Patients need a human touch, not red tape

The news is bad, I’m afraid, I said to Mrs Reynolds, as she lay in her hospital bed.

She looked up and smiled at me warmly. I closed the door and sat on her bed. ‘Would you like anyone else to be here?’ I asked.

‘No, it’s all right. Do I have long left?’ she asked calmly.

Mrs Reynolds already knew she had cancer. She had battled against breast cancer on and off for ten years, but it had now spread. She had been brought in after collapsing in the supermarket and scans showed the disease was now so widespread there was little that could be done.

I spent the next ten minutes having what was probably the most important and difficult conversation of her life. Several days later, Mrs Reynolds developed pneumonia, and again I sat on her bed, held her hand and reassured her as the nurse gave her pain relief. Later that evening, with her children around her, she died.

I was working in surgery at the time, and would often sit with patients if they were distressed, or scared, or alone, to try to reassure them. Yet, this is precisely the part of the story that would now get me in trouble: I sat on Mrs Reynolds’ bed. And no doubt eyebrows would be raised that I held her hand.

Over the years we’ve become increasingly wary of human contact, not least medical professionals. Partly, this is due to concerns around being accused of assault for simply touching someone, so preciously do we now guard our ‘personal space’.

But it’s also down to the buzz phrase of health and Safety apparatchiks: ‘ infection control’. This concept emerged from the public’s rightful indignation around rates of hospital-acquired infections.

Following ministerial pressure, hospital trusts are desperate to be seen to be doing something, and this has led to a number of policies being imposed, which have gone largely unchallenged because doing so implies, in some way, a

laissez-faire attitude to infections and patient welfare. Flowers are banned, as are doctor’s ties. So is sitting on a patient’s bed.

But why? Is sitting on a patient’s bed and touching them really that dangerous? And what are we missing out on as a result?

A study published this week from University College London found that hugging and touching some- one — even a stranger — can have dramatic effects on their wellbeing, helping them cope better with experiences such as pain. The fact is, there is no substitute for real human contact.

Naturally, there are times when it’s important to remain detached in a clinical situation: you don’t want a doctor getting touchy-feely when you’re having a heart attack, you just want to be resuscitated.

YeTmuch of medicine is about simple human interactions — it’s about listening to someone, trying to understand what their fears are, offering reassurance and sympathy. It’s about being human.

But how can we do this with any authenticity if we don’t ever touch patients? how can we do it if we’re prohibited from even sitting on their beds and being on the same eye level? I believe things should only be prohibited when there is robust evidence to suggest they are harmful. Yet this is absolutely, categorically, not the case with touching or sitting on beds.

On the other hand, there is considerable evidence to support such things being actively encouraged. I hate seeing doctors looming over patients as they lie in bed, craning their heads to hear what the doctor is saying. It’s not humane.

And in fact research also shows that patients report feeling that the doctor has taken more time with them when sitting compared to standing.

hospitals can be scary, lonely places and anything that reduces this can only be a good thing. Of course, doctors need to act in a professional manner and, of course, it’s a judgment call about when to touch a patient.

But over the years I’ve come to realise that what matters to many of my patients, including Mrs Reynolds, is the warmth of human contact; this is often more important to them than anything I might prescribe. DrMax@dailymail.co.uk