2
the(melbourne)magazine 43 Ranjana Srivastava’s bookTell Me The Truth: Conversations With My Patients About Life and Death  is available at 0penguin.com.au Also see0ranjanasrivastava.com Contact Ranjana at feedbackrsriv@gmail. com health_ S unshine streams through her window but she is oblivious to the light and her visitors. I touch her hand gently as she lies in bed. Through her drowsiness, I elicit that she is in pain and a little confused. “Why is she confused, doctor?” her son asks. “A combination of illness and drugs,” I say. “It’s not uncommon to see this as the body winds down.” After reassuring my drifting patient of better pain management, I walk outside where her five adult children have requested another meeting. Concerned at their strained expressions, I wonder which of them may have misinterpreted yesterday’s talk about her grim prognosis. Suddenly, the air feels smothered by hostility. “How can I help?” There are darting glances and uncomfortable shuffling. I recall their mother’s proud words when I had mentioned extra support as her health failed. “You wouldn’t find a closer family”, she had said. “We have never missed a celebration in my 85 years.” “I guess I will start,” a daughter says. “Is Mum unconscious?” “She is not entirely unconscious but, as you saw, she is not alert either. I expect that the periods of lucidity will diminish with time.” “So is she mentally competent?” another daughter asks. “She recognised you today,” I say. “She is calmer with you here and, though she may not respond, she knows you are present.” This is not new information. “Can Mum sign stuff?” A weight lands on my heart. “Like what?” “So here is the thing,” a son says. “Is Mum competent to alter her will?” They fall over themselves trying to diffusing my visible shock. Then I watch in dismay as a mini-war erupts. In snatches, I learn that my patient had grown a modest inheritance into a sizeable fortune. This week, acknowledging her imminent death, she had shared details of her will with all five children, trusting they would appreciate her thoughtful selections. One daughter appreciated art, the other loved  jewellery . One son lik ed share s, another antique furniture and so on. But no one is grateful. Each one accuses the other of peddling too much influence; no one considers their share to be fair. Above all, they are troubled, even irritated, by her donation to charity, although they are all comfortably settled. “What can you do to wake her up?” The question incenses me. More memories of her heartfelt revelations come flooding back. A widow for 10 years, all she wanted was to fade away comfortably. “I am not afraid of death – but make sure I don’t see it,” she had jested. I think of her now, thankfully unaware of the conversation that would break her proud maternal heart. “Could the morphine be stopped?” I am incredulous. “Your mother is dying. Her pain relief is inadequate and you have just heard me say we need to do better.” Feeling under siege, I remind them gently, “We have a duty of care to your mother.” Their mother dies that evening, surrounded by five children who could not bring themselves console each other. I learn later that the patient’s will was uncontested, but the reverberations from that fateful day continued. A once happy and content clan now spends its days recounting the unfairness of a divided inheritance it never really needed. Their mother’s greatest hope of unity across generations never had a chance. The subject of money divides the closest of families, in life and death. Some can’t cope with the ongoing cost of care, others need to borrow and beg for a funeral. Yet others object to the size of their inheritance. Money has a way of exposing the basest of human instincts, making us believe the very worst about those whom we have most loved. When there is so much good and even noble about human nature, it defies belief that it could also be tainted thus. Part of the privilege of being a doctor is witnessing problems that are beyond your remit to solve. Medicine has discovered many antidotes but none for the problem of disharmony among family members. Observing it frequently makes it no easier to get used to it. Watching a princess movie, my daughter asks with wondrous eyes. “Mama, is it really amazing to be super rich?” Thinking of my poor patient, I can only manage a tired cliche. “It’s complicated.” Time to say thank you and goodbye. I hope that we’ve opened an important discourse by discussing the relationship between medicine and society. I have been overwhelmed by your generosity , thoughtfuln ess and encouragement. Your shared experiences strengthened my resolve to write a book on helping patients navigate cancer, due out next year. I have the continued privilege of working as an oncologist. But when I witness something that might make a promising column, I must remind myself that it must wait for now. I am optimistic that enterprising readers may well come up with a great suggestion about how to continue our conversation. I welcome your ideas. When money changes everything. By Ranjana Srivasta va.  Doctor is in Photography/ Bonnie Savage the “Can Mum sign stuff?” A weight lands on my heart. “Like what?” “So here is the thing: is Mum competent to alter her will?” Dr Olivia Metcalf, 28, research assistant, Australian Centre forPosttraumatic Mental Health  Your PhD looked at excessive video gaming? We know it’s a problem for a small minority of gamers  but we don ’t kno w wh at type of problem it is – a symptom of depression or another type of disorder . My research supported a finding that excessive gaming is an addiction. I hooked up gamers to electrodes and measured sweat levels, heart rates and  bloo d pre ssur e duri ng and after gaming. What did you find? We found that the way they react physiologica lly is much more elevated. So, what is cyber psychology? It’s any way an individual can interact with internet technology – video, networking or using the internet to get therapy delivered. Technology is so pervasive in our lives and we know so little about how it affects us. I’m interested in what the risks are – so we can  be mo re i nfor med a nd ma ke  better decis ions. What do you do now? We synthenise trauma research information. One of the major organisations we work with is the Department of Veterans’ Affairs. One of the consequences with a PhD is that you get an extremely narrow view of science for a long time. It’s been exciting to learn how science can be useful in a more practical and policy- driven setting. What do you do outside the lab? I do a bit of gaming. But I’ve lost my skills a bit. I’m also mum to a four-year-old. The Lab  Re port This month’s scientist has looked at the brains of video-gamers. She also helps  go ver nme nts understand trauma.

