Readers of Samuel Shem's medical satire The House of God (1978) have long worried about the bad attitude of his main characters: young male internal medicine trainees. This article examines the interns' atrocious affections, using the feminist classic Our Bodies, Ourselves (1973) as a counterweight to the masculinist perspective of House of God. These radically different critiques of United States medicine derive from a shared sociopolitical context and represent a historically specific response to the personal politics of sexual liberation and self-actualization in the 1970s. I show that Shem and the Boston Women's Health Book Collective share a rhetorical strategy of "loose expertise" grounded in embodied knowledge, which connects both texts to the radical social movements of the late 1960s. Loose expertise enables institutional critique by shifting the domain of knowledge away from traditional structures of authority, but inhibits intersectional critique by essentializing the individual subject position of the author. The article concludes by examining the relationship of both texts to the medical humanities.
From the stress of burnout to the gratification of camaraderie, medicine is suffused with emotions that educators, administrators, and reformers have sought to shape. Yet historians of medicine have only begun to analyze how emotions have structured health care work. This introductory essay frames a special issue on health care practitioners' emotions in the twentieth-century United Kingdom and United States. We argue that the massive bureaucratic and scientific changes in medicine after the Second World War helped to reshape affective aspects of care. The articles in this issue emphasize the intersubjectivity of feelings in healthcare settings and the mutually constitutive relationship between patients' and providers' emotions. Bridging the history of medicine with the history of emotion demonstrates how emotions are instilled rather than innate, social as well as personal, and, above all else, change over time. The articles reckon with the power dynamics of healthcare. They address the policies and practices that institutions, organizations, and governments have implemented to shape, govern, or manage the affective experiences and well-being of healthcare workers. And they point to important new directions in the history of medicine.
A survivor of child sexual abuse felt that doctors missed opportunities to notice her distress when, at fourteen, she had an unexplained illness that lasted for a year. The cause, she wrote, was "explained by Doctors as psychological, but nobody questioned further. WHY??? … If adults don't listen[,] then we have no one to turn to." For decades, community health practitioners have been identified as an important group in protecting children from maltreatment, but survivor testimony and agency statistics demonstrate that they rarely receive verbal disclosures or recognize the physical or behavioural warning signs of sexual abuse. The accounts we have of the 1980s tell of swiftly heightening professional awareness, followed by a visceral backlash in the latter part of the decade that discouraged practitioners from acting on their concerns. This article uses trade and professional journals, training materials, textbooks, and new oral histories to consider why community-based doctors and nurses have struggled to notice and respond to the sexually abused child. It will argue that the conceptual model of child sexual abuse that community health practitioners encountered in the workplace encouraged a mechanical and procedural response to suspicions of abuse. In a highly gendered and contested workplace, practitioners' feelings about how survivors, non-abusing family members, and perpetrators should be understood were rarely debated in training or in practice. The emotional cost to the practitioners of engagement with sexual abuse, and their need for spaces of reflexivity and structures of support, were ignored.

