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In the wake of the actor Philip Seymour Hoffman’s death, I’ve been thinking a lot about the movie Doubt. In it, Hoffman plays Father Brendan Flynn, a Catholic priest newly assigned to a parish in the Bronx. The school attached to the parish is run by the strict Sister Aloysius Beauvier, played by Meryl Streep. She is suspicious of the priest’s motives behind his befriending a boy, who happens to be the school’s only black student. The boy’s mother welcomes the friendship, as it provides shelter from his abusive father, and begs Sister Beauvier to leave things alone. But the nun doggedly pursues the issue, and in the end she succeeds in getting the priest removed from the parish.
Being relatively new to private practice, I constantly reflect on my methods. I have gotten the diagnosis wrong sometimes, and while I understand that this happens to even the most seasoned among us, when it happens to me, I cannot help but feel like an impostor, unqualified and incompetent. When I risk doing harm to a patient by giving them medications that may not work, I feel like curling up under the covers and not ever coming out. Steroids and chronic immunosuppression don’t exactly inspire confidence. It does not help that rheumatology isn’t the most exact of specialties and the diseases that we diagnose and treat are nebulous by nature.
Therefore, I would venture to say that rheumatologists are probably more comfortable with ambiguity than most other specialists. That’s not easy for a scientist to say; the object of science, after all, is to find answers. Certitude is comforting. Patients expect that from us, and we do our best to provide it. But it is not always possible through no fault of our own, but as a limitation of the field itself. In such situations, it can be very humbling to acknowledge that there are gaps in our knowledge.
I am learning to be comfortable with saying, "I don’t know. I need help. I cannot figure this out on my own." If I do not allow myself to question my judgment, I run the risk of harming this person who trusts me implicitly. Humility and certitude are, in our imperfect science, two sides of the same patient care coin that can spell the difference in a patient’s outcome.
After all, questioning is integral to the pursuit of knowledge. Great science is not possible without curiosity. The philosopher Simon Critchley says that "knowledge is precise, but that precision is confined within a certain toleration of uncertainty." Therefore, just as there is comfort in certitude, there is also some comfort in doubt.
At the end of the movie, we are left wondering if Father Flynn is guilty of abusing the young boy. But we’re not meant to know. In fact, the cast, except for Hoffman, did not know either. Not knowing is the point. We are meant to examine our attitudes toward conviction, toward truth, to the extent that it is limited by what is knowable. As Father Flynn in the movie says: "Doubt can be a bond as powerful and sustaining as certainty. When you are lost, you are not alone."
Dr. Chan practices rheumatology in Pawtucket, R.I.
In the wake of the actor Philip Seymour Hoffman’s death, I’ve been thinking a lot about the movie Doubt. In it, Hoffman plays Father Brendan Flynn, a Catholic priest newly assigned to a parish in the Bronx. The school attached to the parish is run by the strict Sister Aloysius Beauvier, played by Meryl Streep. She is suspicious of the priest’s motives behind his befriending a boy, who happens to be the school’s only black student. The boy’s mother welcomes the friendship, as it provides shelter from his abusive father, and begs Sister Beauvier to leave things alone. But the nun doggedly pursues the issue, and in the end she succeeds in getting the priest removed from the parish.
Being relatively new to private practice, I constantly reflect on my methods. I have gotten the diagnosis wrong sometimes, and while I understand that this happens to even the most seasoned among us, when it happens to me, I cannot help but feel like an impostor, unqualified and incompetent. When I risk doing harm to a patient by giving them medications that may not work, I feel like curling up under the covers and not ever coming out. Steroids and chronic immunosuppression don’t exactly inspire confidence. It does not help that rheumatology isn’t the most exact of specialties and the diseases that we diagnose and treat are nebulous by nature.
