Schizophrenia Bulletin Advance Access originally published online on June 19, 2007
Schizophrenia Bulletin 2007 33(5):1063-1065; doi:10.1093/schbul/sbm070
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Wayne S. Fenton, MD: A Patient's Perspective
My then 5-month-old son was playing with his toys on the floor, and the news was on in the background, and all I heard was "....brutal slaying.... Bethesda psychiatrist....Wayne Fenton." Did I hear that correctly? Time stopped in the millisecond it took me to shift my gaze from the floor to the television, and when I saw the screen, I saw a photo of Dr Fenton and heard the story. Disbelief does not capture the feeling, nor does shock, surreal, or even panic—the ineffable feeling was, and still is to this day almost 6 months later, some crude amalgam of these. Even writing about this scene rekindles a flood of memories and feelings that I ordinarily try to avoid and push away. Dr Fenton was not only my doctor but also my support, my caretaker, and my friend.
 |
The Story |
|---|
 Top The Story ColleaguesThe Relationship |
|---|
I had been a patient of Dr Fenton's for the past 5 years. After college, I moved to the Washington, DC, area to begin my graduate program in clinical psychology and asked my advisor if he knew of a good psychiatrist to whom he could refer me. My advisor told me that while the person he had in mind mostly treated those with severe mental illness, the person might see me even though I did not fit his typical patient population. I guess Dr Fenton made an exception for me because I became his patient ever since our first meeting.
We met on a Saturday morning and clicked quite readily. I was immediately struck by his demeanor with me: attentive yet relaxed, professional yet informal. I began seeing Dr Fenton for treatment of moderate depression and severe anxiety and we met weekly. I initially sought his treatment to obtain medication and really did not consciously consider requiring any other therapeutic intervention. Over time, however, I began to see that while the medications he prescribed for me were useful to some degree, they became a secondary adjuvant to a more significant therapeutic facet: our relationship. As I reflect upon the circumstances, I see how an imperceptible yet remarkable process occurred wherein the prescriptions became almost incidental and the main therapeutic agent became our relationship. Due to my training and interests, I had obtained a solid foundation in psychopharmacology; therefore, our need to discuss medications quickly dwindled. Dr Fenton trusted that I fully researched and understood everything, and I did not need to spend time dissecting the pros, cons, and side effects of the drugs. There was a mutual understanding between us about what was helpful or not, and it evolved to the point that the only time I would mention medication would be something like "I think I would like to try increasing the Wellbutrin, is that cool with you?" He would invariably agree, and we would then move on to the more important part: the story.
"So, what's the story?" That was often his question to me and through our years together, did I ever have some stories. Of course, there were a plethora of "tell-me-about-your-childhood" types of stories and more contemporary ones of problematic supervisors, clinical experiences, and even some career guidance-seeking stories. Dr Fenton always listened intently yet quietly, and I was often impressed with his ability to remain objective and put things into a unique perspective. His objectivity, though, often took the form of disarming candor, and I occasionally was not prepared to hear him say certain things. Upon reflection, these moments were often pivotal for me, as they would catch me at a place where I could hear his thoughts yet would be forced to deeply consider them because I had not fashioned a preconceived rebuttal to his idea. Sort of something like "That's a good point, I did not consider that" and he would just smile and say something like "That was nicely done, wasn't it," and we would both invariably laugh.
Exchanges that resulted in laughter were not uncommon for us. Dr Fenton and I shared a very similar sense of humor, and we would make each other laugh often. There was simply a natural, easy way between us, one that required little effort. A mutual respect infused our relationship, and I believe that allowed us to fully trust one another and anticipate one another's reactions. We had an unspoken understanding between us, like a dance where the steps were seamless and carried out in unison, a dance that can only be performed with patience and genuine understanding. Sometimes he led, sometimes I did. It was a kind of collaboration and cathexis rarely witnessed or experienced, and now that it is gone, it is painfully and sorely missed.
|
Colleagues |
|---|
|
TopThe StoryColleaguesThe Relationship |
|---|
Dr Fenton once told me that I was his "healthiest" patient and that he sometimes forgot that I was not a colleague when we met. We could get lost in talking about a recent journal article, my dissertation, or about the more colorful colleagues we had in common. We would debate various hot topics in research, and he would offer thoughts on ways to improve the method of my dissertation. He was one of the biggest cheerleaders of my career, and at the end of the day of my dissertation defense, he called me and excitedly responded to my "Hello" with "So, are you a doctor now?" His usual calm demeanor was replaced by obvious pride and excitement and by that I was deeply moved.
