Dispensing Compassion in a World that Prescribes Assumptions

Simply Sunday: 07

It’s Simply Sunday… and Father’s Day! Whether you are joyfully celebrating a good Dad in your life - or feeling the weight of more complicated feelings, know that you are welcome here. Today, we are back to our Sunday series on, “Dispensing Welcome in a World that Prescribes Walls.”

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How often do we make assumptions about the people around us, instead of pausing to learn their story? I used to believe my role as a healthcare professional was to share knowledge and solve problems. Now I know that what people need the most isn’t more information- it’s more connection. Connection that leads to compassion can change the way we view someone.

Sometimes it even changes the treatment plan.

I was in my final year of pharmacy school, completing a month long clinical hospital rotation. I met each morning with a multidisciplinary healthcare team to discuss each patient’s medical plan. My job was to assess medications they were taking, ensure we were checking the appropriate labs, and to recommend dose or medication changes if needed. As a student I was one of the least experienced members on the team, but this was a teaching hospital where learners were a welcome part of the daily hospital operations, alongside licensed healthcare professionals. I was trying to soak up every bit of a fast-paced, challenging learning experience.

But more than the medical knowledge I gained, there is one particular patient I will never forget. He was a man in his mid-fifties, but he looked at least a decade older. Part of his treatment in the hospital included an opioid pain medication that was given through a vein (IV). After many days he was improving, and our team began discussing a plan to send him home. My job was to assess his current IV medication regimen, recommend an equivalent medication he could take by mouth, and to counsel the patient on his new prescription before going home the next day.

IV medications are not equal to medications taken by mouth, so the dose must be carefully adjusted to ensure that it is safe and works well. Further, for patients who have been on an opioid pain medication for a long time, the treatment cannot be stopped suddenly. The medication dose must be reduced gradually over several days to prevent withdrawal.

For this patient, I carefully wrote out the calculations to convert his IV medication to a similar medication that he could take by mouth at home. Since he had been in the hospital for many days on this opioid medication, I wrote out a detailed taper schedule to ensure his body was slowly weaned off of it. I even made a calendar the patient could use to keep track of his medication schedule. I discussed the proposed plan with my supervising pharmacist and made my final recommendation to the medical team. The physician agreed with my plan, wrote the prescription, and asked me to deliver to the patient and provide education for him.

This was a complex patient, and I was proud of my work. I had used my knowledge to create a plan, and the people way above my pay grade (and experience) had agreed with it! As a student, this was an especially good feeling.

To be honest, I did not really want to go into this man’s room. Maybe it was the fact that he seemed a little “rough around the edges.” Or maybe it was the fact that older male patients sometimes dismissed me as a young girl who couldn’t possibly know what she was talking about. They couldn’t fathom that I would be graduating with my doctorate degree in a matter of months.

Nevertheless, I entered the patient’s room, prescription in hand. I introduced myself as the student pharmacist and began to discuss the medication plan I had so carefully designed. But as soon as I mentioned the prescription, the patient shifted in his bed and a shadow seemed to overtake his face. Had I said something wrong already? No… it wasn’t a look of doubt; it was a look of shame. He suddenly interrupted me and through nervous jitters explained that he had just graduated from a rehab program to overcome a recent drug addiction. He was terrified that he would relapse and did not want to take home the prescription that I was about to eagerly offer.

I was stunned. I had spent so much time carefully calculating, converting, and communicating a medication regimen that I was certain of, but I had missed the most important thing. How was our medical team not aware of this? Why did we not ask more questions? We were so caught up in the standard treatment plan that we had completely failed to get to know this man beyond his rough appearance and current medical diagnosis. We had seen this man as another patient who should fit into our plan, but we hadn’t truly seen him.

I acknowledged his concerns and assured him that our medical team would work together with him to make a better plan. I then lingered for a few minutes as he shared about his life, his struggles, and his fight to keep his faith. By the end of his story, tears filled his eyes. It wasn’t my pharmacy knowledge or my carefully written medication plan that he needed most at all; it was compassion.

How easy would it have been for me to hand this man the prescription, tell him my perfectly made plan, and walk away? How many other times had I done that for other patients?

How often do we do that with the people around us? We make an assumption, are quick to share our carefully curated facts or opinions, and then rarely stop to learn more.

Think of people in your life who may need compassion more than information. Is it a group of people you’ve labeled as “other” or “strange”? Or maybe someone you know well, a coworker or family member? Compassion is not just about being kind. It is about leading with curiosity.

Let’s be people who listen to the whole story before jumping to our own conclusions. Let’s dispense compassion in a world that prescribes assumptions.

Dr. Peek