No sooner had I finished typing the title to this piece when a colleague dropped by my office to inform me that said professor who was in town was a certain place on campus if I wanted to try to find him and talk to him. “Umm, ok, does he want to see me right now?” I asked. “I don’t know” was the reply. So I was like, hmm, ok, well if he wants to see me, great. But I’m not gonna get all packed up and lug all my stuff over there just to say hi and be in the way of whatever he’s doing – thats weird. I have nowhere to lock my stuff, so I would have to pack up my laptop and everything I'm working on to run across campus. I did end up meeting later in the day with said prof and it was great. He's an outstanding physician-researcher, and much was accomplished. We spoke of projects, current work, future work, and different problems going on right now. But for some reason I have gotten the general feeling from others lately that we should be running around kissing ass and doing what we’re told. But I don’t get it.
Perhaps medicine isn’t for me cause I don’t give much of a shit what people think. In fact, I would HATE to have students under me who were kissing my ass, looking to me for the answers and not thinking for themselves. I want students under me who think of themselves as scientists, and logically go about making decisions. I need students around/under me who are creative and logical. Don’t get me wrong here – if there is a professional project we are working on and someone has advice as to what needs to be done/what can be done better because they’ve done it before, etc, I’m all ears. But this idea that I’m going to run around looking for you to shake your hand or beg for you to tell me what to do next…gimme a break here.
Of course this particular situation means nothing; it’s the hierarchical attitude in medicine that worries me. The attitude that careers are what matter, that the science and medicine are second to recognition, prestige, and glory. (And of course, that’s all a distant second to doing what you are told.) What’s important is that at some point in your career someone calls you a “medicine rock star” and you are recognized with a ceremony (waste of time) where you stand up to accept an award and acknowledge how smart you are. Perhaps this is me railing against capitalism, a futile pursuit. But maybe not. At Auburn I worked with someone who loved the science and was curious about the questions, and curious about the answers. I worked with a real scientist. We thought of how interesting it would be to discover, to solve a problem, to push science ahead one small step at a time. If career recognition was discussed, it wasn't with much interest. With Cornell I have met many of those special types of people as faculty members and colleagues. Yet something about the medical system itself seems to encourage this hierarchical, non-dissenting atmosphere.
In the college classroom, I always told my students to argue with me. If you think a question on your exam was poorly worded or I was wrong, please argue. You can’t offend me. You can’t hurt my feelings. Is there anything more impersonal than good science? What good is a test question if I can’t adequately defend it as a teacher? What good is it if I can’t critically examine the task at hand, and admit if I were wrong?
In Sinclair Lewis’s “Arrowsmith”, many times the theme is played out that nothing is quite as pure as the love of science, of discovery, of pursuit of truth. I think there is nothing worse than a student who doesn’t dissent, who won’t dig in his/her heels on a well-thought out point. Then, if they are wrong, they remember why they are wrong. If they are right, they understand what it means to be a scientist, to logically follow a pattern of thought, to gather previous evidence, to gather your own data to test what appears to be happening, and then to draw conclusions about natural phenomena. Don’t look around at people with more age or more degrees; rather THINK for yourself, learn the process. And THEN ask those with more fancy ivy-league degrees and important titles. THEN ask them, once you’ve made some conclusions. Then, and only then, when you defend your answers when right, understand thoroughly where you’ve erred, and have a whole list of ideas to test next; then you shall call yourself a scientist. A degree is nice – it recognizes that someone else thought you were a scientist. But you may or may not be. Many a great scientist had no formal title; many people with formal titles, and fancy ones at that, never will learn to be scientists.
In "Arrowsmith", Martin (a physician-scientist), recalls:
"He preached to himself, as Max Gottlieb had once preached to him, the loyalty of dissent, the faith of being very doubtful, the gospel of not bawling gospels, the wisdom of admitting the probable ignorance of one's self and of everybody else, and the energetic acceleration of a Movement for going very slow." Chapter 21, II, p. 219.
