Because I am sort of a global health nut and because Dr. B who happens to run the medical school likes me I got asked to go to the OTHER GLOBAL HEALTH DAY and speak.  OTHER being code for where we raise money for the new global health program. It was in the medical school board room.  It should be noted that I had to ask directions to the medical school board room. It should also be noted that my two compatriots were in suits.

The table was set  formally. It had ALL THE DIFFERENT TYPES OF FORKS.  There were three.   3 forks!!! 3 forks to raise money for people with no forks.  It dripped of old south. We had sweet tea with lemon to drink, three courses, key-lime pie and a waiter for the main table who was quite sadly one of three African Americans in the whole room. There were name cards.  I set next to Dr. B at the head of the table.

Most of the attendees were older than my grandparents. . They were retired physicians, people with foundations to their names. And there was me staring down at my forks in my kanga wondering how bizarre life is.  And thinking that I felt more at home in a Masai hut made from cow dung and mud drinking chai with flies than I did in this room in the heart of  my school, in my country.

I spoke, sat down and pondered about trying to describe this scene  to the Kenyan mothers who had braided my hair and trusted me with their babies. What would I say?   Well a bunch of rich white people got together and ate too much so other rich white people could go and take care of babies.

They would stare and laugh. And say doctari nywara your country is a strange place with strange ways.

and I would say.

ndio ndio.

London was beautiful from the air, the english countryside was bathed in white.  My connection went flawlessly and although my flight got delayed a bit on the ground it was a great flight. One I will never forget. I watched the map program every couple of minutes once we hit the Med. Sea wanting to see the coast of Africa as we crossed it. It was beautiful and shockingly different than the coast we left behind in Italy.  I watched the sunset of Sudan and by the time we entered Kenya, I couldn’t sit still with excitement. The last time I did this whole go to a new country/new continent thing on my own I was 19 on my way to Romania. I was considerably less freaked this time around. I got my visa without problem despite the fact I accidentally left my original copy of my yellow fever vaccination in America on my scanner. All of my luggage made it and I was picked up by a kind man named George who took me to the Mayfield guesthouse. The guesthouse is lovely, full of  African art, mosquito nets and people from all over Africa who are passing through. I shared a room with a lovely girl from Ireland who is going to teach in a primary school in the North of Kenya.

I didn’t sleep much but I enjoyed what little I did get. I woke up early since my roommate was on her way north.  Took a shower, felt human and then explored the guest house. We eat meals family style here. The rest of the medical team that was supposed to meet me in London finally made it. Two of them will come to Kijabe with me. While they slept I went to orientation at the AIM office. I also saw Nairobi by day.  The smell is a cross between the humid, thick magic of a Carolina magic and the strange pugant tang that I associte with Bucharest. I am not sure if its a city smell or a developing world smell but it smells like home. Kenya has had two years of drought but its been raining and everything is green and there are many flowers.

Orientation was oddly interesting we talked a lot about the history of Kenya and plans for medical missions here in Kenya. I will write more tomorrow once I reach Kijabe. For now I am exhausted…

Why you ask? The usual reasons things matter in foreign policy: oil, power and blood.  Russia controls a big part of Europe’s oil supply and the oil passes through many of the former soviet republics.  Russia has friends like Iran and China.  Russia is becoming better armed all time and already has increasingly bad human rights record.  I am not suggesting that we as the west should go in and try to mess around with the region and play police or micromanger for these  corrupt, struggling infant democracies but we shouldn’t take them for granted.

Let’s all remember that it was our indifference after helping the Afghans win against the soviets that brought us the Taliban…

not the same situation, but the same principal. The battle for a free whole Europe is not over, its really only just begun.

I was dreading telling my Daddy (yes its Daddy I am from the south deal with it) .  There is a saying in our family: Victoria will laugh at what Dad says to do, Emily will do it to the letter and I will do the oppositte.  0:)  I love him and we are close. But lets be honest he is overprotective (perhaps for good reason).  If I had listened to hm I would have never gone to Romania, never gone to medical school , never gone to Wake Med and probaly would be living in my parents’ basement.  SO somewhere around the age of 16 I decided that while I loved him. He would always see me as far more physically and emotionally fragile than I saw myself.

Now don’t go thinking he is awful. He is really good at admitting he was wrong. And tells everyone he knows about his oldest daugther double major at Wake who is now going to do medical missions when she graduates Wake Med….he loves to hear my travel stories and we have read lot of good Russian literature and I photographed lots of WWII landmarks for him in my travels.

I could just hear exactly what he was going to say as I told him…are you crazy…you are almost done with your third year…do you really think now is a good time for a femur head fracture….and I would still go but I would feel uneasy and guilty for at least the first 24hrs.

so the day came and I called him and told him.  And then I nearly fell over and broke hip.  “That sounds like fun, a great way to blow off steam…just wear a helmet and use common sense.”  he said.  he was actually happy for me, excited for me.  WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH DADDY?

I decided he was either A. intoxicated, B. is using some sort of weird reverse psychology on me or C. has grown to see me much as I see myself or at lest in the same galaxy.   I like C so I am going with it.

you know we always talk about children growing up, but I think parents grow along the way too.

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.

Holding the hand of a child as they fall asleep.

Watching my grandparents celebrate 50 years surrounded by their children and grandchildren. Listening to their stories and remembering the miracles of the past 50 years.

Singing and laughing tucked back in a grove of trees with the same folks as the sun sets.

For the first time, diagnosing a child (a 9 mon old) with cancer and hoping and grieving with her mother.

Waking up and finding this in my garden. I didn’t plant this. I have been so busy, I haven’t had time to weed….

Sitting on a stoop in hot, humid, sultry SC with old friends from the other side of the world. Laughing, talking and just simply enjoying the company of people interested in living beyond the America bubble.

Holding my very first well child check patient and watching her eat her first birthday cake. (no HIPPA in Romania mission clinic)

That’s whats up in my life. That and lot of studying for the surgery shelf (not really so sacred).

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I spent a great deal of time outdoors in the Blue Ridge Mts with my Mom and sisters post-boards. I left my cell phone and computer and books in the corner and forgot that I have the cartilage of an 85 year old and wandered around my favorite mountain celebrating the tentative Virginia Spring with its red buds, Bradford Pear Trees, bulbs and shy buds. I had a long talk with my Dad about life then I moved my stuff back to Winston sans all my school stuff. I just left it in my basement. It was liberating.

I flew to Texas to see Karen and Jon. I soaked in the sunshine, the hippee-ness of Austin and the affection of dear friends. We cooked, talked, stayed up too late, wandered around San Antonio in the middle of the Final Four craziness, ate REAL Mexican food and Americanized Romanian food???, reconnected with a random kid I met in Romania and mostly just talked, solved the world’s problems, told stories and laughed. It was lovely.

On the school front, my life seems to be working out too well. I not only got the sced of my choice, I got the attendings I wanted for surgery which is completely a GOD thing because I never confided in anyone about such.

And now to bed since I have slept much in days…too much fun to be had.

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…

1. Oh so are you from there?

2. Like where Dracula is from? Are there bats there?
3. Is Belarus in South America?

4. Have you seen that movie where they get shot down over Bonsia? Is it like that?

5. Do you like cabbage?

6.  Are you a communist?

7. Are you teaching those communists the RIGHT way to do things?

8.  Do they really wear those funny, furry hats?

9. Don’t they hate America?

10.  Does everyone work for the mafia over there?

btw my prof asked me several off the list today, I will let you guess which ones