Ranjana Srivastava Melbourne Magazine November 2013

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the(melbourne)

Ranjana Srivastava’s book Tell Me The Truth: Conversations With My Patients About Life and Death  is available at0penguin.com.au Also see0 ranjanasrivastava.com Contact Ranjana at feedbackrs

healt

Sunshine streams through her window

but she is oblivious to the light and her

visitors. I touch her hand gently as she lies

in bed. Through her drowsiness, I elicit that she

is in pain and a little confused.

“Why is she confused, doctor?” her son asks.

“A combination of illness and drugs,” I say.

“It’s not uncommon to see this as the body

winds down.”

After reassuring my drifting patient of better

pain management, I walk outside where her

five adult children have requested another

meeting. Concerned at their strained expressions,

I wonder which of them may have misinterpreted

yesterday’s talk about her grim prognosis.

Suddenly, the air feels smothered by hostility.

“How can I help?”

There are darting glances and uncomfortable

shuffling. I recall their mother’s proud words when

I had mentioned extra support as her health

failed. “You wouldn’t find a closer family”, she

had said. “We have never missed a celebration

in my 85 years.”

“I guess I will start,” a daughter says. “Is Mum

unconscious?”

“She is not entirely unconscious but, as you

saw, she is not alert either. I expect that the

periods of lucidity will diminish with time.”

“So is she mentally competent?” another

daughter asks.

“She recognised you today,” I say. “She is

calmer with you here and, though she may not

respond, she knows you are present.”

This is not new information.

“Can Mum sign stuff?”

A weight lands on my heart.

“Like what?”

“So here is the thing,” a son says. “Is Mum

competent to alter her will?”

They fall over themselves trying to diffusing

my visible shock. Then I watch in dismay as

a mini-war erupts. In snatches, I learn that my

patient had grown a modest inheritance into

a sizeable fortune. This week, acknowledging

her imminent death, she had shared details

of her will with all five children, trusting they

would appreciate her thoughtful selections.

One daughter appreciated art, the other loved

 jewellery. One son liked shares, another antique

furniture and so on.

But no one is grateful. Each one accuses the

other of peddling too much influence; no one

considers their share to be fair. Above all, they are

troubled, even irritated, by her donation to charity,

although they are all comfortably settled.

“What can you do to wake her up?”

The question incenses me. More memories

of her heartfelt revelations come flooding back.

A widow for 10 years, all she wanted was to fade

away comfortably. “I am not afraid of death – but

make sure I don’t see it,” she had jested. I think of

her now, thankfully unaware of the conversation

that would break her proud maternal heart.

“Could the morphine be stopped?”

I am incredulous.

“Your mother is dying. Her pain relief is

inadequate and you have just heard me say we

need to do better.”

Feeling under siege, I remind them gently,

“We have a duty of care to your mother.”

Their mother dies that evening, surrounded

by five children who could not bring themselves

console each other. I learn later that the patient’s

will was uncontested, but the rever

that fateful day continued. A once h

content clan now spends its days r

unfairness of a divided inheritance

needed. Their mother’s greatest ho

across generations never had a ch

The subject of money divides th

families, in life and death. Some ca

the ongoing cost of care, others ne

and beg for a funeral. Yet others ob

of their inheritance. Money has a w

the basest of human instincts, mak

the very worst about those whom w

most loved. When there is so muc

even noble about human nature, it

that it could also be tainted thus.

Part of the privilege of being a d

witnessing problems that are beyon

remit to solve. Medicine has discov

antidotes but none for the problem

among family members. Observing

makes it no easier to get used to it

Watching a princess movie, my

with wondrous eyes. “Mama, is it re

to be super rich?” Thinking of my p

I can only manage a tired cliche.

“It’s complicated.”

Time to say thank you and goodby

that we’ve opened an important dis

discussing the relationship betwee

and society. I have been overwhelm

generosity, thoughtfulness and enc

Your shared experiences strengthe

resolve to write a book on helping

navigate cancer, due out next year

continued privilege of working as a

But when I witness something that

a promising column, I must remind

that it must wait for now. I am optim

enterprising readers may well com

a great suggestion about how to c

our conversation. I welcome your i

When money changes everything. By Ranjana Srivastava.

 Doctoris in

Photography/Bonnie Savage

the

“Can Mum sign stuff?”A weight lands on my heart.

“Like what?”“So here is the thing: is Mumcompetent to alter her will?”

Dr Olivia Metcalf,

28, research assistant,

Australian Centrefor Posttraumatic

Mental Health

 

Your PhD looked at excessivevideo gaming?We know it’s a problem for

a small minority of gamers

 but we don’t know what

type of problem it is – a

symptom of depression oranother type of disorder. My

research supported a finding

that excessive gaming is an

addiction. I hooked up gamers

to electrodes and measured

sweat levels, heart rates and

 blood pressure during and

after gaming.

What did you find?We found that the way they

react physiologically is much

more elevated.

So, what is cyber psychology?It’s any way an individual

can interact with internet

technology – video, networking

or using the internet to get

therapy delivered. Technology

is so pervasive in our lives and

we know so little about how

it affects us. I’m interested in

what the risks are – so we can

 be more informed and make

 better decisions.

What do you do now?We synthenise trauma

research information. One

of the major organisations we

work with is the Department

of Veterans’ Affairs. One of

the consequences with a PhD

is that you get an extremely

narrow view of science for a

long time. It’s been exciting tolearn how science can be useful

in a more practical and policy-

driven setting.

What do you do outsidethe lab?I do a bit of gaming. But I’ve

lost my skills a bit. I’m also mum

to a four-year-old.

The Lab  Report 

This month’sscientist has

looked atthe brains of

video-gamers.

She also helps governmentsunderstand

trauma.