The Interstitium: I have a gift for you

By Alexis Rehrmann

The space is Portland-hip: Cup & Bar serves artisan coffee and avocado toast, and we crowd together on artfully rough-hewn wooden benches. The audience is warm: supportive, attentive and intimate, 50-people strong and the show is standing room only. The stories told at the mic are real.

Seven storytellers performed at Intersititium: Stories of Illness, Wellness, & Beyond—I was lucky to be one of them.  This evening was a first in a series of storytelling evenings inviting us talk about health and wellness, sickness and death, and how they shape the way we live.

From an experienced nurse practitioner to a doctor in training, from a nursing assistant to a patient coordinator, from a doctor to a patient, the stories came from many points of view.

I heard humanity, honesty, and humor in every single story. I am not a doctor and for me, hearing the real stories behind the white coats felt nourishing, connective, and precious.

There was the story about working as an operating room janitor—It’s not the blood and gore, but the anguish of the family’s cries that sends the story teller spinning back to his own childhood.

There was the Nursing Assistant who, on a walk with a heart transplant patient is brought to tears by his gratitude as he tells her, “I didn’t remember I could be this warm.”

There was physician spending a week in a hospital—not as a doctor, or as a patient—but as a prospective adoptive parent, waiting for a new baby to arrive.

And so many more. The theme of the evening was, “I have a gift for you…” and each story gave the audience one.

As a story teller, I found writing and performing to be quite healing—I even managed to work in some jokes (in a story about multiple miscarriages, this is no small thing)! Interstititium gave me the space and the encouragement to bring that story, particularly intimate to me, into being. I wouldn’t, couldn’t have done it without an invitation to dive deep, and a compassionate acceptance of what I had to say, and of course, a performance deadline.

Get your tickets early for the next show! This one sold out! DETAILS OF NEXT SHOW HERE

The Interstitium: My First Time

By Stephanie Cooper & Elizabeth Dorn, NWNMC Board Members

Interstitium: A dynamic fluid-filled space existing between a structural barrier and internal structures; a reservoir and transportation system for communication between cells; a place where magic happens.  

Seattle’s inaugural event, The Interstitium:  Stories of Health, Wellness, Illness, and Beyond, bounced into life this Sunday at the beautiful Shafer Baillie Mansion. The storytelling gala, centered on the theme “My First Time,” featured 10 storytellers who spilled tales of hilarity, woe, power dynamics, and other epiphanies. We are grateful for the immeasurable support of Elizabeth Lahti and Ben Colburn who came up from Portland to share and aid with the launch.

The event sold out within 10 days, revealing a deep desire for narrative medicine in Seattle. The storytelling was captivating, vulnerable, and meaningful–all themes that align with the practice of medicine. 

NWNMC plans to hold quarterly Interstitium events in Seattle.  As we gear up for the next Interstitium, we will galvanize the excitement of this storytelling event and begin to form a core group of Seattle NNMC members. 

“I somehow both laughed until I peed my pants, and then almost cried”

Interstitium audience member

Fear not Portland, NWNMC also plans to hold quarterly Interstitium events in the City of Roses. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter (@nwnmcollab) to keep up.

The Interstitium

Screen Shot 2018-12-21 at 9.33.16 AMPlease join us for the Northwest Narrative Medicine Collaborative’s inaugural Seattle event, featuring storytelling by health care professionals. We invite you to tell a health-care related story on the theme, “My First Time”. Your story can be funny, serious, heartfelt, absurd, lyrical, etc. We are seeking story-tellers and story-appreciators, as we gather together to build a narrative medicine community.

The Interstitium is SOLD OUT. We are thrilled at the response and interest in this inaugural event. Stay tuned for future Interstitium events. 

Click here to RSVP!

