Does Benny Hinn go to the Doctor?

She has long white hair tied back. Her skirt is handmade and long and flowy. She is here for her yearly GYN exam. I as the token med student of the hour review her history and medications with her. She tells me that 6 months ago she was slain in the spirit and Dr Jesus healed her gallstones. I smile warmly and nod. She then tells me since that time she has been off ALL her medications because Dr. Jesus is taking care all her needs. I gently discuss her medications and what they are for and the pros of taking them. I walk out of the room and try to figure out exactly what I am going to say to my resident as I present this patient. The resident is understanding and we manage to get through the rest of the exam without incident. I then walk the patient to the check-out desk and walk to a nearby counter to collect my notes.

All of the sudden I felt an arm around me I look up to my patient’s smiling face. She closes her eyes and proceeds to pray loudly to the point where everyone in the busy nurse’s station is now staring at the two of us. I stand there at a complete loss of what to do. Among the professional ethics scenarios I was never given any guidance on what one is to do when your patient tries to faith heal you. I find myself fighting embarrassment and annoyance. She prayed on and on it seemed (I don’t think it was particularly that long) about God healing the places where my legs had been broken and the spirit descending and such. Her AMEN brought a sigh of relief for me. I mumbled Thanks because well it seemed like the only polite response and then walked away (dare I say limp away) from the counter. I found myself oddly comforted by each bit crackling of my limbs, nothing happened.

I remember once in Belarus I was rolling along with my friend and translator Koia across a field on the way on to a home visit. When a beautiful Roma beggar with long dark hair and traditional gypsy clothing was walking in the opposite direction. She saw me and stopped and started rummaging in her purse and before I knew it she was thrusting Rubles into my lap. Koia explained…Americanka…and passed the money back to the beautiful Roma lady. She looked confused but reluctantly took the money and walked on. I sat there in shock at the realization I was living in culture where my people were lower than even the beggars. At the same time I was shocked by her compassion, as embarrassed and surprised as I was. I was shocked by her compassion when the world showed her so little. I was reminded of this experience after much reflection on my encounter with the faith healer.

Their compassion was misplaced. In the same way the beautiful Roma lady did not know that the woman in the wheelchair on the path was not a poor beggar but a rich American. The faith healer did not know that I have never questioned my wholeness before God that I found much beauty in my so called brokenness. And I realized the most remarkable thing. At bacculature I was asked to be the gospel reader I read the famous passage from Matthew 25 about how the righteous gave Christ food, clothles and shelter. And they ask when did was he hungry, naked etc? And he explains that whenever they served the poor and the outcasts they served him.

I do not pride myself in being one of the least of these nor do I truly consider myself one (that whole rich American thing) but I accept that I am easily confused as one. I think you can appreciate this passage no matter your religious background because it reveals something key about the way our world looks at others. The least of these are the people that everyone tries not to see in society. If you don’t look at them they don’t have to exist and you don’t have to feel guilty about their suffering. Yet you  never know who you are denying kindness and you never know when it will be you who is in need of it.

So even though I sincerely hope that no one tries to faith heal me (especially in the middle of clinic) me again any time soon I am convicted. Not to drop out of medical school and start a faith healing ministry but to notice the things that everyone tries to ignore. And yes to be tactful about acting on it. So I go and not royally embarrass the individual. At the same time I was convicted not to be so dam professional and polite that I miss moments to be compassionate, miss moments to remember my humanity.

Protected: the hopeless ones

Landing

About five hours after becoming an official third year I was standing in the OR  doing a bone marrow aspiration on a toddler. Terrfying, exciting and utterly forgien.

I feel exactly as felt when I stepped off the plane my first summer overseas. Confused, exhausted and somewhat helpless. Heck I have even switched time zones.   Its like I have been dropped on a alien planet.

I won’t say I like it or hate it because its just too soon to know. I know I don’t like the feeling of knowing nothing or feeling stupid.  But I can’t help but enthralled by the people as always.

The other sort of side show of all this is I am now a medical student in a hospital I worked in as a volunteer for 5.5 years.  In a way its neat to be living the dream where the dream was kept alive in another way its odd.

And then there is the odd personal commentary in the back of my head. I keep feeling as if I have been recast in a long running play. Pediatric surgery, a world I have navigated for first the 20 years of my life on a regular basis as a patient. So familiar yet so incredibly, perplexedly strange because I don’t know my lines at all. I am flying blind, improv-ing and making it up as I go along.  I keep looking into kids’ faces at 5AM and wanting to whisper I am not really one of them.  I am not really one of those worthless med students who wake you up at 5AM.

oh wait I am.

the 3rd Degree

Every culture has its rites of passage, its traditions. Moments shared by all members even if they are separated by the span of time. These rituals provide a point reflection, a sense of belonging. Some of these rites are light and easy others are a bit harsher. In these later cases the community is united not simply by unity of purpose but also by shared trenches of life in their culture.