Later, Max Gottlieb (a science mentor to Martin) espouses:
"'I make many mistakes. But there is one thing I keep always pure: the religion of a scientist. The normal man, he does not care much what he does except that he should eat and sleep and make love. But the scientist is intensely religious — he is so religious that he will not accept quarter-truths, because they are an insult to his faith. He hates the preachers, who talk their fables, but he is not too kindly to the anthropologists and historians who can only make guesses, yet they have the nerve to call themselves scientists! Oh, yes, he is a man that all nice good-natured people should naturally hate! He speaks no meaner of the ridiculous faith-healers and chiropractors than he does of the doctors that want to snatch our science before it is tested and rush around hoping they heal people, and spoiling all the clues with their footsteps; and worse than the imbeciles who have not even heard of science, he hates pseudo-scientists; and worse than those comic dream-scientists he hates the men that are allowed in a clean kingdom like biology but know only one text-book and how to lecture to nincompoops. He is the only real revolutionary, the authentic scientist, because he alone knows how little he knows.'" (Gottlieb) Chapter 26, I, pp. 267-268.
A good scientist knows that things should be questioned; he/she is entrenched in the skeptic's thought process that demands evidence for statements that otherwise seem innocuous. A good scientist knows the value of dissent.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Things we do well
You probably do at least one thing really well. Perhaps you’re competent at many things, but you do one or two things really well. You can cook, you always place in your age group in road races, and you can play the piano. But you could sing from the day you were born. You didn’t need much training, you were just gifted. But on the flip side you were left with certain gapping deficiencies. Embarrasing ones. You have no sense of direction – even in your home town. You cannot remember other people’s names, no matter how hard you try; no matter that they always remember yours.
Every day here I confront my gaping hole – I have poor hearing. In fact, I‘ve always known I lack an ear. In fact, in college, I was kicked out of beginning voice class (yes, beginning – as in “perhaps-you’ve-never-uttered-a-singing-noise-then-this-class-is-for-you” beginning). The professor told me that I probably do many things well – but singing just isn’t one of them. I had no ear – it all sounds the same to me (luckily by all sounding the same, most music sounds really good to me). Turns out that that carries over into language. I have no ear for Creole. And it’s starting to get frustrating.
Imagine you’re sitting at your desk at work and someone comes up to you to talk. They begin talking and itnsead of hearing “Hey, Joan, did you get that memo I sent?” all you here is “nanananblahblahblah blah, oui?” So you ask them to repeat it, but slower. And again. And instead of saying things any slower they just say it louder and louder, which of course just helps a tremendous amount. Finally you can’t take it anymore. You yell out a four-letter explicative. A bad one. The lady walks off.
At least I have a very good memory.
Every day here I confront my gaping hole – I have poor hearing. In fact, I‘ve always known I lack an ear. In fact, in college, I was kicked out of beginning voice class (yes, beginning – as in “perhaps-you’ve-never-uttered-a-singing-noise-then-this-class-is-for-you” beginning). The professor told me that I probably do many things well – but singing just isn’t one of them. I had no ear – it all sounds the same to me (luckily by all sounding the same, most music sounds really good to me). Turns out that that carries over into language. I have no ear for Creole. And it’s starting to get frustrating.
Imagine you’re sitting at your desk at work and someone comes up to you to talk. They begin talking and itnsead of hearing “Hey, Joan, did you get that memo I sent?” all you here is “nanananblahblahblah blah, oui?” So you ask them to repeat it, but slower. And again. And instead of saying things any slower they just say it louder and louder, which of course just helps a tremendous amount. Finally you can’t take it anymore. You yell out a four-letter explicative. A bad one. The lady walks off.
At least I have a very good memory.
Friday, March 20, 2009
I am SO on fire here!
Research has picked up significantly lately here; which is great. In fact, my good friend, the Dr from the DR, has come onboard and really spear-headed our efforts. He’s brought tons of energy, which I needed. So we have some nice work on HIV vaccines that should be out soon.