Story guidelines:

  • 7 minutes or less
  • you may read from a written story, or tell a story extemporaneously
  • please maintain patient/people privacy and don’t use actual names unless you have permission
  • story content can range from serious to funny to absurd to dramatic
  • the event will not be recorded
  • the event will not be judged

Date and Time

Sunday, January 13th, 2019

6:30 PM – 9:00 PM


Shafer Baillie Mansion Bed & Breakfast

907 14th Avenue East

Fireplace Room

Seattle, WA 98112

Community of Practice – November Recap


By Linda Deppe

On Tuesday evening we met at the Lucky Labrador Pub where we thought, talked, and wrote about “Place”. Pamela Pierce, an OHSU librarian, skillfully facilitated our time.

We started with “The Clan of One-Breasted Women”, the epilogue of a book by Terry Tempest Williams. This short piece hits hard, as the “clan” are all her female relatives, who live downwind from the nuclear test sites in the Utah desert and though they live clean and spiritual lives as LDS folk, they all have breast cancer. Visions of the desert and the land echo through the pages.

What elements signify place? Geography? Buildings? Weather?

What does our sense of place evoke in us? What ties us to a place? What is hidden in a physical place, and how does that get expressed?

Our writing prompt used archival photos in Oregon, from the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs online catalog. Several were by known photographers, like Dorothea Lange, and some had historical context, but several were unknown sources and some had no context. This seemed difficult and initially a bit  random to me: but I wrote a back story for the photo I chose, in the voice of a woman in the home, and a pregnancy and the worries of the winter and the year, cued by a cord of wood stacked in front of a house in 1939.

One writer chose a picture of massive logs loaded for rail shipment out of Eastern Oregon: and wrote about the men, the danger and the injuries. She then asked about the invisible women: not counted in the monies or the camps, and spoke of the decimation of the land and the marked difference in gender roles.

A second writer looked at the photo of the cord wood and houses and wrote about the wood from the ruined land, and she spoke as a pregnant women thinking about the gender of her unborn child and also with a focus on the gender roles where a boy will live a life of action outside the house, and a girl will be bound inside and more constrained. It felt like we were handing off thoughts and story without communicating directly about it.

Several other writers  described the thoughts of the people in the pictures, or the glory and beauty of the places.

We expressed frustration about not knowing enough about the photos. Who are they? Where is that? What does that mean? And we now understand that the work of an archival librarian is full of such questions. Pam says it can be very frustrating.

Our summarizing conversations were rich and personal and the time went too fast.

Our next Community of Practice will be held at 6 PM on Tuesday, December 18th, at the Lucky Labrador Pub on Hawthorne. The holidays can be a challenging time emotionally, so our topic is timely! Join Stanford medical student Candice Kim in exploring, “From Burn-out to Well-being: Transforming Empathy into Compassion.”

Arrive earlier if you’d like to purchase food and drink.

Community of Practice – October Recap

Screen Shot 2018-10-29 at 6.09.14 PMBy Eden Bainter

For our October gathering of the NWNMC Community of Practice, Liz Asch Greenhill (acupuncturist, visual artist, and writer) led participants in readings and exercises drawing on concepts from Chinese Medicine and acupuncture theory. After a brief but well-rounded introduction to Chinese medicine and theory, we practiced. Using self visualization exercises, we went deep inside our own bodies to places of blockage, pain, and discontent. Liz was right when she noted that, “a creative shift in our self-perception can open us up to new awareness, creativity, and a felt sense of transformation.” It felt liberating to embody my body in a completely fresh way, to come at my body’s aches and areas of resistance from an entirely new angle.

Liz describes creative embodiment as “the building of tools and skills to feel more comfortable, at home, and expressive in our own bodies”… and who can’t use more of that? From the feedback I heard and calmed faces I saw looking back at me from around the table, I wasn’t the only one who felt a positive internal shift. Thank you for giving us tools, Liz, to take into our homes and narrative medicine practices.

Our next NWNMC Community of Practice is November 20th. All are welcome!

