I recently went round the Surgeons’ Hall Museums in Edinburgh, home to one of the largest, most historical pathology collections in the UK. Even for long-established medical schools, such a collection is rare, and it was in equal parts fascinating, gruesome, educational and humbling, not just for medics, but for everyone.

A couple of exhibits stood out for me. Firstly, the story of Joseph Lister, pioneer of the aseptic technique in surgery – applying Pasteur’s germ theory to the operating table – whose meticulous, regularly published experiments and clinical trials were nevertheless met with a mixed reception. There were doubters a-plenty among esteemed medics of the day who found Lister’s antiseptic system ‘excessive and unnecessarily complicated’ (I coin this old-dog-new-tricks syndrome); some misunderstood the theory, thinking Lister’s use of carbolic acid to disinfect surgical instruments was a cure for infection, not prevention; and many who preferred to cling onto the theory of miasma (in simple terms, ‘bad air’) of the ancient Greeks rather than contemplate anything new. The other exhibit was titled ‘A patient story’. This told of a young adult man who point-blank refused to have his leg amputated despite a serious infection. Instead, he opted to have a hole made in his leg from which he frequently drained his infection over many years. He continued to use the leg, supported on crutches, as it ballooned in size, claiming all the while that he could walk for miles each day. The leg was eventually amputated, and this was shown in the specimen jar.

Why was I so struck by these two exhibits? I have worked in the field of medical communications for more than 20 years, and what we do and what drives us every day – as medical writers and healthcare communicators – can be summed up in these two stories: in between novel, life-saving data (such as the aseptic technique) becoming available and the mindset change that is needed to advance clinical practice is a void we routinely fill and bridge. No one ever woke up to new evidence and thought, right, I must change my ways today. In this void is where all our work is done.

We ensure the science and data are communicated accurately, objectively, consistently and convincingly, and we leave no dissenter, sceptic or confused person behind. Not only must difficult concepts be explained using the creative and accurate content we make, but we must also understand the data deeply to represent it, on behalf of or supporting our clients, pre-empt the objections and be ready to defend. Critically, we also know how to reach the right people in the most effective way – we create, strategise and implement the right meetings, platforms and environments to dive into and moderate both fruitful and challenging discussions, answer difficult questions, observe and ask what additional data is needed – all with the steadfast aim and belief that, at the end, we will have started or continued a sea change and brought opposing minds closer together. If our industry had been around at the time of Lister, we would have done everything possible, left no stone unturned, to ensure that the revolutionising breakthrough of germ theory penetrated the harshest critics earlier and made them think again.

The message from the patient story completes the medical communications circle: every effort in medical research and management starts and ends with the patient, and this young man in the 1800s clearly shows us that patients have their own ideas about their care, and we dismiss this from our strategies at our peril. If the patient is unconvinced that a treatment option will make a meaningful difference, they will not try or comply with it. Beyond this, no two patients are the same – for every young man refusing amputation documented in the museum, there were ten stories of patients who endured excruciating pain (eye surgery without anaesthesia, anyone?), suffering and downright quackery for the hope of a cure. The key to successful communication with patients lies in listening, understanding their unique journey and unlocking what motivates individual behaviour. As I say, the space between data and action is where all our work is done.

Just as the museum successfully makes medical history relevant to our lives today, I’d like to think, as expert communicators in the healthcare world, we do our own version of connecting the dots for our audiences – from data to action to change – and we make it count, to benefit not only our clients and patients but, in ways big or small, all of society.

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