The art of healing

Someone sent me an email last year about life as an arts student. It was to the tune of Blur's "Park Life," and the chorus went: "All my lectures, my two ooh lectures. I sometimes go to them, go to them in my - art's life." And so on. The life of an arts student was all about staying in bed every day until Neighbours, except on a Wednesday when s/he was rudely awakened by the cleaner, or so the song implied. Speaking as somebody with a degree in literature, I thought the funny thing about the song was that it actually didn't exaggerate at all. We really were that lazy. In fact, in my second year we didn't go to any lectures at all. As I remember, we had two seminars of three hours each a week. That was it. I had some friends who genuinely had no idea what floor of the library their subject was on and, in one notable case, where the library itself was.

There has been some talk recently about introducing more arts subjects into the medical syllabus. This, I think, is a good thing. The traditional literature seminar, consisting of about ten students around a table, of whom maybe one has read the back cover of one of the books under discussion, is ideal preparation for ward rounds. Not only does it sharpen the skills of creatively ad-libbing with what little knowledge you possess, but it also provides whole new ways of prevaricating. "I could answer your question, Dr Scary.Importantpants, and name the long bone between the hip and the knee, but taking into account the poststructural linguistic implications of the Derridean vortex and the schism between signifier and signified, ultimately it would be meaningless for me to do so. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think we have an introductory lecture on how to wear a black roll neck jumper and stare enigmatically into space."

Unfortunately, however, I can foresee many problems with the introduction of arts teaching. Ideally, to encourage full freedom of thought, the work would not be assessed. But like all unassessed work, people would either not turn up at all or turn up only to stand around saying, "I wish I hadn't bothered turning up, we're not even going to be tested on this."

Whereas assessment would bring its own difficulties. Those students who love to write down word for word every overhead and slide within a five mile radius, could be sent into extreme mental anguish, not to mention writer's dystonia, through trying to copy down entire Shakespearean acts.

And then of course, there is the bizarre fact, considering its nature, that medicine seems to attract a certain subgroup of students for whom any hint that things may be more than just black or white is enough to cause dismay bordering on terror. If one lecturer says that 67% of communication is non.verbal, whereas another says 71.3%, their hearts become filled with panic, and they scurry around in frightened clusters, randomly accosting members of staff and passing academics until the situation is clarified. Despite the fact that they always pass with 98.7%, their anxieties usually escalate in proportion to the proximity of the next examination. Imagine what it could do to their already sky high stress levels, having to deal with the ambiguities of non-science learning. "Sorry to interrupt you, I'm sure the rest is very interesting, but we just want to sort something out - `To be or not to be?' We're not worried about the question, but could you just tell us exactly what the answer is please; we have an MCQ next week"

Carl Morris, third year medical student, University of Newcastle upon Tyne
Email: email


studentBMJ 2000;08:45-88 March ISSN 0966-6494