September Recap – Creation Myths as Metaphor for Mundane Magic

By Elizabeth Lahti

Katy Liljeholm skillfully led the workshop, Creation Myths as Metaphor for Mundane Magic. Ms. Liljeholm is a former Artistic Director of Well Arts and current oral historian for palliative care patients at Legacy Health Services. She immediately brought the group together and engaged us with her warm presence. She began the hands on workshop with a refresher on different types of myths, placing an emphasis on creation myths. She reminded us of what Joseph Campbell once said about myth: the narrator, the artist, the one thinking up the story, is in a field that is not covered by our own knowledge.

This reminded me of how Susan Sontag opens her book Illness as Metaphor. She write that we all hold dual citizenship in the kingdom of the well and the kingdom of the sick. Often when one arrives in the kingdom of the sick, they don’t have a vocabulary or a map of what that particular landscape looks like. In the workshop, Ms. Liljeholm invited us to stretch our imagination muscles in order to think, write, and share about other worlds with other rules.

Ms. Liljeholm provided the group with three printed myths. We read them aloud, letting the characters, worlds, deeds, and transformations come alive in the room. Each was very different. Together we discussed what stood out to each of us and why. For some a myth was violent, while for others it was hopeful. For some a myth was magic, while for others it was a true representation of life in our world. Some of us were more attached to one myth than the others. Through the act of closely reading different texts together, our small group undulated over the words and worlds as if riding a wave in the same boat. We experienced the texts in community, and in the process acknowledged and appreciated different perspectives.  

Then it was time to write. Ms. Liljeholm provided us with a long list of prompts. Here are a few examples.

  • Lured to a new part of the forest while on a hunt or walk. Maybe by an animal.
  • Bring something impressive to a parent to get crowned as a monarch.
  • Climb a mountain to find a new realm at the top.
  • Get kidnapped by a magician or a witch.
  • Wake up with your hair gone.
  • Be tempted by something you should not don.
  • Steal fire.

At first I struggled with the task. I don’t think of myself as a myth writer, or someone who creates worlds that don’t exist. So I jotted down ideas, wishes, words, and sketches. When I finally got going, my sentences flowed and I found my character walking through a dark hallway in a forgotten part of a house. She finds a brightly colored coat and when she places it over her shoulders a new world springs into being.


Our room in the Lucky Lab was quiet except for pens and pencils scratching paper. The time went by quickly. When the group stopped collectively writing, Ms. Liljeholm invited us to share our myths with the group. I decided to sit back and listen to others. Wow. It is amazing what people can imagine, create, and get down on paper in 15 minutes. Each myth that was read aloud brought me into another world. In one, a city was divided into different colored sectors and resources were running out. In another, robots destroyed Portland but one benevolent robot became a tool for children in physical therapy. In another world, small animals could talk but also Google for answers. The worlds that people created in order to make sense of a problem were imaginative but concrete, mythical but grounded in reality.

One myth stood out to me. It was the story of a beautiful young woman with long, full, blond hair. You know the kind, fairy tail princess hair. One day she wakes to find her hair is gone. With permission, I excerpt part of the myth here.

“One day when Drusilla rose with the sun to draw water for her bath, she saw reflected in the stream that she was completely bald. Her hands flew to her head, smooth as an egg and just as bare.

In disbelief, she ran to the neighboring farm but the boys playing with sticks in the tall grass barely acknowledged her and their mother scarcely looked up from hoeing a row in the garden.  Without her glorious locks, it was as though Drusilla was invisible, except that she knew that wasn’t true. Others revealed that they saw her by the quick, furtive aversion of their eyes. She was still here, but no longer a joy to be seen. She was a thing to be ignored, avoided.”

Immediately this story reminded me of patients who lose their hair during medical treatment. When prompted the author said that wasn’t her intent. The seed for this myth was planted in something else. To me this exemplifies the beauty of writing and sharing in community. Her myth creation meant something entirely different to me than it meant to her. And the same could probably be said for others around the table.

Distraught by the loss of her hair and her subsequent invisibility, Drusilla digs a hole and gets in. The natural world overtakes her, and soon she becomes an egg covered with soil, vines, and flowers.

