Michael Sekeres, MD, “I have made it a habit to scan the walls of my patients’ rooms, to gain some insight into their lives outside of the surreal experience of their lengthy hospital stay.”
Michael Sekeres, MD, “I have made it a habit to scan the walls of my patients’ rooms, to gain some insight into their lives outside of the surreal experience of their lengthy hospital stay.”
The patient I was caring for, a woman in her 40s with leukemia, had been admitted to the hospital for the second of four monthly courses of chemotherapy. She was sitting quietly in a chair by the window of her hospital room, dressed in her street clothes and flipping through some photos on her iPad. The cancer drugs dripped from a clear bag hanging on a nearby IV pole through clear plastic tubing into the catheter in her arm.
As we started chatting, I focused on a brightly colored drawing on the wall facing her bed. “Wow, what’s this?” I asked.
She got out of her chair and stood, joining me in front of the artwork.
“My daughter made that,” she said, smiling. “She’s 12 years old. She thought my room needed some decorating.”
The picture showed a blue sky with an impossibly yellow sun and billowy white clouds at the top, and a tall building with the words “Cleveland Clinic” emblazoned on it rising from the picture’s base. Row after row of meticulously drawn windows were depicted on the building’s facade, and from each window a smiling face looked out.
“She’s a great artist!” I said. “I’m so impressed with all the details.”
Does a more humane hospital make a safer hospital? That’s a question Johns Hopkins is grappling with — and Dr. Peter Pronovost believes the answer is yes. Berman Institute faculty and staff are among the Project Emerge collaborators seeking to improve the intensive care experience
Does a more humane hospital make a safer hospital? That’s a question Johns Hopkins is grappling with — and Dr. Peter Pronovost believes the answer is yes. Berman Institute faculty and staff are among the Project Emerge collaborators seeking to improve the intensive care experience
(Video) Prof. Tom Beauchamp, PhD, of the Kennedy Institute of Ethics at Georgetown University, discusses the legislative history and ethics of the right to die and physician assistance in the United States
(Video) Prof. Tom Beauchamp, PhD, of the Kennedy Institute of Ethics at Georgetown University, discusses the legislative history and ethics of the right to die and physician assistance in the United States
When someone makes a nasty quip, cuts us off in traffic, ignores our suggestions or takes credit for our work, we get mad, sad and even angry. Rudeness, even just little, can really hurt
When someone makes a nasty quip, cuts us off in traffic, ignores our suggestions or takes credit for our work, we get mad, sad and even angry. Rudeness, even just little, can really hurt
We know these reactions can be harmful, both to ourselves and those around us, but recent research suggests that the emotional reactions we have to rudeness tell only half of the story. There are cognitive effects we are not even aware of. In fact, this is what I study – how experiencing rudeness can damage performance by affecting our thinking and decision-making.
For example, in a recent study, my colleagues and I found that when people experience rudeness, they unknowingly become biased toward rude interpretations of social interactions. In other words, when we experience rudeness, we tend to think others are being rude to us as we go forward.
Rudeness has also been shown to draw cognitive resources away from individuals, causing them to perform worse and make more mistakes: for example, not remembering details of a conversation.
In her diary, Godelieva De Troyer classified her moods by color. She felt “dark gray” when she made a mistake while sewing or cooking. When her boyfriend talked too much, she moved between “very black” and “black!” She was afflicted with the worst kind of “black spot” when she visited her parents at their farm in northern Belgium. In their presence, she felt aggressive and dangerous. She worried that she had two selves, one “empathetic, charming, sensible” and the other cruel.
She felt “light gray” when she went to the hairdresser or rode her bicycle through the woods in Hasselt, a small city in the Flemish region of Belgium, where she lived. At these moments, she wrote, she tried to remind herself of all the things she could do to feel happy: “demand respect from others”; “be physically attractive”; “take a reserved stance”; “live in harmony with nature.” She imagined a life in which she was intellectually appreciated, socially engaged, fluent in English (she was taking a class), and had a “cleaning lady with whom I get along very well.”
Beginning in 2012, Gail Geller, a professor in the School of Medicine with a history of addressing ethical questions, and several ethicists at the Berman Institute of Bioethics began examining issues of respect and dignity in ICUs. Their research was part of Project Emerge, an ongoing study by the Armstrong Institute for Patient Safety and Quality at Johns Hopkins Medicine
Beginning in 2012, Gail Geller, a professor in the School of Medicine with a history of addressing ethical questions, and several ethicists at the Berman Institute of Bioethics began examining issues of respect and dignity in ICUs. Their research was part of Project Emerge, an ongoing study by the Armstrong Institute for Patient Safety and Quality at Johns Hopkins Medicine
Modern intensive care units are loaded with technology, and ICU clinicians frequently are pressed for time. So it can be common for physicians to take the quickest path of least resistance in dealing with ICU patients. For instance, they might look first not at the patient but at the readout on a machine, or they might speak to family and other people in the room as if the patient—who may be harder to engage because of sedation or impairment—were not present and an important part of the conversation.
