21 Jan EIGHT MINUTES TO HELP A FRIEND

You don’t need to be
a doctor to dispense the
medicine of friendship.
You simply have to care
to look them in the face
for eight minutes to make
them feel seen and show
the kindness of companionship.
In his book, “The Anatomy of Hope:
How People Prevail in the Face of Illness,”
Dr. Jerome Groopman shares the following
story:
Barbara received another three courses
of chemotherapy, but the tumor seemed to
shrug off the drugs. The deposits grew in
her liver and in her bones. She lost weight
and spent most of the time in bed. After the
last cycle of chemotherapy, I admitted her
to the hospital with a high fever. Antibiotics
stemmed an early bacterial infection.
As Barbara slowly recovered from the
infection, I told myself knew of no drugs,
either standard or experimental, that stood
a real chance of ameliorating her condition.
The time had come for me to tell her.
I chose to visit in the early evening,
when the hubbub of the hospital had settled

down, so there would be less chance
of distraction and interruption. Barbara
greeted me warmly, as she always did.
I moved a chair close to the bedside and
grasped her hand. She returned the gesture,
but it had little force. After we chatted for
a short time about several articles in the
day’s newspaper, I began to break the bad
news.
“Barbara, we’ve known each other for
well over a year, and we’ve been honest
with each other every step of the way.”
Briefly, her lips trembled, and then she
regained her composure. Her eyes told me
she knew what I was about to say.
“I know of no medicines that I can give
at this point to help you.”
We sat in heavy silence.
Barbara shook her head. “No, Jerry,” she
said. “You do have something to give. You
have the medicine of friendship.”
The work of medical practitioners is
much more than a profession or source
of income, it’s a remarkable platform and
opportunity to do chesed, kindness by
sharing the medicine of friendship on a
daily basis.

A gastroenterologist recently shared
with me the following story: When he was
in in 40’s, he developed regional migratory
osteoporosis, a rare condition where a
person experiences severe, excruciating,
migrating joint pain. A flare-up would hit,
last eight to nine months, and then go away.
There is no treatment for the condition and
during an episode it is nearly impossible to
find relief.
He had suffered for nine years on
and off from the condition and one time
found himself going through a bout.
The pain was so severe and his joints so
compromised that he could only get around
with crutches. “It was just after Yom
Kippur,” he told me. “I was in unbearable
pain, truly suffering. We were supposed to
go to Israel for Sukkot and I could barely
get around. After breaking the fast, I went
up to my bedroom and just cried. I was
so low, depressed, frustrated, angry, and I
called out to God asking Him why would
you give me this rare condition? Why
would you put me through such pain?
What are you trying to tell me?”
Just then, a story from the Talmud (Bava
Metzia 85a) he had previously learned
popped into his head. Rabbi Yehuda,
the Prince, the editor of the Mishna, was
minding his own business when a calf that
was being led to slaughter came running
toward him to hide. The calf nuzzled
inside his robe and began to weep in fear.
Instead of protecting or comforting the
calf, Rabbi Yehuda scolded it and said,
“This is why you were created, go back
to your owner.” He then sent it on its way
to meet its demise.
At that moment, it was decided in
Heaven that since he hadn’t shown
compassion toward the calf, he wasn’t
worthy of compassion and would suffer
great pain. Beginning then, Rabbi
Yehuda suffered six years of kidney
stones and seven years of scurvy. The
pain was so intense, the Talmud relates,
that his scream could be heard by the
sailors out at sea.
One day, Rabbi Yehuda’s maid
was sweeping the house when she
encountered young weasels. She was
disposing of them when he said to her,
“Let them be, after all, the verse says,
‘God has mercy on all of His creations.’”
At that moment, it was determined
in Heaven that since Rabbi Yehuda
was compassionate, he would receive
compassion and his suffering ceased.
The doctor shared with me that it

occurred to him maybe his suffering from
this rare disorder was meant to teach
him to have more compassion for his
patients. He realized that for his whole
career he had practiced very clinically,
impersonally, quickly going from patient
to patient, expediting their visits as quickly
as possible. That night, in his bedroom,
he wiped away the tears and felt God
had answered his question, He gave this
physician insight into his suffering and he
knew what he had to do differently.
The very next morning, someone
stopped him in shul and asked for his help
with a GI issue he was having. Instead
of blowing him off or answering on one
foot, he sat down with the person, looked
him directly in the eye, listened to his
issues, felt empathy for his situation, and
recommended a remedy.
Almost immediately, his own pain
began to dissipate and disappear. He
returned to his practice a transformed man,
intentionally connecting with and feeling
sympathy for those in his care, not just
seeing them as a patient but as a person. He
healed not only from that particular episode
of regional migratory osteoporosis, but the
condition went away entirely and never
came back again.
All It Takes Is Eight Minutes
Early this year, a study was published in
the Journal of General Internal Medicine
showing that meeting a patient’s eye level
while talking about their diagnosis or
care make a huge difference. Making the
effort to sit in the office or hospital when
speaking with a sitting patient, being on
the same level and looking them in the eye,
brought about a better outcome and helped
patients recover quicker and better.
A recent study showed that all it takes
is eight minutes with a caring friend to
significantly decrease anxiety, depression,
and loneliness. Eight minutes of a
conversation, visit, or even text exchange.
You don’t need to be a doctor to dispense
the medicine of friendship. You simply
have to care to literally or metaphorically
get to someone else’s eye level for eight
minutes, look them in the face, make
them feel seen, and show the kindness of
companionship.