“A little girl chanced upon the wondrous egg under its greenery, her attention captured by the faint sound of tiny cracks in the shell underneath.  As she watched in wonder, the shells and the vines split apart to reveal a shiny black raven. The girl stood agape as it tested its broad wings in the breeze and then looked her straight in the eye with a stare that knew everything she would ever do and be. The raven tilted her head affectionately, nodded, and flew away to the top of a very tall tree on a very big mountain. The little girl ran to tell everyone in the village and although no one believed her, she never forgot.  She became a wise woman, highly sought after for comfort and advice.”

I invite you think about what you see, hear, and feel in the final paragraph of this myth. And I invite you to think and write about your own worlds with no rules. I hope you join us on the 3rd Tuesday of every month at the Hawthorne Lucky Lab Brew Pub for the NWNMC Community of Practice. All are welcome.


Community of Practice – August Recap!

Writing Through Life Transitions:  Reflections on August Community of Practice

By Daena Goldsmith

When we go through changes in the external situations of our lives, we also experience a process of internal transition as we come to terms with what change means for who we are and our place in the world.  The world around us often focuses on the new beginning that comes with change but we also need to acknowledge what is ending and we are likely to find ourselves spending some time in a “neutral zone”—a time when the old has gone but the new isn’t yet fully operational.


This month Aryn Bartley introduced us to William Bridge’s Life Transition Model and led us through a workshop on how to write our way through the endings, neutral zones, and new beginnings of life transitions.  Aryn teaches English at Lane Community College and drove up the smoke-filled I-5 corridor to lead our small group as we gathered at the Lucky Lab Hawthorne Brew Pub this past Tuesday, August 21.

We started by making individual lists of some life transitions we’ve experienced—those happening now as well as recent or long ago transitions.  Then we selected one and wrote about “My most vivid memory from this transition” or something “I wish I had known.” We continued to write about transitions from different angles and in different genres (a letter, a detailed sensory description).  Our group wrote and shared about a variety of life transitions involving relationships, careers, chronic illness, and loss. We noticed that even transitions we desire can be challenging and we aren’t always supported in expressing the loss that comes with any kind of change.

Aryn shared with us Mary Oliver’s poem, In Blackwater Woods.  The poem begins with changes in the natural world and then concludes with this advice about how “to live in this world”:

you must be able

to do three things:

to love what is mortal;

to hold it

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

and when the time comes to let it go,

let it go.

We discussed how difficult and how necessary it is to hold something closely, deeply and let it go, and the challenge of discerning when “the time” has come.  This workshop helped us explore how writing can be a way of engaging with these processes.

Several of us plan to continue the writing we started in this workshop and Aryn concluded by giving us  exercises we could try on our own, including writing a character sketch of ourselves before, during, or after a life transition; taking lines from Oliver’s poem as writing prompts; and designing a personal ritual to mark an ending or new beginning.

Thank you to Aryn and my fellow participants for this evening!  The workshop captured many of the elements that I appreciate in our community of practice:  opportunities to write, productive prompts and exercises, active listening, and thoughtful discussion.  I hope you will join us in September for our next gathering!


