Stuttering in Medical School
“Hello everyone, please take the chart. Read the patient’s info. Knock and walk in.”
Name: Frank Bepidis
“After you introduce yourself, go ahead and take a history of present illness… Easy as pie.”
Have you ever made a pie?
“Go ahead whenever you’re ready.”
Just focus… You have a minute. How am I going to introduce myself?
Hi. My name is Irvin Bussel.
Ehhh…
Hello. I’m Irvin Bussel.
Hmm…
Hey. Future Doc Bussel. What’s up?
Not happening.
Vast analogies can be drawn in regards to the process of speaking. I’ve been known to make comparisons to coloring. We are born with an amount of color crayons and draw with what we got. There are ways to improve your proverbial coloring, but having a stutter curses you to never being able to color within the lines. I was fortunate to realize that even coloring outside the lines can be considered art.
“Come in” replied Mr. Frank Bepidis as I knocked on the grey office door.
Every thought was ricocheting in my mind between past experiences of stutter-prone words and fear of judgment. I was accepted into medical school. This had to show some level of competence. Yet, it could all be popped with a single verbal speed bump.
Stop ruminating! Does ruminating make it worse?
Well studies show that…What the fuck is wrong with you! Get out of your head.
Telling someone you stutter is always an odd and awkward moment. I do it as a pre-emptive tactic. Few things make me more anxious than noticing the immediate moment someone realizes I stutter. Our species is programmed to spot flaws and facial language changes when someone becomes aware of one.
“Hi Mr. B-B-Bepidis. My name is Irvin Bussel… Before I begin I’d like you to know I stutter.”
Supposedly it’s because I have excess dopamine. Or is it a defect somewhere on chromosome 12? I like to believe it’s because I think faster than I speak.
“How would you prefer to be addressed Mr. B-B-Bepidis?”
“Frank is fine.”
Did he actually prefer Frank or did he think it’s easier for me to say?
Stutterers experience breaks in fluency at various points in the flow of speech. My problem is getting started– equitable to juggling; I just have to get the balls in the air to keep them moving.
“I’ll be taking a history of your present illness today then we can discuss any questions you may have.”
The exchange goes well. Frank had abdominal pain that got worse with… Wait… I’ve been sworn to patient confidentiality… I promise you it wasn’t that exciting– It never is.
This exercise was supposed to be an educational experience, but what did I learn?
You play the cards your dealt. You work with what you’ve got. You color with your crayons.
You attempt to speak without a stutter.
******************************************************************************
An aside regarding therapy options:
I have attempted to assess the difference between spoken words and stuttered words. Mental algorithms and attempts at finding patterns were of no help. Neither was therapy. It was constantly one big act of attempting to show how much effort is being put forth to help with my stuttering: the illusion of progress.
“Have you sought out therapy?”
Yes. Yes I did.
You know what’s the best that therapy had to offer me?
Take a deep breath and speak slower.
That’s right folks… Breathe more. Talk less.
But wait… there was also a consolation prize! No it is not an affordable Korean mid-sized sedan; it is a metronome hearing aid. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather stutter. Someone is bound to think it’s a cute quirk.