Forking
Around
Two Paths
There are two words in the English language that
even dictionaries have trouble distinguishing between.
"Sympathy" suggests an understanding of and attention
to the grief-stricken.
"Empathy," however, describes a capacity for participating in another's
suffering.
Sympathy is common. It used to be a natural aspect
of human kindness; it has evolved into almost a politeness. It would seem
inhuman not to sympathize for those whose tragedies move us. It would be
impolite. The impoliteness of a lack of sympathy is an interesting concept.
It's almost as if we've been trained in the appropriate responses so as to
not offend others with a lack of sensitivity. Sympathy is the polite response
from sensitive creatures such as we are. We can sympathize with the anonymous
families of victims of crime we read about in the newspaper. But truly we
cannot feel the actual pain they feel. Nor should we expect to.
My wife knows an identical twin who when she was
pregnant was called by her sister who told her she was going into labor.
She was right as it turned out. How many times have we known an elderly man
or woman who died only to have the spouse die within weeks? Certainly we've
all come across instances like these. There are ties that bind stronger than
we can appreciate. Haven't we as parents wished we could "take over" for
a child's pain, like it were as easy as a change of shift? When a mother
comforts an injured child, she feels the pain--participates in her child's
suffering as hard as she can, hoping to dilute it's sting by sharing. Now
we're talking about what it really means to be human, for this is empathy.
As an obstetrician, I've seen it countless times--that
special moment when a mother for the first time holds her newborn that she
felt squirming inside of her all those months. That first touch of her child
is like nothing else in the world. It is an empathic love. It's a love that's
different from the love she shares with her husband. It's direct and true--straight
through from being to being. New fathers are empaths as well.
Children change everything.
Suddenly the world is quite different. Suddenly
it's not that important when someone cuts you off in traffic. It is a special
quality when someone can make that jump from sympathy to empathy. It does
happen, even to people remotely connected to the objects of their empathies.
At one time being a doctor was referred to as being "in the noble profession."
There were standards of behavior and skill that were expected. But there
were also standards of caring that were assumed. In these days of managed
care and doctors' livelihoods being crammed into business bottlenecks, many
physicians have burned out. Was it because they could no longer make that
jump between sympathy and empathy? Or was it because they feel there's no
need for empathy in today's modern medical climate? The art of medicine has
been itemized, categorized, budgetized, prioritized, and down-sized. But
the empathy still needs to be there. It's what made doctors want to be doctors
in the first place. And no matter how the art of medicine has been reduced
to spreadsheets and bottom lines, don't think that doctors who still like
their patients and whose patients still like them back don't experience empathy
when confronted with a complication in a patient's condition. The joys of
practicing medicine have a price in the concept of empathy. Empathy is part
of the art of medicine. Empathy is powerful. Empathy burns calories. Mothers
and fathers know it. Doctors better know it as well, for without it their
"art of medicine" deteriorates from Rembrandt to connect-the-dots.
