, like one's breathing. However hard I work and tire myself I have only to stop to know it is there, waiting. I often wonder if everybody feels the same. One can never know. But isn't it extraordinary that under his sweet, joyful little singing it was just this — sadness? — Ah, what is it? — that I heard.
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