012 January 00:05 -05:00 GMT

I divert to live music. Live music captures the essence of being in the moment-to-moment anticipation of the unknown. If I hear a favorite song on a CD, and I hear the same song playing on the radio, I'll go to the radio every time. There's a sense of sharing - that there are others who are listening to the same thing I am. Somewhere on other roads in my vicinity, someone is bopping their head to the same beat I'm hearing. The possibility of that is enough to make Live much better than studio.

I'd go on in that vein, but now I do' wanna.

Naturally I have to write about neuropathology, which is what we UASOMers are currently focused on. This series of mini-courses, above all others, is the reason for being in medical school from the book-learning side. Of course the hospital experience that is coming imminently will teach us more real life experience than any book could. But here and now, in these last six months of our lecture-based studies, we are finally getting some big picture views of what ails our species, how to recognize it, and how to treat it. It's a very nice capstone course.

OK - filterless. Especially with the written word, I tend to be disinhibited. More often than not, I sort of cringe when I read the things I've written and made viewable here and in other public fora, like letters or editorials. Yet even as I cringe, as I read these flawed stones, I see myself in a fresh light. There have been times when I have written something, and later after the shock of realizing that this went out there for others to read, I've re-read and thought, wow, that was honest. A second thought I have is that I wonder if it is at all a good thing to lay my heart out there so far, to be that honest. I have doubts, yet I continue to do it, even as I wonder. I guess it's a "for better or for worse" compact I've made with myself.

An example of this is that I have recently been re-enthralled with being adopted and finding my parents. I don't know why 12 years later this has come back to strike me with a golden humor, but it has. Part of it was the downtime I had over the holidays, and discovering an Internet chat room filled with folks who are involved in adoption in some way, and most of whom had not the great fortune of discovery that I had. I only chatted once, but I "met" three or four folks who had struggles similar to mine, and  it was gratifying to hear their story.

Gear shift.

Today in a noon lunch, 150 or so medical students gathered to hear a speaker talk about his experience with patients. I am remiss in that I don't recall the speaker's name. But his message was one where he would not care so much that I recall his name. He would rather I heard his message. He is a doctor for newborns, and he told a story about receiving a transfer of an sweet girl, and the challenges he faced in interacting with the parents. The child was destined to die shortly. But that was not the focus. The focus of this doctor's talk was on listening to the story of the parents. It was on loving and being attentive enough, and selfless enough, to place oneself on the side of the parents.

"Listen to their story" was the message I received. Look in their eyes, and respect their entire story. Use the ears more than the mouth. This doctor's speaking style was very engaging. He clearly had a knack for not only listening to his patients, but for describing to we fledgling physicians how to listen, which was his key to being an excellent doctor. He told his anchor lies in the Christian faith, and that between tears elicited from infant deaths, prayers for strength in dealing with the emotional difficulties of sharing the burden of sorrow, he doctor managed to consistently reach his patients in such a way that they entrusted him with their sorrows and their hurts, but I would also argue their complete selves.

For the many of you who have lost someone close to you, or have truly suffered, you know that that narrow period of time when these feelings - feeling of loss and why - seem to be all that matters. These are raw times. You might spill out your guts when otherwise you wouldn't. It's a time when you don't care what folks think of your tears or your story or your heartache. On the flip side of the coin, that situation is often met by busy people with busy lives. They might care, but their own lives get in the way of really stopping for a moment. I think that too often the grieving are met with the busy people more than the listeners. Stop and Listen. Our speaker this noontime described an art that he has developed, which springs from a seemingly endless well of...of what?

Of giving, I'd say. He makes the difference by paying attention to the speaker instead of formulating his response in his head. He looks in the eye, and feels the person, respects the feelings their expressing, and at the end of a patient utterance, instead of starting in on his own thoughts on the subject, says, "Tell me more."

His non-verbal communication is saying, If you're so inclined, I would be honored to hear more about what you are thinking and feeling about this situation so that I could better serve you. If he were more comedic, the good doctor might have interjected a pantomime of the Jerry MacGuire locker room scene "Help me help you. Help me. Help you! Help me...help you."

You know, as a guy - a male - I get a little uncomfortable talking about feelings and emotions and the whole person and all that balderdash. I think we're hard wired...well...in other ways I can't describe easily. A big part of me would like to tend toward the simple scientific answers. "There is nothing that heals like cold hard steel," was what a friend in surgery told me, with a wry shared smile. But in the line of work for which I am queueing, I understand that young death is a difficult circumstance that will arise frequently. Some of my sadder experiences, however, make me understand the value of empathizing with those who are suffering the loss of a loved one. It ain't every man's cup of tea, but I believe that I can do that right.

And thank you to Dr. Rees Oliver, who illustrated the value in that today.