Dr Fenton also subtly influenced my training experiences and career trajectory. I recall one occasion when I uncharacteristically missed an appointment without calling him. I was an extern at a community mental health center, and the afternoon prior to my scheduled appointment, I encountered a patient with schizophrenia and depression who also happened to be significantly suicidal. In the logistics of admitting this patient to the hospital, I neglected to call Dr Fenton to tell him that I would be unable to make our appointment. Later that evening, he called me and I apologized for the cancellation and explained what happened, to which he responded "That's okay, you were doing God's work." I can think of few more gratifying compliments than that one, and the fact that it came from him gave me such confidence and determination. I will never forget that moment, and we would often reference this interaction when talking about our mutual desires to work with the severely mentally ill. While my interests in this population preceded my relationship with Dr Fenton, our relationship undeniably honed my work further.
Due to these similar interests, Dr Fenton and I often worked with the same people and even at the same institution at one point. This often made for particularly helpful exchanges because he often knew, sometimes quite well, the personalities of the people I would mention in various capacities. His comments about specific people were rare, but when he did say something, his judgments became particularly precious in their rarity. One specific occasion comes to mind where his opinion of our colleagues persuaded me to see an initially disappointing situation as a blessing. Upon completing my internship, I wished to stay at the same institution as a postdoctoral fellow. I worked tirelessly on my essays, even e-mailing them to Dr Fenton for his editing. I was disappointed when I did not obtain the position, not so much for losing the position but because of the dubious circumstances around the selection process. I was heartbroken, and the day I heard of my rejection was also the day we had an appointment. When I told him the news, his first words to me were "Knowing what I do of things there, I am very glad you're not going to be there. Your talents are much better used elsewhere." These words have been etched into my memory since that day. For a person who rarely said anything negative to me about colleagues or places, Dr Fenton's remarks were surprising and undeniable. Through his interpretation of events, what I initially felt was a loss became a piece of good fortune. Once again, his subtle, quiet way was my stabilizing force.
|
The Relationship |
|---|
|
TopThe StoryColleaguesThe Relationship |
|---|
He was particularly excited when I had my son and would tell me stories of how he would take his kids as newborns to a local pizza restaurant in New Haven. The last time I saw him in August, I had my then 4-month-old son with me. The baby was overtired and was becoming very impatient with Dr Fenton and me talking, so his cries were escalating by the minute. I was going to leave early because of this, and Dr Fenton simply reached his arms out to take the baby and I handed him over. It was so natural, and I could not help but smile at the scene. He was holding my son, bouncing him up and down, and pacing back and forth in the little office. After about 5–10 minutes of this, my baby fell sound asleep, and Dr Fenton leaned against a chair and we finished talking, with the baby's head nestled comfortably under Dr Fenton's chin. When it was time to leave, he smiled widely and said to me "I can't remember the last time I held a baby!" and I replied "Well, maybe you'll be a grandpa soon," and he smiled broadly at that thought. What a poignant scene, and it is one that is engraved in my memory, and I suspect will be for a long time to come.
Dr Fenton gave me so much and I feel deeply honored to have known him. Over the years, he showed me more and more of himself, and I really believe I got to know him well, not only as a physician but also as a person. Some may call it transference and countertransference, yet whatever the label, our relationship sustained me through many trying times, as well as joyous times. Five years of meeting almost weekly with a person is a lot to go through with someone, and through that shared journey Dr Fenton has given me a great deal. I just need to look at my marriage, my obtaining my PhD, and mostly, my son (to name just a few) to see how Dr Fenton's gentle hand guided me to the place I am today. He always believed in me, and I sometimes needed to rely on his confidence when I did not have any of my own. Someday when I am using what he taught me with patients of my own, I believe that will be one of the best ways to honor his memory. That maybe, in some little way, I can continue the work he started and to which he was so very dedicated.
As I previously mentioned, I was in treatment with Dr Fenton for depression and anxiety. In the months preceding his death, we actually discussed these problems and came to the conclusion that my symptoms and experiences were more akin to posttraumatic stress disorder stemming from a confluence of variables, one of which is significant interpersonal loss. After the loss of Dr Fenton, a number of things happened and I have learned a great deal about myself. Prior to his passing, I was a staunch opponent to the notion of "better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all." Quite frankly, I steadfastly considered that to be one of the most asinine philosophies ever to have been posited and would heatedly debate its value with anyone who would throw that adage at me. The pain of loss was too intense, too painful to endure. I genuinely believe now, for the first time in my life, that I am better to have loved Dr Fenton and lost him, than to never have had the opportunity at all. So while that profound pain is present and will remain for a long time to come, I consider it a small price to pay for knowing him. I suppose one might call that getting better, progress, or growth—to me, however, it is a painful lesson learned the hard way but one worth endeavoring to build upon. I know Dr Fenton would want me to do that so for him, and for myself, I will.
Dr Fenton's presence and influence in my life are immeasurable blessings and gifts, and I will be forever affected by his loss. I miss him terribly and think of him often. I will never forget him and all he did for me, and I will never be the same because of him. He was a remarkable person in so many ways, and I hope that the way I live my life would make him proud. I am confident that some day I will find some peace in knowing that I am a good mother, psychologist, and person due, in large part, to him.
CiteULike 
Connotea 
Del.icio.us What's this?
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||