5:38AM

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.

A Gold Star for the hippee project

I got a congrats on my Facebook today and I didn’t know what I was being congratulated for. I had surfaced online for the first time in days. I open my school account and find 10 e-mails. Turns out my presentation for my medicine for the underserved elective was voted the top in the class. I was really surprised.  Happy but mostly surprised I have never been signaled out (beyond giving the now annual love disabled people talk).  Too bad my life is run by multiple choice, give me an essay topic and an excellent editor (XOXO to all of you wonderful grammar nerd friends) and I can ace it. Give me a multiple choice test and I will talk myself out of 25% of the right answers.

My presentation was kind of shaky and rushed and very, very different than the other three. Mine was a narrative with a lot of photographs of children and Eastern European art and scenery. The others were very public health focused, people were cured of malaria, maternal and infant mortality were decreased. There were statistics and evidence based medicine and epi. I had a single slide of stats which were colorful and again bordered by bright eyed beautiful children.  I didn’t cure any diseases this summer, I played Nannie more than developmental pediatrician even.  I was the last presentation of the day. After 45 minutes of public health and EBM, I was anxious and uncomfortable in my semi-sensible looking professional clothling. Who was I fooling? I make a better flower child than a public health officer. peace. love and medicine. woot.

Needless to say I was bewildered when the e-mail came.  I am thrilled, its somewhat meaningless beyond an extra sentence on my CV. But its kind of nice to know that perhaps my class does not think  I am completely bonkers…  or maybe bonkers was easier to stay awake during than sane.
at least I told 100 folks about the plight of my tribe in Romania.

50 years of marriage and finally a honeymoon

I am holed up at home this weekend hanging out with my baby sister while my parents are away. And by hanging out I mean sort of like babysitting and by sort of like babysitting I mean she is at a sleep over at her friends’ house. Thus I am mostly just walking the dog every 4-6 hours. Being in my parents’ house without them or any of my sisters is lonely. No wonder the dog never eats when we leave her. Currently I am at my favorite coffee shop this side of the Atlantic. My Step 1 books are sitting in my bag glaring at me. I am ignoring them

 

It’s my grandparents’ 50^th wedding anniversary this May. They got married on their Prom night; they went south to Texas where it was legal to wed when you are only 16. One of “their” songs is that Johnny Cash song “We got married in a fever…” 50 years later they teach the young couples class at their church J. I love them, they are adorable. When you think about how few marriages make it these days you can’t help but be in awe of 50 years.

 

My parents left this morning for Maui thus the dog walking. My grandmother has dreamed her entire life of going to Hawaii. My parents have gone all out. I am impressed especially considering the Long family tradition of saving money in a can in the backyard. They have spared no expense they saved sky miles so my grandparents could fly first class, got them ocean front rooms, paid extra for champagne, real lais at the airport, a luau, etc.  

 

My grandfather who is the CEO of the can the money foundation called this morning. They arrived earlier than my parents on a separate flight. I have never seen him talk so fast. He was like a little kid. He told me about the room, the ocean, the fruit basket, the plane, the food on the plane, the hotel and how it was the best hotel in the world. And I couldn’t help but smile and giggle a little. Somehow I doubt there was a honeymoon after Prom night especially for two farm kids from Oklahoma.

 

My Dad was really worried my grandfather wouldn’t accept the gift of the trip. If he did they were afraid he would get upset about the can of money we unburied from the backyard to pay for it and whine perpetually. But he has surprised us with joy and gratitude opposed to a lecture on how many children we could feed with the money (yep I come by it naturally). I am so glad he has accepted this. I know how much it means to my Dad and to my grandmother.

 

How often do we as human beings refuse gifts because we are concerned we don’t deserve them or that others need or deserve them more? When you think about it the best gifts rarely have anything to do with rather you deserve them or not.

 

. Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised at my Grandpapa’s reaction. If you manage to stay married for 50 years you have to learn a thing or too about grace and gifts.

If I burn my bra can I have insurance?

Its cold and rainy and sort of miserable in NC. Thank God for socks, heat and Sparky the space heater.  Thank God for Rachel for coming to see me in the cold, wet, even icy weekend. Thanks to all the amazing guest appearances made by so many parables and groupies. It was great to among liberal arts minds and parables hearts for the weekend. It reminded me that I still have a soul under all this science drivel that is dominating my life right now.

Speaking of med school. ::::drumroll:::: I have never made HONORS in a class in medical school. On Saturday morning I received an e-mail stating my medicine for the under served paper (I wrote about Aurel and the plight of my people in E. Europe) along with three other papers had received Honors. I was thrilled for about 10 seconds. Then I read that all the honors students have to do a presentation in front of the entire class and then the class will vote on the number 1 paper for top honors (a grade that usually doesn’t even exist). I would get Honors in the one class that requires extra work if you make Honors. Also apparently the only thing I am exceptional at is writing human rights papers and taking care of poor people. Imagine that…I majored in Religion. What am I doing in medical school? (I am happy about the Honors really just somewhat terrified of going before my whole class and in the company of our class’ top student and two Ivy League grads and then me the gimpy mediocre med school wonder with a low first tier degree).

The low point of the weekend  was the pharmacy. It was time to refill my Celebrex. So I called Walgreens the night before. And then Rachel and I headed over there on our way to the parables dinner. We rolled up to the window gave the dude my name, insurance card and debit card. The pharmacist messes with the com for like 10 mins and then finally comes back to window to inform me that my insurance company refuses to cover Celebrex until I try Aleve or Ibuprofen (naturally over the counter and thus they pay nothing).  It will be a 156 dollars to refill my prescription. I nearly cry.  I took Ibuprofen as a kid but once I hit puberty it made my time of the month miserable and uncontrollable. Plus Celebrex pain relief is about 12 times better. The pharmacist was nice about it and told me that if my PCP called on Tuesday and told them I had already tried the other meds. My insurance company would be obligated to pay for the Celebrex, their second line drug. He was willing to sell me 4 pills worth to get me through Tuesday.  $16.99 later.  I am paying 6400 dollars a year.  No make that 6400+16.99.

I fumed. If that had been insulin, a Beta-Blocker or Anti-convulsant medication, people could die if they can’t get what they need.  insane. when did my life become a Micheal Moore documentary scene?

but it was a great weekend. it really was     love to all.