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“You’ll never walk alone.” — Nettie Fowler, Carousel
A few winters ago, a young man and his fiancée were driving on the 91 freeway in southern California during a torrential downpour when their Honda Civic hydroplaned, slamming into the jersey barrier. They were both unhurt. Unsure what to do next, they made the catastrophic decision to exit the vehicle. As the man walked around the back of the car he was nearly hit by a black sedan sliding out of control trying to avoid them. When he came around the car, his fiancé was nowhere to be found. She had been struck at highway speed and lay crushed under the sedan hundreds of feet away.
I know this poor man because he was referred to me. Not as a dermatologist, but as a fellow human healing from trauma. On January 1, 2019, at about 9:30 PM, while we were home together, my beloved wife of 24 years took her own life. Even 5 years on it is difficult to believe that she isn’t proofing this paragraph like she had done for every one of my Derm News columns for years. We had been together since teenagers and had lived a joy-filled life. There isn’t any medical reason to share. But that day I joined the community of those who have carried unbearable heaviness of grief and survived. Sometimes others seek me out for help.
At first, my instinct was to guide them, to give advice, to tell them what to do and where to go. But I’ve learned that people in this dark valley don’t need a guide. They need someone to accompany them. To walk with them for a few minutes on their lonely journey. I recently read David Brooks’s new book, How to Know a Person. I’ve been a fan of his since he joined the New York Times in 2003 and have read almost everything he’s written. I sometimes even imagine how he might approach a column whenever I’m stuck (thank you, David). His The Road to Character book is in my canon of literature for self-growth. This latest book is an interesting digression from that central theme. He argues that our society is in acute need of forming better connections and that an important way we can be moral is to learn, and to practice, how to know each other. He shares an emotional experience of losing a close friend to suicide and writes a poignant explanation of what it means to accompany someone in need. It particularly resonated with me. We are doctors and are wired to find the source of a problem, like quickly rotating through the 4X, 10X, 40X on a microscope. Once identified, we spend most of our time creating and explaining treatments. I see how this makes me a great dermatologist but just an average human.
Brooks tells the story of a woman with a brain tumor who often finds herself on the ground surrounded by well-meaning people trying to help. She explains later that what she really needs in those moments is just for someone to get on the ground and lie with her. To accompany her.
Having crossed the midpoint of life, I see with the benefit of perspective how suffering has afforded me wisdom: I am more sensitive and attuned to others. It also gave me credibility: I know how it feels to walk life’s loneliest journey. I’ve also learned to make myself vulnerable for someone to share their story with me. I won’t be afraid to hear the details. I won’t judge them for weeping too little or for sobbing too much. I don’t answer whys. I won’t say what they should do next. But for a few minutes I can walk beside them as a person who cares.
I do not try to remember the hours and days after Susan’s death, but one moment stands out and makes my eyes well when I think of it. That following day my dear brother flew across the country on the next flight out. I was sitting in a psychiatry waiting room when he came down the hall with his luggage in tow. He hugged me as only a brother could, then looked me in my eyes, which were bloodshot from tears just as his were, and he said, “We’re going to be OK.” And with that he walked with me into the office.
We physicians are blessed to have so many intimate human interactions. This book reminded me that sometimes my most important job is not to be the optimized doctor, but just a good human walking alongside.
I have no conflict of interest and purchased these books.
Dr. Benabio is director of Healthcare Transformation and chief of dermatology at Kaiser Permanente San Diego. The opinions expressed in this column are his own and do not represent those of Kaiser Permanente. Dr. Benabio is @Dermdoc on X. Write to him at dermnews@mdedge.com.
“You’ll never walk alone.” — Nettie Fowler, Carousel
A few winters ago, a young man and his fiancée were driving on the 91 freeway in southern California during a torrential downpour when their Honda Civic hydroplaned, slamming into the jersey barrier. They were both unhurt. Unsure what to do next, they made the catastrophic decision to exit the vehicle. As the man walked around the back of the car he was nearly hit by a black sedan sliding out of control trying to avoid them. When he came around the car, his fiancé was nowhere to be found. She had been struck at highway speed and lay crushed under the sedan hundreds of feet away.
I know this poor man because he was referred to me. Not as a dermatologist, but as a fellow human healing from trauma. On January 1, 2019, at about 9:30 PM, while we were home together, my beloved wife of 24 years took her own life. Even 5 years on it is difficult to believe that she isn’t proofing this paragraph like she had done for every one of my Derm News columns for years. We had been together since teenagers and had lived a joy-filled life. There isn’t any medical reason to share. But that day I joined the community of those who have carried unbearable heaviness of grief and survived. Sometimes others seek me out for help.
At first, my instinct was to guide them, to give advice, to tell them what to do and where to go. But I’ve learned that people in this dark valley don’t need a guide. They need someone to accompany them. To walk with them for a few minutes on their lonely journey. I recently read David Brooks’s new book, How to Know a Person. I’ve been a fan of his since he joined the New York Times in 2003 and have read almost everything he’s written. I sometimes even imagine how he might approach a column whenever I’m stuck (thank you, David). His The Road to Character book is in my canon of literature for self-growth. This latest book is an interesting digression from that central theme. He argues that our society is in acute need of forming better connections and that an important way we can be moral is to learn, and to practice, how to know each other. He shares an emotional experience of losing a close friend to suicide and writes a poignant explanation of what it means to accompany someone in need. It particularly resonated with me. We are doctors and are wired to find the source of a problem, like quickly rotating through the 4X, 10X, 40X on a microscope. Once identified, we spend most of our time creating and explaining treatments. I see how this makes me a great dermatologist but just an average human.