Therefore, I would venture to say that rheumatologists are probably more comfortable with ambiguity than most other specialists. That’s not easy for a scientist to say; the object of science, after all, is to find answers. Certitude is comforting. Patients expect that from us, and we do our best to provide it. But it is not always possible through no fault of our own, but as a limitation of the field itself. In such situations, it can be very humbling to acknowledge that there are gaps in our knowledge.
I am learning to be comfortable with saying, "I don’t know. I need help. I cannot figure this out on my own." If I do not allow myself to question my judgment, I run the risk of harming this person who trusts me implicitly. Humility and certitude are, in our imperfect science, two sides of the same patient care coin that can spell the difference in a patient’s outcome.
After all, questioning is integral to the pursuit of knowledge. Great science is not possible without curiosity. The philosopher Simon Critchley says that "knowledge is precise, but that precision is confined within a certain toleration of uncertainty." Therefore, just as there is comfort in certitude, there is also some comfort in doubt.
At the end of the movie, we are left wondering if Father Flynn is guilty of abusing the young boy. But we’re not meant to know. In fact, the cast, except for Hoffman, did not know either. Not knowing is the point. We are meant to examine our attitudes toward conviction, toward truth, to the extent that it is limited by what is knowable. As Father Flynn in the movie says: "Doubt can be a bond as powerful and sustaining as certainty. When you are lost, you are not alone."
Dr. Chan practices rheumatology in Pawtucket, R.I.
In the wake of the actor Philip Seymour Hoffman’s death, I’ve been thinking a lot about the movie Doubt. In it, Hoffman plays Father Brendan Flynn, a Catholic priest newly assigned to a parish in the Bronx. The school attached to the parish is run by the strict Sister Aloysius Beauvier, played by Meryl Streep. She is suspicious of the priest’s motives behind his befriending a boy, who happens to be the school’s only black student. The boy’s mother welcomes the friendship, as it provides shelter from his abusive father, and begs Sister Beauvier to leave things alone. But the nun doggedly pursues the issue, and in the end she succeeds in getting the priest removed from the parish.
Being relatively new to private practice, I constantly reflect on my methods. I have gotten the diagnosis wrong sometimes, and while I understand that this happens to even the most seasoned among us, when it happens to me, I cannot help but feel like an impostor, unqualified and incompetent. When I risk doing harm to a patient by giving them medications that may not work, I feel like curling up under the covers and not ever coming out. Steroids and chronic immunosuppression don’t exactly inspire confidence. It does not help that rheumatology isn’t the most exact of specialties and the diseases that we diagnose and treat are nebulous by nature.
Therefore, I would venture to say that rheumatologists are probably more comfortable with ambiguity than most other specialists. That’s not easy for a scientist to say; the object of science, after all, is to find answers. Certitude is comforting. Patients expect that from us, and we do our best to provide it. But it is not always possible through no fault of our own, but as a limitation of the field itself. In such situations, it can be very humbling to acknowledge that there are gaps in our knowledge.
I am learning to be comfortable with saying, "I don’t know. I need help. I cannot figure this out on my own." If I do not allow myself to question my judgment, I run the risk of harming this person who trusts me implicitly. Humility and certitude are, in our imperfect science, two sides of the same patient care coin that can spell the difference in a patient’s outcome.
After all, questioning is integral to the pursuit of knowledge. Great science is not possible without curiosity. The philosopher Simon Critchley says that "knowledge is precise, but that precision is confined within a certain toleration of uncertainty." Therefore, just as there is comfort in certitude, there is also some comfort in doubt.
At the end of the movie, we are left wondering if Father Flynn is guilty of abusing the young boy. But we’re not meant to know. In fact, the cast, except for Hoffman, did not know either. Not knowing is the point. We are meant to examine our attitudes toward conviction, toward truth, to the extent that it is limited by what is knowable. As Father Flynn in the movie says: "Doubt can be a bond as powerful and sustaining as certainty. When you are lost, you are not alone."
Dr. Chan practices rheumatology in Pawtucket, R.I.