I wish I had some deep, philosophical commentary on the country right now but I don’t. So I’ll keep this short. It was recently “match day” for new MD graduates. Basically, programs rank MDs for residency and vice versa. Then the results come out. My best bud Kevin matched at his number one choice – the Mayo Clinic! Pretty impressive. My good friend (Dr from DR) matched in U of Chicago, which is a huge deal because it’s extremely hard to match in the US as a foreign grad, much less in a good program. And my roommate will be my boss up at Cornell in the fall! So it’s been exciting.
Just when I think I am getting a handle on Creole…I find out I can’t speak it at all. Today I was in the grand clinic and a colleague walked through and said very quickly “ou ka we pasyen malad yo paske ou pale creole byen”. And I just looked at her and said, in English (just out of frustration), “yup, I cant understand that.” I was just tired. Tired because I know how to say that, but I know it as “ou kapab we…” But Kapab can be shortened to “ka” which can be combined with words around it…so it sounds like “oukawe”, and I don’t know what “oukawe” is.
I also realized that I say things in a strange manner. Being the anal grammar nazi that I am (yes, now you can e-mail me about my mistakes on here), I have trouble understanding how things translate sometimes. For example, a common greeting is “m’ap boule!” This means “I am hanging in there”. But when I learned it I knew “boule” meant to burn. So, naturally I thought it meant “I m on fire, yeah!” Kind of like, “I’m kickin ass here, getting stuff done, etc”. So the next day in the lab when asked how I was doing, I said “m’ap boule!” like, “yeah, I m getting it done.” Of course, I had been using this expression for awhile. But this time there was an English-speaking Haitian in the room. And I followed up the saying with “yeah, I am on fire!” He didn’t even laugh. He paused and looked at me and said “No, what are you talking about? You’re on fire? That’s not right”…And thus I learned that it refers to the “fire within that is burning”; it means “I’m hanging in there” or “I’m still fighting to stay in there”.
SO, all this to share my favorite saying “M’ap boule anba mechann-yo.” Literally it means “I burn under the mean people.” But a more accurate translation would be “I’m hanging in there despite all the haters.” Finally, I was told by my Iranian friend that my US passport was like gold – I can go anywhere I want with it. Ironic to me because most people with US passports don’t speak anything besides English. But many people with other passports speak all sorts of languages. She speaks Farsi, Arabic, Turkish, English, and some Creole and French. I speak English. "M'ap boule."
I wish I had some deep, philosophical commentary on the country right now but I don’t. So I’ll keep this short. It was recently “match day” for new MD graduates. Basically, programs rank MDs for residency and vice versa. Then the results come out. My best bud Kevin matched at his number one choice – the Mayo Clinic! Pretty impressive. My good friend (Dr from DR) matched in U of Chicago, which is a huge deal because it’s extremely hard to match in the US as a foreign grad, much less in a good program. And my roommate will be my boss up at Cornell in the fall! So it’s been exciting.
Just when I think I am getting a handle on Creole…I find out I can’t speak it at all. Today I was in the grand clinic and a colleague walked through and said very quickly “ou ka we pasyen malad yo paske ou pale creole byen”. And I just looked at her and said, in English (just out of frustration), “yup, I cant understand that.” I was just tired. Tired because I know how to say that, but I know it as “ou kapab we…” But Kapab can be shortened to “ka” which can be combined with words around it…so it sounds like “oukawe”, and I don’t know what “oukawe” is.
I also realized that I say things in a strange manner. Being the anal grammar nazi that I am (yes, now you can e-mail me about my mistakes on here), I have trouble understanding how things translate sometimes. For example, a common greeting is “m’ap boule!” This means “I am hanging in there”. But when I learned it I knew “boule” meant to burn. So, naturally I thought it meant “I m on fire, yeah!” Kind of like, “I’m kickin ass here, getting stuff done, etc”. So the next day in the lab when asked how I was doing, I said “m’ap boule!” like, “yeah, I m getting it done.” Of course, I had been using this expression for awhile. But this time there was an English-speaking Haitian in the room. And I followed up the saying with “yeah, I am on fire!” He didn’t even laugh. He paused and looked at me and said “No, what are you talking about? You’re on fire? That’s not right”…And thus I learned that it refers to the “fire within that is burning”; it means “I’m hanging in there” or “I’m still fighting to stay in there”.