Brooks tells the story of a woman with a brain tumor who often finds herself on the ground surrounded by well-meaning people trying to help. She explains later that what she really needs in those moments is just for someone to get on the ground and lie with her. To accompany her.
Having crossed the midpoint of life, I see with the benefit of perspective how suffering has afforded me wisdom: I am more sensitive and attuned to others. It also gave me credibility: I know how it feels to walk life’s loneliest journey. I’ve also learned to make myself vulnerable for someone to share their story with me. I won’t be afraid to hear the details. I won’t judge them for weeping too little or for sobbing too much. I don’t answer whys. I won’t say what they should do next. But for a few minutes I can walk beside them as a person who cares.
I do not try to remember the hours and days after Susan’s death, but one moment stands out and makes my eyes well when I think of it. That following day my dear brother flew across the country on the next flight out. I was sitting in a psychiatry waiting room when he came down the hall with his luggage in tow. He hugged me as only a brother could, then looked me in my eyes, which were bloodshot from tears just as his were, and he said, “We’re going to be OK.” And with that he walked with me into the office.
We physicians are blessed to have so many intimate human interactions. This book reminded me that sometimes my most important job is not to be the optimized doctor, but just a good human walking alongside.
I have no conflict of interest and purchased these books.
Dr. Benabio is director of Healthcare Transformation and chief of dermatology at Kaiser Permanente San Diego. The opinions expressed in this column are his own and do not represent those of Kaiser Permanente. Dr. Benabio is @Dermdoc on X. Write to him at dermnews@mdedge.com.
“You’ll never walk alone.” — Nettie Fowler, Carousel
A few winters ago, a young man and his fiancée were driving on the 91 freeway in southern California during a torrential downpour when their Honda Civic hydroplaned, slamming into the jersey barrier. They were both unhurt. Unsure what to do next, they made the catastrophic decision to exit the vehicle. As the man walked around the back of the car he was nearly hit by a black sedan sliding out of control trying to avoid them. When he came around the car, his fiancé was nowhere to be found. She had been struck at highway speed and lay crushed under the sedan hundreds of feet away.
I know this poor man because he was referred to me. Not as a dermatologist, but as a fellow human healing from trauma. On January 1, 2019, at about 9:30 PM, while we were home together, my beloved wife of 24 years took her own life. Even 5 years on it is difficult to believe that she isn’t proofing this paragraph like she had done for every one of my Derm News columns for years. We had been together since teenagers and had lived a joy-filled life. There isn’t any medical reason to share. But that day I joined the community of those who have carried unbearable heaviness of grief and survived. Sometimes others seek me out for help.
At first, my instinct was to guide them, to give advice, to tell them what to do and where to go. But I’ve learned that people in this dark valley don’t need a guide. They need someone to accompany them. To walk with them for a few minutes on their lonely journey. I recently read David Brooks’s new book, How to Know a Person. I’ve been a fan of his since he joined the New York Times in 2003 and have read almost everything he’s written. I sometimes even imagine how he might approach a column whenever I’m stuck (thank you, David). His The Road to Character book is in my canon of literature for self-growth. This latest book is an interesting digression from that central theme. He argues that our society is in acute need of forming better connections and that an important way we can be moral is to learn, and to practice, how to know each other. He shares an emotional experience of losing a close friend to suicide and writes a poignant explanation of what it means to accompany someone in need. It particularly resonated with me. We are doctors and are wired to find the source of a problem, like quickly rotating through the 4X, 10X, 40X on a microscope. Once identified, we spend most of our time creating and explaining treatments. I see how this makes me a great dermatologist but just an average human.
Brooks tells the story of a woman with a brain tumor who often finds herself on the ground surrounded by well-meaning people trying to help. She explains later that what she really needs in those moments is just for someone to get on the ground and lie with her. To accompany her.
Having crossed the midpoint of life, I see with the benefit of perspective how suffering has afforded me wisdom: I am more sensitive and attuned to others. It also gave me credibility: I know how it feels to walk life’s loneliest journey. I’ve also learned to make myself vulnerable for someone to share their story with me. I won’t be afraid to hear the details. I won’t judge them for weeping too little or for sobbing too much. I don’t answer whys. I won’t say what they should do next. But for a few minutes I can walk beside them as a person who cares.
I do not try to remember the hours and days after Susan’s death, but one moment stands out and makes my eyes well when I think of it. That following day my dear brother flew across the country on the next flight out. I was sitting in a psychiatry waiting room when he came down the hall with his luggage in tow. He hugged me as only a brother could, then looked me in my eyes, which were bloodshot from tears just as his were, and he said, “We’re going to be OK.” And with that he walked with me into the office.
We physicians are blessed to have so many intimate human interactions. This book reminded me that sometimes my most important job is not to be the optimized doctor, but just a good human walking alongside.
I have no conflict of interest and purchased these books.
Dr. Benabio is director of Healthcare Transformation and chief of dermatology at Kaiser Permanente San Diego. The opinions expressed in this column are his own and do not represent those of Kaiser Permanente. Dr. Benabio is @Dermdoc on X. Write to him at dermnews@mdedge.com.