A couple of months ago, I paid a visit to the medical doctor. I'd been battling a respiratory infection for about a week. I had exhausted my resources of natural therapies, and decided it was time to move along the continuum to allopathy. No longer fettered by the restrictions of an HMO, I went back to my old family internist.

An assistant took my vital signs and a very brief history. Several minutes later, the doctor came in and performed a cursory examination, making a few gruff comments along the way. I tried to ask some questions about the results of my CBC, thinking that I could engage him in conversation by using clinical language. But his answers were curt; out came the pen and prescription pad, deft fingers summoning the might of modern medicine. OK--see you later--pay the receptionist on your way out.

Now, my problem was routine. From the allopathic perspective, it had a simple solution. No need for any deep conversations, right? Yet because of that lack of communication, I felt no loyalty to this doctor. Would I go back to him with another acute problem? Perhaps, if I couldn't get an appointment elsewhere. With a more serious problem? I would really be inclined to seek a different physician.

Contrast this with my experience opening a new checking account recently. A simple procedure, one that the account manager had done hundreds of times. Yet throughout the process, she spoke clearly, listened with interest, and responded enthusiastically. She had a completely positive effect on me.

In chiropractic, we consider ourselves a holistic health profession. Yet holism cannot stop at the level of physical exam and treatment. We must exercise the skill of truly listening to patients. This is an active process that includes guidance; yet what is more important is that we allow the patient to tell her or his own story. Listening does not end there, however; if we distill the patient's story into medical shorthand, then we have heard, but have not listened. The key is to acknowledge what the patient has given us, and to empathize with his or her situation. This does not necessitate a long counseling session; it merely depends on attitude and effort.

Dr. Ezra Cohen, director of NCC's Woodridge clinic, offers a strong image: When someone tells you something, treat it like gold. Don't throw it away. That is the essence of acknowledgement. People seek professional care because they feel vulnerable; their own health has gone beyond their control. Healing starts with the effort to formulate a story. When the physician validates that story, recognizing the patient's unique situation, a bond is formed that facilitates further restoration.

Empathy is something that may seem more difficult. A patient may have a condition that we have never experienced before; how can we imagine what it would be like, what she or he is going through? Though we may not have had the exact pathology, there is one element that is common to human life, and that is suffering. In one way or another, we've all been there.

The old allopathic ideal envisions the perfect physician: perfect in intellect, knowledge, and health, handing down cures from a marble pedestal. One allopath, Dr. Rachel Naomi Remen, regrets this model, and looks to one offered by indigenous societies. In these cultures, healing is handled by shamans. To become a shaman, one must have experienced a serious illness oneself; furthermore, the shaman displays a symbol of that illness for the rest of his or her life. This is a sign to others that the shaman is genuine. There is no diploma or certificate; the paramount factor is that proof that the shaman can empathize with suffering.

Chiropractors have generally been among the best health care providers to integrate the best of both intellect and compassion. However, there has been a growing tendency for DCs simply to "rack 'em and crack 'em." Meanwhile, the allopathic community is becoming more aware of the importance of this balance. As the next generation of chiropractors, we must reclaim our heritage, and devote time not only to developing the skills of our hands, but our ears as well. After all, shouldn't people trust their doctor at least as much as their banker?

Reprinted from The Synapse, June 1997.