It was Sunday. I had one last patient to see. She was an old woman, sting on her bed. trying to put socks on her swollen (肿胀的) ft. I walked in, spoke quickly to the nurse, and saw from her chart that she was in a good condition.
She asked if l could help put on her socks. Instead, I started a monologue (长篇大论): "How are you feeling? Your sugars and blood pressure are also good today. The nurse said you're anxious to see your son who's visiting you today from far away. I believe you really look forward to seeing him.
She stopped me with a serious voice. "Sit down, doctor. This is my story, not your story."
I was surprised and embarrassed. I sat down. I helped her with the socks. She told me that her only son lived around the corner from her, but she had not seen him for five years. She believed that the big stress of this was a big reason for her health problems. After hearing her story and putting on her socks, I asked if there was anything else I could do. She shook her head and smiled. All she had wanted me to do was listen.
Each story is different. Some are detailed; others are vague (含糊的). Some are true; others not. Yet all those things do not really matter. What matters to the storyteller is that the story is heard.