Reflections on July’s Community of Practice

by Rebecca Harrison
How often in our busy lives do we find we are unable to get to the essence of what we really need to ponder and care for in ourselves?
With three simple questions “How are you feeling right now?”, “What is that about?” and “What do you want?”,  I found I could easily immerse myself into the “micro moment” of what was happening inside of me. There is so much noise in our heads that at times we fail to really communicate what we actually care about. This is so often shrouded in the social graces of conversation and small talk.
This exercise had me and my workshop partner, who started in divergent places, immediately pulling into the essence of what mattered to each of us in the moment and a closer understanding of each other. Like a circular tornado we came to meet in the middle and had a shared sense of common understanding. The questions were pillars of structure as we rotated back and forth through those three questions. In that circular exchange we distilled our words to the essence of our current states.
Next, the pair-share question posed “What cross roads are you at in your life?”  By then,  I was ripe to  listen “radically.” What I noticed, being in full listening mode; is that I could simply be, relax, take in and absorb. Soon into the conversation, I noticed that the silence could be awkward, yet it beckoned my partner to go on and share more without me interrupting, agreeing, relating or going on about my thoughts, which could be distracting to what she needed. So important is that the  hardest and most painful part of sharing is often saved at the end of the conversation, which if I had interrupted with my comments we might never have gotten there. It reminds me of “the hand on the door knob” questions a patient might finally reveal as the provider is walking out of the room. “Why didn’t you tell me this from the beginning of our time?” you might ask. Yet, it’s understandable, because we are often afraid to be vulnerable, to burden, or at times to share the words that bring forth the deeper emotions and fears. This got me thinking, what if we lead with the hardest part-the part we can’t even dream to share upfront? How would that shape our communications differently?
My workshop partner and I discovered our cross roads are not actually forks in the road, but more like woven fabric or a lattice of connections in our life. We are on a journey to find our truest selves every step of the way in life. We are always at cross roads. Our group spanned ages of 15-70’s years, yet we all have cross roads being woven into that fabric. The unknown or uncertain future is often the hardest part to share. It seems to me, we are often looking toward our new skin and shedding the old. We are always shedding, though sometimes it’s more difficult to let go of old skin, because there is a grief in that. And yet, in grieving there is also catharsis.
Sharing my story I could see I could be present and safe and understood quickly. It was personal, yet I could say it out loud. Some parts of my narrative I had never said out loud in that way. I saw I had a deeper understanding of myself than I thought I had.  From that space I could reflect and design a care plan for me, a small, important promise to myself – a Mantra of sorts. I felt refreshed and empowered by this experience of radical listening and closer to the truth by getting to the heart of it.
This all happened in under two hours! Thank you Niki Steckler!

Community of Practice – June Recap!


Northwest Narrative Medicine’s June Community of Practice was led by Cassandra Sagan, a Portland Interplay instructor. This workshop was joy filled and thoughtful.
Nine of us “played” with Interplay forms and ex-forms around the theme of Narrative Medicine. Through vocalization, movement and dance we explored a theory about the basic cellular and body movements and then worked together in pairs. Creating stories around made up medical words brought lots of laughter.
Getting out of our chairs and moving around the room in forms and shapes freed and energized our creative juices.  In the middle of the workshop, one participant exclaimed: “I feel such joy!”
After the movement exercises, we listed our joys to each other in pairs, and then something we each felt a burden for. However; this was softened with the invocation of fruit names rather than real personal details. (Try it! It works!)
Our last assignment was a 20 minute write, in which we were challenged to find a thread or connection of joy even in the midst of our personal burden. We ended by sharing what we discovered through our writing, in a way that maintained our intimately creative and safe community.

Don’t miss our next Community of Practice on July 17th.  Niki Steckler will facilitate Listening and Story Sharing as Practices for Radical Self-Care. Learn more!

Community of Practice – May Recap!

fullsizeoutput_4089Twenty-one people gathered Tuesday at the Lucky Lab Brew Pub for the inaugural Northwest Narrative Medicine Community of Practice. The environment was upbeat and casual and the participants were highly engaged. Gathered around a large table, facilitator Cara Olexa led the group in writing exercises, sharing, discussions and readings exploring the concept of “Fiction as a Route to Truth”. Participants left with two samples of personal writing, and a better understanding of the ways both fiction and non-fiction can highlight the truth of a story.


Several participants expressed their pleasure at having the time to write, share, reflect and be present with each other and their stories. Cara, the evening’s facilitator, noted that “the willingness and desire for this in the community is great enough to move people to come to a workshop they might’ve only seen advertised in an email or on Facebook!”

Won’t you join us?

Our next meeting is Tuesday, June 19th, from 6-8 PM, where Cassandra Sagan will guide us on the interplay of narrative medicine.  Community of Practice events are free and no RSVP is required. Food and drink is available for purchase at the venue.

Learn more about the Community of Practice

Visit the Facebook Event Page