Let me be plain beyond all the religion academia flowerily language. Hazing is alive and well in the medical profession. I am sure I will become more acquainted to its many forms. Yesterday I had my first initiation rite. On the schedule it said Wed was devoted to INFECTION CONTROL which apparently is a cover for to learning how to do five basic procedures: lumbar puncture, IV insertion, central lines and port cath care, Arterial Blood Gases and Foley catheter insertion which is a further cover for medical student HAZING.

My group’s afternoon started out fairly mild. We all managed to obtain a syringe of pink Kool Aid from a mannequin’s radial artery. Feeling pleased with ourselves we marched on to central lines and port cath care and flushed with the best of them. With our confidence we walked into the Foley catheter insertion.

We knew of course what a Foley catheter was (bladder catheter used to help very sick folks pee) but I don’t think we had fully taken in account the fact that we would be clumsily manipulating various, life like model organs of the pelvic region in a large group setting. While we tried desperately to be mature and professional, it was hard not to at least step back and think of the sheer absurdity of the moment. Particularly when we were told to grasp and don’t let go. COMMIT, COMMIT, they cried. What a strange way to make a living.

Next was IV insertion, we were expecting mannequins and Kool AID but rumors from previous groups has spread that we were sticking each other. As we walked into the room and found no mannequins, we knew the rumors were true. Anxiety spread through the crowd like wildfire. It should be noted at this point that my closest friend in medical school nearly passed out the previous day during our routine communal PPD (TB) testing. I told K and J we could be a group of three and they could each stick me because I’ve been stuck a million times. That way K didn’t have to pass out in front of everyone (and I didn’t have to be the cause of it). This seemed like a good plan as we settled into our sits. Our group of three was spotted by one of the nurses and we explained K’s situation and she said it was fine.

She then went to covey this news to the nurse in charge. The nurse in charge came over and knelt down next to us in that somewhat patronizing way people do when they are talking to little kids and explained that EVERYONE STICKS and EVERYONE GET STUCK. She explained that several of our classmates had cried already that day but ALL of them had been stuck and had stuck. We do this, she says, so you can relate to your patients. She pats K’s arm and tells her if necessary they could lay her on the floor and stick her from that position so she didn’t injure herself if she really did pass out.

K is of course somewhat shocked, embarrassed and terrified, two other classmates already look near tears after this speech. The charge nurse got up and described the details of the procedure and as she did I couldn’t help but wonder how many other professional schools require communal blood letting? I mean its one thing to take blood for the purpose of making someone better in the long run its another to force healthy people to undergo it at the hands of extremely inexperienced students somewhat against their will ….number 478 why Divinity school probably would have been less painful.

The patient part of me for a split second pondered the irony of the a bunch med students terrified of IVs but over eager to stick others. But I suppressed these thoughts because it would reinforce the us vs. them mentality which I despise. And frankly the point of the exercise was to show how similar we really were to our patients.

I got stuck and my partner J managed to find my vein after 60 seconds or so of moderately, uncomfortable digging. Then it was my turn, I looked around the room and many of my classmates were struggling to get a vein. They all had average hands with normal biomechanics, the odds were against me. I apologized to J in advance as I tied the tourniquet. I COMMITED and stuck praying that the blue line would stay taunt nd still, I went too deep, then nearly came out (would had to start all over again), then all of the sudden dark blood spilled into the catheter I looked around wildly, what, what do I do now I asked? I managed to slightly screw up the needle retraction because I was so darn shocked I got it.

K managed to avoid the sticking by sheer luck, we had an odd number of people, so she managed to sort hide in the corner for the duration of the class. We were preparing to leave when all of the sudden someone asks if K has stuck anyone. We answer honestly and I offer up my arm praying that we will run out of time before I have to return the favor. At the other end of the room, the charge nurse is comforting another classmate who is now crying softly as a panicked classmate tries to no avail to get a vein. I sincerely hoped that would not be me and K in five minutes. We were saved by the clock, the next group arrived after 20-40 seconds of K digging in my other wrist. We waited outside for the distressed classmate and her partner and practically ran to our last seminar.

Today the entire third year class have matching bruises on our arms….its like my naval officer father always says The Beatings will continue till Morale Improves. For better or for worse we have been initiated now into some strange fraternity.

…And no I can’t tell you the secret handshake

Rare Disease Day Follow up

you offically know your disease is freaking rare when you know all the spokes people worldwide personally….

http://www.bbc.co.uk/ouch/closeup/rare_diseases.shtml

Scroll down about half the page and you will see Ms. Campbell. I was fortunate enough (as was BAXLEY) to go visit Alana two years ago. She lives in a beautiful little town on the Irish Sea.

Also the girl who wrote the article has Kniest. Emma. We have never met but she referred to me in her blog as a tall person with Kniest.

oh to be back in scotland…