SO, all this to share my favorite saying “M’ap boule anba mechann-yo.” Literally it means “I burn under the mean people.” But a more accurate translation would be “I’m hanging in there despite all the haters.” Finally, I was told by my Iranian friend that my US passport was like gold – I can go anywhere I want with it. Ironic to me because most people with US passports don’t speak anything besides English. But many people with other passports speak all sorts of languages. She speaks Farsi, Arabic, Turkish, English, and some Creole and French. I speak English. "M'ap boule."
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Chimpsmart
Yesterday I met with my Creole tutor for the first time. Over the course of 2 hours I told him I think I am terrible at hearing what is said. He told me that he could tell from working with me for 2 hours that I had an excellent memory. As soon as he said that (for whatever reason), I was reminded of this study that was done looking at the memory of chimps versus humans:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nTgeLEWr614&feature=related
I guess one idea is that as humans developed more higher-level, complex cognitive abilities (reason, language, etc), that we relied less on memory and more on problem solving. Thus the chimps still have the highly developed memory. Interesting because all I could think was “hmm, I wonder if my good memory has something to do with not being able to hear what people say and having no internal compass AT ALL.” At any rate, my tutor was great. Now I have Creole HW to do each night too. (m' gen travay anpil!)
A very close family member of one of my roommates here died; I am reminded yet again how fragile life is, whether you are in the states or Haiti.
Speaking of, I recently have become friends with a Dr down here. Pretty remarkable; he grew up in the DR and Haiti, and is applying for residency in the US right now. It was crazy to hear how hard it is to get into the US residency system if you are a foreign graduate (and not a US citizen). Again, even with Drs here, I feel like I have lived such an easy life. But what can we do? Just like these people didn’t choose a hard life, I didn’t choose an easy life. I guess the best we can do is to keep the old adage in mind: “to whom much is given, much is expected.” I’m expecting a lot more out of chimps these days, too.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nTgeLEWr614&feature=related
I guess one idea is that as humans developed more higher-level, complex cognitive abilities (reason, language, etc), that we relied less on memory and more on problem solving. Thus the chimps still have the highly developed memory. Interesting because all I could think was “hmm, I wonder if my good memory has something to do with not being able to hear what people say and having no internal compass AT ALL.” At any rate, my tutor was great. Now I have Creole HW to do each night too. (m' gen travay anpil!)
A very close family member of one of my roommates here died; I am reminded yet again how fragile life is, whether you are in the states or Haiti.
Speaking of, I recently have become friends with a Dr down here. Pretty remarkable; he grew up in the DR and Haiti, and is applying for residency in the US right now. It was crazy to hear how hard it is to get into the US residency system if you are a foreign graduate (and not a US citizen). Again, even with Drs here, I feel like I have lived such an easy life. But what can we do? Just like these people didn’t choose a hard life, I didn’t choose an easy life. I guess the best we can do is to keep the old adage in mind: “to whom much is given, much is expected.” I’m expecting a lot more out of chimps these days, too.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Dos Marcos (sp?)
This post is for Jenna - I finally tried “dos marcos”(sp?)! And it is quite tasty…
Yesterday after work Patrice (roommate) and I got dropped off at the store to do the grocery shopping for the house. After rounding up lots of random stuff, our groceries were packed in a box. We then have to travel the mile+ up the hill to our house. Since the box was getting heavy, I stopped and asked a lady to help me learn how to carry the box on my head. She thought this was hilarious, but rolled up my work shirt to help me balance it on my head. This was hilarious to her, especially ‘cause I was so tall. So I put the box on my head and began the walk up the hill. Of course, this led to everyone staring at us and me making comments to everyone, “pa pwoblem!”(no problem!). Regardless, everyone seemed to get a good laugh out of it (I have posted a pic of me carrying the load).