Beginning in 2012, Gail Geller, a professor in the School of Medicine with a history of addressing ethical questions, and several ethicists at the Berman Institute of Bioethics began examining issues of respect and dignity in ICUs. For example, is not doing enough to include patients in conversations about their care disrespectful? And, in light of studies that show improved outcomes when patients are involved in their own care, might that disrespect do actual harm?
Their research was part of Project Emerge, an ongoing study by the Armstrong Institute for Patient Safety and Quality at Johns Hopkins Medicine, which has been examining preventable harm in the ICU. Forms of preventable harm include delirium from sedation, ICU-acquired weakness due to inactivity, complications that can arise from being on a ventilator, and loss of respect and dignity. The bioethicists became involved in the study, Geller says, because “bioethics includes clinical or medical ethics, and respect and dignity—and respect is one of the major virtues in clinical practice. It is centrally a moral virtue. If we don’t treat other people with respect, there’s reinforcement of hierarchy, which leads to injustice. Respect for persons is a big part of medical ethics.”
Gerald Dworkin: I am finishing the six months a year that I live in California. While here I have been working on the campaign, led by an organization called Compassion and Choices, to get a bill passed by the California legislature–SB128. This is a bill to allow medically-assisted dying in the state of California
Gerald Dworkin: I am finishing the six months a year that I live in California. While here I have been working on the campaign, led by an organization called Compassion and Choices, to get a bill passed by the California legislature–SB128. This is a bill to allow medically-assisted dying in the state of California
It is modeled on the measure passed by referendum in Oregon in 1994 by 51% of the voters. A legal injunction halted implementation of that law until 1997 when the Ninth Circuit lifted the injunction. In 1992 Californians rejected a referendum legalising assisted-dying, and the legislature has rejected similar bills four times.
Some form of medically assisted-dying is now legal in Oregon, Washington, Montana, Vermont , and one county of New Mexico. This latter reminds me of Woody Allen’s view on the existence of God. He exists everywhere except in certain parts of New Jersey.
The methods of legalization differed from state to state. Oregon was by referendum. Montana was a Supreme Court ruling. Vermont was by statute. Washington’s ballot initiative passed by 58% of the voters.
My own interest in these issues has been long-standing. In 1998 I wrote, together with two other philosophers, a book called Euthanasia and Physician-Assisted Suicide. Two of us argued for its moral and legal permissibility; one against. I should note that the use of the term “Physician-assisted suicide” is now politically incorrect, for tactical reasons. I understand that the popular prejudice against suicide makes it more difficult to rally support for the bills I favor. And even some potential users of such measures object to their death-certificate reading “suicide.” But to list the cause of death, as many such bills do, as the underlying disease process seems to me simply a lie. What caused the person diagnosed with terminal cancer to die now, rather than somewhat later, is the secobarbital the patient took. But learning to keep silent about such terminological matters was only one of many lessons I had to learn.
Sandy Bem, a Cornell psychology professor one month shy of her 65th birthday, was alone in her bedroom one night in May 2009, watching an HBO documentary called “The Alzheimer’s Project.” For two years, she had been experiencing what she called “cognitive oddities”: forgetting the names of things or confusing words that sounded similar. She once complained about a “blizzard” on her foot, when she meant a blister; she brought home a bag of plums and, standing in her kitchen, pulled one out and said to a friend: “Is this a plum? I can’t quite seem to fully know.”
Sandy was a small woman, just 4-foot-9 and 94 pounds, with an androgynous-pixie look: cropped hair, glasses and a wardrobe that skewed toward jeans and comfortable sweaters she knit herself in the 1990s. As she watched the documentary, her pulse thrumming in her ears, a woman on screen took a memory test. Sandy decided to take it along with her. Listen to three words, the examiner said, write a sentence of your choice and then try to remember the three words. Sandy heard the three words: “apple,” “table,” “penny.” She wrote a brief sentence: “I was born in Pittsburgh.” She said aloud the words she could remember: “apple,” “penny” . . . . The simplest of memory tests, and she had failed.
The next month, Sandy’s husband, Daryl, from whom she had been amicably separated for 15 years, drove her from Ithaca to the University of Rochester Medical Center for cognitive testing by a neuropsychologist named Mark Mapstone. Mapstone showed Sandy a line drawing and asked her to copy it, and then to draw it from memory 10 minutes later. He read her a list of words and had her recall as many as she could. He gave her two numbers and two letters and asked her to rearrange them in a particular order: low letter, high letter, low number, high number. Thank goodness that last one wasn’t timed, she thought to herself, as she focused all her mental energy on the task. She felt as gleeful as a kid who had earned a gold star when Mapstone said, “Yes, that’s right.”