'Sometimes, a little lie can be a kindness. I learned this when I was a junior doctor and it has stuck with me ever since'. Photo: Getty Images
London, UK (BBN) - Honesty, my mum used to impress on me, is always the best policy. Of course, this didn’t stop her telling me that I had to eat all my vegetables, or else Father Christmas wouldn’t give me any presents.
In general, though, I try to live by this mantra. So many of the problems in life are caused by us not being honest. And it’s such a relief when you stop trying to avoid the truth and are just open and honest about how you feel. It’s like a breath of fresh air, reports Daily Mail.
This is something I try to impress on my patients when they come to me with problems that relate to their family or loved ones. Too often, we tie ourselves in knots to avoid simply being honest.
Sometimes it’s because we are under the impression that by lying, or holding back from telling them the truth, we are protecting their feelings. Other times, it’s because of a fear that the other person will view us badly for some reason.
But telling the truth can be extraordinarily liberating. This is borne out by research published earlier this week which found that people were more likely to tell lies to someone they felt compassion towards, to avoid hurting them; but that being honest was associated with being happier and, ultimately, improved relationships.
This is all true, of course — up to a point. For there are instances where lying is perhaps the right thing to do, and it might surprise you to hear that sometimes I have even deliberately lied to patients. It sounds like a heresy. After all, doctors have a duty to their patients to be open and honest at all times — at least that’s what we are taught today.
Years ago, doctors might have considered not telling a patient with cancer that it was terminal because they didn’t want to upset them, but this would not happen now — not least because patients are entitled to be treated as grown-ups.
But in the real world, on the wards, things aren’t always that simple and the truth can be too painful. Sometimes, a little lie can be a kindness. I learned this when I was a junior doctor and it has stuck with me ever since.
My patient, Mr Farley, had had Alzheimer’s for ten years, but his kidneys and heart had stopped working properly and he’d been admitted to hospital.
Medically, there was nothing that could be done to treat him. He and his wife were in their 80s and she was his carer. How she’d cared for him on her own all that time was beyond me.
‘It’s all right, darling, I’m here,’ said Mrs Farley as she sat by her husband’s side. No response. She looked a little crestfallen.
‘But look, doctor, he still knows who I am,’ she said to the team lined up at the foot of the bed. She gently stroked his cheek while talking to her husband, and, amazingly, he moved his head towards her.
Back in the office, I accosted one of the senior doctors. ‘He still recognises his wife. That’s incredible, isn’t it?’ I asked.
The other doctor frowned. ‘Oh that? No, of course he doesn’t recognise her,’ he replied coldly. ‘It’s just a reflex.’ He meant Mr Farley had turned his head only because it was a neurological throwback from when we were breastfed and moved our heads towards our mother’s body.
Mr Farley didn’t recognise his wife at all. Anyone or anything touching his cheek would have induced the same response.
Medicine can be cruel like this, reducing things to neural pathways, to reflexes, to physiological mechanisms. And sometimes I think we can know too much.
Mrs Farley didn’t want to live in a world where her husband had primitive reflexes. She wanted to live in a world where her husband recognised her voice. Walking through the ward, I saw her still sitting by his bed. As she stroked him on the cheek, once again he moved his head towards her.
‘We’ve been married for over 60 years,’ she told me, ‘and no matter how bad things have been, at least he’ll always know that I’ve been by his side, looking after him, won’t he doctor?’
I looked her in the eyes, thinking she’s asking me because she wants me to reassure her.
But what good would the truth do? ‘Yes, of course he does,’ I lied, and walked on.
BBN/MMI/ANS