On the way up the hill I stopped to by “dos marcos” from a lady on the street. As mentioned, Jenna kept telling me to buy and eat this stuff. Secretly I have thought this was a joke the whole time- but to my surprise, it was quite cheap and quite good. It’s hard to describe – a little help here jenna? It’s a chocolate homemade chewy bar candy thing. Se bon.
Not much else to report on this end. Happy to be getting back to the “plat de jour” each day at lunch.
Yesterday after work Patrice (roommate) and I got dropped off at the store to do the grocery shopping for the house. After rounding up lots of random stuff, our groceries were packed in a box. We then have to travel the mile+ up the hill to our house. Since the box was getting heavy, I stopped and asked a lady to help me learn how to carry the box on my head. She thought this was hilarious, but rolled up my work shirt to help me balance it on my head. This was hilarious to her, especially ‘cause I was so tall. So I put the box on my head and began the walk up the hill. Of course, this led to everyone staring at us and me making comments to everyone, “pa pwoblem!”(no problem!). Regardless, everyone seemed to get a good laugh out of it (I have posted a pic of me carrying the load).
On the way up the hill I stopped to by “dos marcos” from a lady on the street. As mentioned, Jenna kept telling me to buy and eat this stuff. Secretly I have thought this was a joke the whole time- but to my surprise, it was quite cheap and quite good. It’s hard to describe – a little help here jenna? It’s a chocolate homemade chewy bar candy thing. Se bon.
Not much else to report on this end. Happy to be getting back to the “plat de jour” each day at lunch.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Got a ticket; had trouble getting a ticket
This morning I flew back to Port-au-Prince. It wasn’t quite as easy as I hoped:
My flight was at 8:25 eastern out of ATL; which meant we had to leave our house in central time at 4:00AM. We were pretty close to that, cutting it a bit close.
As I pulled into the Atlanta airport curbside drop off, I looked for a place to pull in. Suddenly I notice a cop flashing his lights behind me. I pull over and sit; the cop isn’t getting out. So I get out – after all, I have an international flight to catch and I’m late. The cop hops out and tells me to remain in the car (mentally picture an overweight georgi cop saying “sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to remain inside the vehicle”). He then takes my license and insurance and asks me why I didn’t stop for the two folks in the cross walk. I didn’t see anyone, I reply. In fact, it is a four lane road going one-way. Apparently there were two people on the left side of the cross walk as I went over it in the right lane. The cop took forever writing me a ticket, even after I explained I was late for an international flight. Great. Court date is in April. Beautiful; I’m sure I’ll spend a couple hundred bucks to be back for that. It was annoying ‘cause obviously no one was at risk here. C’est la vie. Thankfully Mandy took the ticket and has called to check on how much we need to send since I can't make the court date. Some gentleman watching the whole thing came up afterwards and was like “wow, the economy is in rough shape, they have to pull in money however they can.”
I rushed into the airport. Then, at the check-in desk I was told I would not be allowed to board my flight because I have no return trip booked. I explained that this is what I “always” do (always meaning the one other time last month) and that Haiti lets you do this. She was having none of it; she told me it is a state department rule – you cannot enter Haiti without a return trip booked. I felt like asking her if she had been to Haiti – I can assure you there is not a huge problem with people sneaking into Haiti from the US. Instead I pitched a well-controlled fit; “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me – this is unreal.” Finally, I just told her to let it be my problem, let them send me home. She told me they get fined for that. Meanwhile its 7:40 and my flight is at 8:25 and I am yet to clear customs, etc. I tell her that I m going to New York in April (which I am) and she begins looking for flights to book for me, still insisting that I have a return trip before boarding. She finds a round trip ticket (on American Airlines, her airline of course) for the dates I need to NYC – for 750$. I tell her no. I say I can find the ticket elsewhere for 500$ and that this is ridiculous. I then pull out a pad and write her name down and tell her I m going to need to report all this to Cornell. I was like, look, I’m with Cornell University. They are sending me there and this is what they told me to do. I need to get your name and all this information reported back to them. She was like “Cornell told you to do this? Well that’s not right”. I told her “All of us that work there do this all the time.”
