It’s been a quiet week in Cuyahoga Falls…
Each day I see a variety of patients. Most are older than I but no more than my parents were. We have the things in common that each adjacent generation might; world events, music, books, TV shows, movies and styles. I feel that I’m perfectly positioned to draw from each patient some story that will expand upon what I knew as a child and what they observed as an adult. Almost without exception their stories are different in a way that teaches me something about our common experience.
I hope you notice that the subjects I choose aren’t about me – they’re about us, and they’re about the world we have both occupied and still do. I’ve always done this and during the past year I’ve discovered that this sort of communication is rare in the therapy department.
What I see instead is this: a therapist will begin to talk about something completely self-referential and then expand upon that. Their difficult drive to work, their kids, their own illness (I’m not kidding), their hobbies, their personal relationships, and all of this, it appears, is completely disconnected from the patient or the problem at hand. The therapist will occasionally interrupt themselves to direct a movement or count out yet another set of essentially useless but reimbursable exercises and then rapidly return to the small talk that passes for “getting along” with the patients. “My patients love me” is what I’ve heard from many who do this.
This manner of communication has its close cousins. Sometimes the therapist will get the patients to speak similarly. The worst, I think, is when two or more therapists do this continuously among themselves while the patients are obliged to listen as if potted plants. This makes my blood run cold.
The word trivia has its root in the Latin meaning “three roads.” My understanding is that Roman soldiers would post messages on posts erected where three roads met, knowing that someone traveling along would carry them somewhere else, and on and on. Since all roads led to Rome (supposedly) they could get their messages home. This means that trivia wasn’t something small; it was deeply rooted in the culture’s communication, both personal and universal.
Given an opportunity, I will often engage my patients in trivial knowledge. It might be about who played what part in which movie or what sports stars they remember from the local teams. I might find that they read a lot and I can begin a conversation there. I try to find something about their passions and use that. Eventually, I relate what we’ve spoken of to their therapy somehow. I don’t usually know how that will happen until I hear myself speaking of it.
This isn’t small talk, and it’s not about me. It implies that I want to connect their life to the fix they find themselves in and carry the message to another place, closer to home.
What do you do?
Each day I see a variety of patients. Most are older than I but no more than my parents were. We have the things in common that each adjacent generation might; world events, music, books, TV shows, movies and styles. I feel that I’m perfectly positioned to draw from each patient some story that will expand upon what I knew as a child and what they observed as an adult. Almost without exception their stories are different in a way that teaches me something about our common experience.
I hope you notice that the subjects I choose aren’t about me – they’re about us, and they’re about the world we have both occupied and still do. I’ve always done this and during the past year I’ve discovered that this sort of communication is rare in the therapy department.
What I see instead is this: a therapist will begin to talk about something completely self-referential and then expand upon that. Their difficult drive to work, their kids, their own illness (I’m not kidding), their hobbies, their personal relationships, and all of this, it appears, is completely disconnected from the patient or the problem at hand. The therapist will occasionally interrupt themselves to direct a movement or count out yet another set of essentially useless but reimbursable exercises and then rapidly return to the small talk that passes for “getting along” with the patients. “My patients love me” is what I’ve heard from many who do this.
This manner of communication has its close cousins. Sometimes the therapist will get the patients to speak similarly. The worst, I think, is when two or more therapists do this continuously among themselves while the patients are obliged to listen as if potted plants. This makes my blood run cold.
The word trivia has its root in the Latin meaning “three roads.” My understanding is that Roman soldiers would post messages on posts erected where three roads met, knowing that someone traveling along would carry them somewhere else, and on and on. Since all roads led to Rome (supposedly) they could get their messages home. This means that trivia wasn’t something small; it was deeply rooted in the culture’s communication, both personal and universal.
Given an opportunity, I will often engage my patients in trivial knowledge. It might be about who played what part in which movie or what sports stars they remember from the local teams. I might find that they read a lot and I can begin a conversation there. I try to find something about their passions and use that. Eventually, I relate what we’ve spoken of to their therapy somehow. I don’t usually know how that will happen until I hear myself speaking of it.
This isn’t small talk, and it’s not about me. It implies that I want to connect their life to the fix they find themselves in and carry the message to another place, closer to home.
What do you do?
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