Studies have shown it takes a physician about 18 seconds to interrupt a patient after they begin talking.

It was Sunday. I had one last patient to see. I approached her room in a hurry and stood at the doorway. She was an older woman, sitting at the edge of the bed, struggling to put socks on her swollen feet. I crossed the threshold, spoke quickly to the nurse, scanned her chart noting she was in stable condition. I was almost in the clear.

I leaned on the bedrail looking down at her. She asked if I could help put on her socks. Instead, I launched into a monologue that went
something like this: “How are you feeling? Your sugars and blood pressure were high but they’re better today. The nurse mentioned you’re anxious to see your son who’s visiting you today. It’s nice to have family visit from far away. I bet you really look forward to seeing him.”

She stopped me with a stern, authoritative voice. “Sit down, doctor. This is my story, not your story.”

I was surprised and embarrassed. I sat down. I helped her with the socks. She began to tell me that her only son lived around the corner from her, but she had not seen him in five years. She believed that the stress of this contributed greatly to her health problems. After
hearing her story and putting on her socks, I asked if there was anything else I could do for her. She shook her head no and smiled. All she wanted me to do was to listen.

Each story is different. Some are detailed; others are vague. Some have a beginning, middle and end. Others wander without a clear conclusion. Some are true; others not. Yet all those things do not really matter. What matters to the storyteller is that the story is heard – without interruption, assumption or judgment.

Listening to someone’s story costs less than expensive diagnostic testing but is key to healing and diagnosis.

I often thought of what that woman taught me, and I reminded myself of the importance of stopping, sitting down and truly listening.
And, not long after, in an unexpected twist, I became the patient, with a diagnosis of multiple sclerosis at age 31. Now, 20 years later, I sit all the time – in a wheelchair.

For as long as I could, I continued to see patients from my chair, but I had to resign when my hands were affected. I still teach med students and other health care professionals, but now from the perspective of physician and patient.

I tell them I believe in the power of listening. I tell them I know firsthand that immeasurable healing takes place within me when someone
stops, sits down and listens to my story.

研究证明，医患开始交谈后，医生会在大概18秒后打断病人的谈话。

那是一个周日，我要去见最后一位病人。我匆匆忙忙地走向她的病房，站到了门口。病人是位老妇人，此时她正坐在床沿上努力为自己浮肿的双脚穿上袜子。我跨进屋，快速和护士进行了交流，然后看了看病人的病历表。根据表格上的记录，她目前状况稳定。一套程序下来，我几乎没遇到什么困难。

我倚在床栏上低头看着她。她问我是否可以帮她把袜子穿上，我没有回答，而是自顾自地说起来：“你感觉怎么样？你的血糖和血压以前有点高，不过今天好多了。你的儿子今天要来看你，护士说你非常想见他。有家人远道来看望自己真是不错。我相
信你真的很渴望见到他。”大概就是这类话。

她用一种严厉、命令性的口气将我打断：“大夫，坐下来。这是我的事儿，不是你的。”

我既惊讶又尴尬。我坐了下来，帮她穿袜子。她告诉我，她的独生子就住在她家附近，但她已经有五年没见到儿子了。她相信，这件事给她的压力很大程度上加重了她的病情。听完她的故事并帮她穿上袜子后，我问她，我还能为她做些什么。她摇了摇头表示没有，然后笑了起来。她要让我做的全部事情就是听她讲故事。
每个故事都是不同的。有些故事详细，有些却模糊；有些故事有开始、经过和结果，有些则天马行空，没有明确的结论；有些故事是真实的，而有些不是。不过，这些要素都不是最重要的。对讲述者来说，真正重要的是，这个故事要有人去倾听——不要打断，不要臆断，也不要去评价。

去听别人讲故事比进行昂贵的诊断测试成本低得多，但它却是治疗和诊断