Not on the Doctor’s Checklist, but Touch Matters
By DANIELLE OFRI, M.D.
Published: August 2, 2010
A new patient comes to my office, a healthy middle-aged woman. The medical assistant has already documented her normal blood pressure. Of our allotted 15 minutes, I spend more than two-thirds talking with her.
I ask about her personal medical history, her family medical history. I inquire about her lifestyle: what kind of work she does, whether she smokes, how much she exercises, whether she eats five servings of fruits and vegetables each day. I review her “health maintenance”: whether she’s up to date with her mammogram, Pap smear, vaccinations.
I press into the remaining minutes, counseling about calcium, sunscreen, seat belts. I screen for depression, domestic violence. I remind her about flu shots and colonoscopies. I pull out brochures about healthy diet and exercise, and we talk about ways to squeeze in exercise during her sedentary job.
And then I compliment myself on a job well done. I’ve covered all the relevant screening topics. I’ve touched all the bases of preventative medicine for a healthy woman. And I’ve even managed to finish on time, so I won’t have to keep the next patient waiting.
But my patient has a quizzical look on her face. Is that all there is, she seems to be asking.
In fact, through our extensive discussion (and the initial blood pressure check), we have fulfilled all of the medical interventions that scientific evidence has validated as helpful for a healthy patient. But my patient is clearly dissatisfied. A doctor’s visit is not a doctor’s visit until a stethoscope has probed the inner rhythms of the heart, and a set of medical hands has palpated the belly. Research has shown that patients expect a physical exam.
But is there any research to show that a physical exam — in a healthy person — is of any benefit? Despite a long and storied tradition, a physical exam is more a habit than a clinically proven method of picking up disease in asymptomatic people. There is scant evidence to suggest that routinely listening to every healthy person’s lungs, or pressing on every normal person’s liver, will find a disease that wasn’t suggested by the patient’s history. For a healthy person, an “abnormal finding” on physical exam is more likely to be a false positive than a real sign of illness.
Moreover, a normal physical exam cannot reassure a patient that there is no disease lurking in the shadows.
But does the physical exam serve any other purpose? The doctor-patient relationship is fundamentally different from, say, the accountant-client relationship. The laying on of hands sets medical practitioners apart from their counterparts in the business world. Despite the inroads of evidence-based medicine, M.R.I.s, angiograms and PET scanners, there is clearly something special, perhaps even healing, about touch. There is a warmth of connection that supersedes anything intellectual, and that connection goes both ways in the doctor-patient relationship.
We only have a few minutes left to our visit, but I gesture her up to the exam table. I place my hand on her shoulder and slide my stethoscope over her ribs. As I listen to the thrum of airflow that I’m 99.9 percent sure is perfectly normal, I feel both of our bodies relax ever so slightly.
I ease the bell of the stethoscope around to her heart, and though I know that there is only a small chance that I will hear anything to indicate serious illness, the familiar rhythms are comforting to my ear. As I examine her abdomen, we continue to talk, but there is a perceptible shift in the tenor of our interaction.
The polite but businesslike nature of our initial conversation has melted. No matter how we’ve come to this room, to these postures, to this connection, we are now more intimate. Even if our initial conversation had been marked by frustration or anger, the timbre of our interaction would have softened. It is almost impossible to be annoyed or curt when skin is touching skin.
Perhaps that is the crux. Touch is inherently humanizing, and for a doctor-patient relationship to have meaning beyond that of a business interaction, there needs to be trust — on both ends. As has been proved in newborn nurseries, and intuited by most doctors, nurses and patients, one of the most basic ways to establish trust is to touch.
I cringe whenever our hospital administration refers to the doctors and nurses as “health care providers.” That term always makes me feel like a soft-drink dispenser at Burger King. I’m not a “provider”; I’m a person, a doctor. And my patient is not a “customer” or a “client.” We are not transacting business.
Which is why a doctor’s visit never feels complete without a physical exam. It is a crucial part of the doctor-patient relationship that cannot be underestimated. One doesn’t need a scientific study to prove that.
Dr. Danielle Ofri is an internist in New York City. Her newest book is “Medicine in Translation: Journeys With My Patients.”
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19 Νοεμβρίου 2009, 14:47:09