Week One: Allison [Observations of an HIV Clinic]

        Dr. Marshall Glesby peered through his glasses at the computer holding the health information of his patients as he prepared to see them at the clinic. Before the appointment, he described to me his first patient’s medical situation with HIV, the team of social workers and psychiatrists prepared to offer a helping hard as needed, and, in a slightly quieter tone of voice, remarked that patients would have benefited from additional outreach when the Covid-19 pandemic socially isolated them.

    Soon enough it was 10:00 AM and the first patient walked into the room, duffel bag in hand, clunky slides thwacking on the white linoleum floor. His other hand gestured through the air as he described the recent loss of his antiretroviral medications after a late night date gone wrong. Without these medications to suppress the replication of HIV, his viral load would rise from an undetectable level leading to potential further disease progression. He needed to receive medication quickly, but his local pharmacy couldn't provide a refill for insurance reasons and so he came here to discuss his options and get his levels tested. His thoughts traveled widely yet fluently in the medical prose of his daily drug regimen as he described his efforts to obtain medications - every so often Dr. Glesby would interject with a clarifying question -  "When was that last doctor appointment?", "Are you keeping in contact with your social worker?", and "What did your provider say"- as if to steer the conversation back towards the matter at hand and away from topics such as how to use the newly established ranked voting system for the New York City mayor.

    In comparison the second patient to arrive spoke ponderously. He was an elderly gentleman with a slower shuffling gait and a shock of bright white hair. Every so often while sitting, he would swing his right leg in circles as if he was unsure of it's structural integrity.

    "Are there any health concerns you have?" Dr. Glesby asked. And so it went. Patient #2 wanted to know about his bone density, the possibility of receiving a pneumonia vaccine he saw on television, whether a doctor he had been seeing for another condition had said anything to Dr. Glesby about his outcomes, and more. To each concern, Dr. Glesby responded patiently and carefully explained the scientific basis of the medical recommendations while also carefully limiting his response regarding questions outside his area of expertise.

    As a student listening in on these conversations, it struck me that this was the battleground where scientific communication either succeeds or fails. As scientists, we can escape the need to explain the foundational work behind our prototypes and therapies by simply continuing to stay within our own social networks. Yet to adequately perform their jobs, doctors don't have that luxury. Instead they must spend time teaching their patients about their healthcare options and the medical science behind them without crossing the boundaries of the doctor-patient relationship.

    I myself have not yet learned how to convey scientific information to laypeople without receiving in return miscommunication concerns, a bemused stare, or occasionally, an escalating hot tempered discussion. Many in academia seem to have left this issue untouched. Yet Dr. Glesby did this by listening, not arguing or insisting. To some, this is an obvious stance to take, but in a digital age of twitter wars and the politicization of mask-wearing, I feel the action of simply listening is radical.

    I look forward to learning more in the weeks ahead.