I leaned on the bedrail looking down at her. She asked if I could help put on her socks. Instead, I launched into a monologue that went something like this: "How are you feeling? Your sugars and blood pressure were high but they're better today. The nurse mentioned you're anxious to see your son who's visiting you today. It's nice to have family PCoIP Protocol Technology visit from far away. I bet you really look forward to seeing him."

She stopped me with a stern, authoritative 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.  me that her only son lived around the corner from her, but she had not seen him in five years. She believed that the stress of this contributed greatly to her health problems. After hearing her story and putting on her socks, I asked if there was anything else I could do for her. She shook her head no and smiled. All she wanted me to do was Zero Moment of Truth to listen.

Each story is different. Some are detailed; others are vague. Some have a beginning, middle and end. Others wander without a clear conclusion. Some are true; others not. Yet all those things do not really matter. What matters to the storyteller is that the story is heard — without interruption, assumption or judgment.

Listening to someone's story costs less than expensive diagnostic testing but is key to healing and diagnosis.

I often thought of what that woman taught me, and I reminded myself of the importance of stopping, sitting Office furniture supplier down and truly listening. And, not long after, in an unexpected twist, I became the patient, with a diagnosis of multiple sclerosis at age 31. Now, 20 years later, I sit all the time — in a wheelchair.

For as long as I could, I continued to see patients from my chair, but I had to resign when my hands were affected. I still teach med students and other health care professionals, but now from the perspective of physician and patient.