Black Bag Remedies for the Ailing Medical Soul

Sensitive to the (mental) health of physicians who are so overworked and stretched in the states, Dr. Deluca-Verley wrote a book of reflections, which she self-published, called BLACK BAG REMEDIES FOR THE AILING MEDICAL SOUL, which was celebrated by the American Medical Woman’s Association as their ‘book of the year.’

Excerpts from ‘Black Bag Remedies for the Ailing Medical Soul,’ by BADV, 1999

My first glimpses of the world of medicine occurred on Sundays at my grandmother’s dinner table. In that classroom I was immersed in the weekly rituals of consuming pasta and digesting the medical debates of three brothers – my uncles and my father – who were all dedicated to a life of working with the sick. Their passion infected nearly everyone at this large table for thirty. Phone calls punctuated the day and often one uncle or my father made a late entry or early departure to see patients.

At home, my father, a pediatric surgeon, answered calls around the clock and frequently left in the dark of night to tend to an emergency. I marveled at his dedication to his ‘second family’ at the Potter Building, the original Rhode Island Children’s Hospital. He conveyed to his family the importance of applying one’s self wholeheartedly, with a passion for excellence. He was steadfast. Being a physician was a calling to be a healer; it was a privilege to care for the sick.

As I exited the gates of the Brown University School of Medicine as a member of the graduating class of 1990, I felt both amazed and terrified. Intensive training at Brown’s Pediatric Residency Program was a sobering experience of the injustices suffered by young children. Their courage and strength in the face of chronic illness and trauma overwhelmed me. Witnessing their deaths forced me to continually restructure my priorities no matter my degree of fatigue. The gentle spirits of the staff, nurses and physicians inspired me to keep plowing through the surreal life of sleeplessness and coffee induce adrenaline rushes. By far, the young patients who impacted me most were those struggling with cancer. They empowered me each time I had to draw blood or access a port. These bald little warriors were my heroes. Little did I know the gifts they had given me. Two months after I opened my solo pediatric practice in 1997 in my hometown, I found myself inspired by those valiant role models of courage and faith. I was a 37-year-old mother, breast feeding my third child, when I discovered a cancerous lump in my right breast.

I was suddenly the patient in a faded johnny. Medical care appeared different, impersonal and dictated to the extremes by the insurance industry. Simple tests that I, as a physician, had ordered countless times became my painful, frightening and, sometimes, unnecessary enemies. Hope was what I wanted most from those who cared for me. The whole experience showed me that the patient – physician relationship is collaborative; one in which I needed to be proactive. Interestingly, I discovered my need for processing my illness was best handled in the creative spaces of dancing, drawing, and writing – all of which echoed the same hopeful message. My father had once told me that we, as physicians, never have the right to take away hope. As a patient, I refused to give it away.

This is my advice to medical students and young doctors. Honor a code as old as time. Create a safe and sacred space in which your patient partnerships can flourish. ‘Safe’ is more than confidential. It is in the realm of ‘holy.’ ‘Sacred’ is more the realization of yourself as an instrument of the Divine.