Bootstraps

What a sad, sad reminder of how universal death eventually is. I received word last night that Marco Cabrera, a professor at Case Western Reserve Medical (and collaborator of mine on three papers we are about to submit) died suddenly of a heart attack yesterday. This news really shocked me. Not because we were especially close, but because it was such a stark reminder of how death comes for us all whether we are in the States or Haiti, whether we are ready or not, whether we're as nice as Marco or not. He was in his fifties, in good health, did not smoke, and had a healthy weight (not fat).

On a different note, things at the clinic have continued to go well. I am finally back to a more firm stool, although I am feeling a strange urethral sensation. I have vowed to drink more water.

In the clinic we recently saw an HIV/TB patient who was down to a CD4 count of like 10 (not good) and weighed 85 pounds. He needed help standing up. Because it was TB and we were crammed into a small, smelly, hot exam room (with mosquitoes!), we had him cover his mouth with a paper towel. For the first time I began viewing patients as people of which some would die sooner than later. I wanted to hug them. My interest in palliative care continues to grow. You may not heal everyone, but you can certainly help them live life with dignity and laughter and fulfillment and all those things that members of the human race live for. Although I hate clichés, there is a quote from Dead Poets Society that has stuck with me. It has stuck with me because it is how I view my pursuits within science and medicine:

(the English teacher has just had his students rip out the introduction to their poetry book which tells them how to properly evaluate poetry)

“Keep ripping, gentlemen! This is a battle. A war. And the casualties could be your hearts and souls…Now, my class, you will learn to think for yourselves again. You will learn to savor words and language. No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world. Now I see that look in Mr. Pitts' eye, like 19th- century literature has nothing to do with going to business school or medical school. Right? Maybe. Mr. Hopkins, you may agree with him, thinking, "Yes, we should simply study our Mr. Pritchard and learn our rhyme and meter and go quietly about the business of achieving other ambitions." I've a little secret for you. Huddle up. Huddle up! We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering -- these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love -- these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman ‘O me! O life! of the question of these recurring, Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill'd with the foolish... What good amid these O me, O life?’ Answer, That you are here--That life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?”
(END QUOTE)

What a beautiful description of the human condition. We all live and pursue different things, but the passion of the human spirit is in us all, and we all can relate, regardless of skin color, religion, language, social status, or wealth.

Last night I played some Texas Hold 'Em with other expats in our compound. It was fun to kick back, speak English and enjoy a beer. They were great guys. It did make me realize that this experience we are having at GHESKIO is not the experience everyone is having here. I don’t want this to be taken as a “we are better than them” because it most certainly is not. I simply realized that not everyone was being forced to learn the language and be with the people all day. It was interesting because one guy has been here for about a year and said he spoke very little kreyol; he works at the US Embassy. It was just weird because I realized we are having different experiences here. So take this all with a grain of salt; this blog is an “N of 1” as we like to say. Simply one man’s perspective, one man’s view, one man’s experiences.

As I sit here outside GHESKIO and type this a young man comes and sits next to me and asks me for money. He actually was in the clinic today, found Karl and I, and asked us for money. He saw my diet coke and said “for me??” It’s weird because you have to just say no. He just sat next to me for 15 minutes as I typed this and the only things he said were asking me for money. If you come here white you have a target on your back. You are rich by the color of your skin whether you really are or not.

Last story of the day. A friend of mine at work asked me for money today. It was sad because he has a real job there (I work with him) and I thought we were “friends” (and maybe we are). But that still didn’t change the fact that I was a “blan” from the States, the rich man. I laughed at him and told him I was still a student too and in debt. But I know he’s right. I can go back to the states and get a job. I have boot straps to pull myself up from. But how does giving him money solve the problem? It doesn’t. This is a major reason I am interested in politics. It takes more than just coming here and keeping a blog or seeing patients or writing a scientific paper. It takes action from the top, from people that yield power and can influence this country’s leaders for the better. If I ever to have the privilege of serving I hope someone reminds me of my time here. These people are full of passion for life just like you and me. Only most of them have no bootstraps.