Being quiet can make you seem smart

I work with a doctor who could probably be legitimately described as brilliant. He tends to be a bit blunt, but he is certainly kind and an all-around good man. My own meager intellect sometimes feels like a small candle next to his halogen light. Thus, I was surprised recently when a patient told me he liked seeing me better than the doc. His reason? I explained things to him, he said.

I was a bit surprised. I am not a good teacher. I am not being modest, I am just self-aware enough to know that explaining things is not one of my strengths. I am often frustrated by knowing something, but feeling utterly unable to convey what I know to others. But, I was pleased with the compliment because it feels good for someone to think you're good at something that you're not.

A few weeks later, I saw this same patient. He was worried about his heart, and I got an EKG on him with plans to show him it was normal, and to reassure him. It wasn't normal. I had to get Doc to look at the EKG, and come talk to the patient. Doc was wonderful. He explained that the abnormalities were very minor, probably didn't mean much, but that he would do further tests to be sure. He waxed eloquent about how even if there was a problem, there were plenty of things we could do about it. I listened, and thought to myself that the patient was probably revising his opinion that Doc never explained things to him.

Doc left me to finish up, get tests scheduled, and to conclude this visit. As soon as he left the room, the patient turned to me and said "see what I mean? He doesn't explain anything!"

I was taken aback. I was the one who hadn't explained anything. I didn't know enough to explain. I had to get Doc to come explain things, and I thought he had done an excellent job. I asked, "what do you mean?" He said doc just didn't answer his questions. Then it somehow all came clear to me. My patient wasn't looking for explanations. He wanted someone to LISTEN to his questions. Or maybe to just listen. To hear his concerns. To understand that he was afraid. To see him as a human being and not just a vessel to receive whatever information and instructions that someone else had decided he needed.

I'll never be as smart as Doc is. I've always wanted to be smart. But we work with what we're given, and I know who the smart people are and when to call on them. There is a place for my modest skill too. I can sit and be quiet and make my contribution by hearing instead of telling.