Finally I just stood there. She was typing stuff on the computer and finally said “ok, I’m not supposed to do this, but here’s an itinerary for the April flight as proof you’re coming back. It’s not an official ticket though and you haven’t been charged. But if you decide you want it you can go online and purchase it still.” Thank god this didn’t happen on my first trip down – I would not have known to argue and tell them I was allowed and all that. It seems like the older I get the more I realize that most of life isn’t in the rulebooks, but rather is a matter of you talking to people and arguing for what you need.
For now it’s back to Haiti. Speaking of immigration issues, watched the visitor (2007) last night. Worth watching; very good conversation starter.
My plane that was to arrive in Haiti at 3:30. In typical fashion, the flight was delayed and delayed; then we loaded the plane and were told to get off and get on a new one. I finally arrived at the compound after nine tonight. It was nice to see my friends and family and try to rest and heal. It is also nice to be back. I was surprised no one asked to see my itinerary for my return flight in April. No one even inquired when I would return. I am a "tourist" again.
My flight was at 8:25 eastern out of ATL; which meant we had to leave our house in central time at 4:00AM. We were pretty close to that, cutting it a bit close.
As I pulled into the Atlanta airport curbside drop off, I looked for a place to pull in. Suddenly I notice a cop flashing his lights behind me. I pull over and sit; the cop isn’t getting out. So I get out – after all, I have an international flight to catch and I’m late. The cop hops out and tells me to remain in the car (mentally picture an overweight georgi cop saying “sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to remain inside the vehicle”). He then takes my license and insurance and asks me why I didn’t stop for the two folks in the cross walk. I didn’t see anyone, I reply. In fact, it is a four lane road going one-way. Apparently there were two people on the left side of the cross walk as I went over it in the right lane. The cop took forever writing me a ticket, even after I explained I was late for an international flight. Great. Court date is in April. Beautiful; I’m sure I’ll spend a couple hundred bucks to be back for that. It was annoying ‘cause obviously no one was at risk here. C’est la vie. Thankfully Mandy took the ticket and has called to check on how much we need to send since I can't make the court date. Some gentleman watching the whole thing came up afterwards and was like “wow, the economy is in rough shape, they have to pull in money however they can.”
I rushed into the airport. Then, at the check-in desk I was told I would not be allowed to board my flight because I have no return trip booked. I explained that this is what I “always” do (always meaning the one other time last month) and that Haiti lets you do this. She was having none of it; she told me it is a state department rule – you cannot enter Haiti without a return trip booked. I felt like asking her if she had been to Haiti – I can assure you there is not a huge problem with people sneaking into Haiti from the US. Instead I pitched a well-controlled fit; “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me – this is unreal.” Finally, I just told her to let it be my problem, let them send me home. She told me they get fined for that. Meanwhile its 7:40 and my flight is at 8:25 and I am yet to clear customs, etc. I tell her that I m going to New York in April (which I am) and she begins looking for flights to book for me, still insisting that I have a return trip before boarding. She finds a round trip ticket (on American Airlines, her airline of course) for the dates I need to NYC – for 750$. I tell her no. I say I can find the ticket elsewhere for 500$ and that this is ridiculous. I then pull out a pad and write her name down and tell her I m going to need to report all this to Cornell. I was like, look, I’m with Cornell University. They are sending me there and this is what they told me to do. I need to get your name and all this information reported back to them. She was like “Cornell told you to do this? Well that’s not right”. I told her “All of us that work there do this all the time.”
