Still. Quiet. Peaceful.

By Kyle Glienke, MD, Buena Vista Regional Medical Center, Iowa

Still. Quiet. Peaceful. The occasional calm and tranquility of the Midwest plains is one of the truly magnificent perks of living way out here. Sometimes, even the windmills in the distance are at a standstill.  The crickets chirp a twilight serenade, but precious little else comes to the ear. Time itself seems to slow just a little bit, and the moment itself seems to breathe. It’s still. It’s quiet. It’s peaceful.

But it’s not always this way, of course. Spring thunderstorms and winter blizzards wreak havoc. Usually, the wind is less than kind. Extreme heat or cold make the day uncomfortable at best. But every now and then, still. Quiet. Peaceful.

Still. Quiet. Peaceful. The occasional calm and tranquility while caring for patients is one of the truly magnificent perks in medicine. It’s rare that the phones, monitors, and computers are at a standstill. The air conditioner hums a low serenade but precious little else comes to the ear. Time itself seems to slow just a little bit, and the moment itself seems to breathe. It’s still. It’s quiet. It’s peaceful.

Moments of stillness in medicine often come at unexpected times. A recent moment caught me off guard on nursing home rounds, in the midst of all the busy work and the feeling of always running behind. The nurse called me to check on a hospice patient and said, “I think it’s her time.” I stepped into her room, her husband diligently at her bedside holding her hand. He knew she had passed away, yet showed just as much love and dedication as ever. Decades of care and devotion were condensed to a moment. There was nothing more to do than be present and mindful. It was still. It was quiet. It was peaceful.

But it’s not always this way, of course. Too often we’re running around, pressured on all sides by clinical and administrative tasks. These demands are like the wind across the prairie, nearly always present, and, at times, brutal. We know how it feels to be pulled in seemingly a million directions at once. Our focus suffers. Our presence suffers. Medical practice is anything but still. Anything but quiet. Anything but peaceful.

One of the most serene moments on the Midwestern plains is the early dawn following a snowstorm, sometimes even if the storm was as chaotic as a blizzard. The coating of snow covering the ground dampens any ambient noise. Almost everything remains hunkered down for safety and warmth, so that often, there’s also no movement. The cold air feels heavy. The world seems frozen in time. Still. Quiet. Peaceful.

A moment of peace following the chaos of a storm caught my attention recently after assisting a newborn infant with respiratory distress. After birth, the newborn initially did well, but quickly showed concerning signs of duress. The unexpected interruption of the joyful moment of a child’s birth was anything but peaceful. Nurses, respiratory therapists, and myself rushed to intervene. Oxygen, bag mask, and monitors were quickly applied. Chaotic, of course, but the response was coordinated, calculated, and effective.

One of the most serene moments in medicine is seeing an infant held in its mother’s arms, especially if the birth was chaotic. The shelter of  the mother’s arms holding the baby provides a protective embrace.  The infant huddles against its mother for safety and warmth, with precious little movement. The warmth is palpable yet the world seems frozen in time. Still. Quiet. Peaceful.

We’re welcomed into patients’ lives in many moments of chaos and great need. We’re also welcomed into moments of great impact and connection. Despite this, we’re bombarded with demands on our time that pull us away from the moments of serenity. If we don’t treasure the infrequent moments to truly bond with those we care for, we risk missing a rare opportunity to be present and ground ourselves in our true purpose.

I encourage you to look for the still moments in which you can connect with the people you serve. Hold dear the rare quiet flashes of tranquility and clarity of purpose. Embrace the peaceful times of healing, and in these you will find the true joy of this calling.

This piece expresses the views solely of the author. It does not necessarily represent the views of any organization, including Johns Hopkins Medicine.