Finally I just stood there. She was typing stuff on the computer and finally said “ok, I’m not supposed to do this, but here’s an itinerary for the April flight as proof you’re coming back. It’s not an official ticket though and you haven’t been charged. But if you decide you want it you can go online and purchase it still.” Thank god this didn’t happen on my first trip down – I would not have known to argue and tell them I was allowed and all that. It seems like the older I get the more I realize that most of life isn’t in the rulebooks, but rather is a matter of you talking to people and arguing for what you need.
For now it’s back to Haiti. Speaking of immigration issues, watched the visitor (2007) last night. Worth watching; very good conversation starter.
My plane that was to arrive in Haiti at 3:30. In typical fashion, the flight was delayed and delayed; then we loaded the plane and were told to get off and get on a new one. I finally arrived at the compound after nine tonight. It was nice to see my friends and family and try to rest and heal. It is also nice to be back. I was surprised no one asked to see my itinerary for my return flight in April. No one even inquired when I would return. I am a "tourist" again.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Return to Haiti
Just a quick update. It's Friday, March 6. The latest test (to see if gallbladder was working) checked out fine. So, I have booked a flight to return to Haiti this Tuesday.
Besides that, I was sent some new photos from the Port-au-Prince Kanaval. Below you ll see a picture of me on a float holding up power lines as we pass under them. In this picture there is a banner caught under the lines; usually we were directly holding the lines with our maraca or pvc! (And yes, that huge energy drink that i am drinking was a TERRIBLE idea - it kept me up forever!)
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Gilbert's Syndrome
And it keeps getting more interesting in the states. I flew back in and saw my Dr. in the states, who then promptly scheduled an ultrasound and possible HIDA scan. He also drew blood and looked at my urine to look for any other markers of infection. On the way to my ultrasound this morning I called my insurance to let them know I was going to have procedures done. I was promptly told that because I was back in the US for treatment nothing would be covered. You read that right. This trip to Haiti was somewhat on my own (although it’s through Cornell) in that I have no real supervisor and no real evaluation at the end. Thus, I have no company or school through which to get medical insurance. Thinking I was doing the right thing, I searched through international health care plans and finally bought one before leaving. Little did I know that if you returned to your home country for treatment they would not cover it. I tried to explain that I got sick in Haiti and was told that I needed to evacuate in case surgery was warranted; that they could not do all the necessary procedures in Haiti. The insurance company did not care – the fine print said that upon returning to the states I have no coverage. Had I stayed in Haiti they would have covered everything, whatever that entailed. The worst part of the whole thing is that the insurance lady on the phone absolutely did not care about the complexity of my problem (that if possible, you should NOT have surgery in Haiti; if scans/tests were done somewhere in Haiti, they would need to be repeated in the states anyways). It was almost as if she had no son or daughter who she could relate to with this. Is there no better solution to our healthcare than the mess our insruance companies make it (perhaps more on this at a later time). So it’s my fault, I should have known that I needed "in the US" coverage as well; I did not know that. It still doesn’t seem very clear in my policy, but apparently this is something I should have known. So now things could be very tricky. My parents have been amazing – not only in arranging all the Dr’s visits upon my return but also in offering to help pay for the initial scans I’ve had done, which now are going to just be out of pocket. Not good. In fact, a nightmare. This is going to be a financial hit neither me nor my parents can afford.
I went to get an ultrasound of my abdomen first. Everything looks fine. I have no gallstones. My liver, gallbladder, pancreas, aorta, and kidneys all look normal. This is good. Let me back up.
Overall, this (trip home) has been a strange experience. As soon as I stepped into the ATL airport the night I flew in I started experiencing culture shock. And it wasn’t that everyone was speaking English again or that I was surrounded by people with my skin color again. Rather, it was the shock of how clean and orderly everything is. No trash around. No pushing. And the most bizarre thing was that there were no people. A good family friend, Mike, was nice enough to pick me up at the airport and bring me to stay at his house for the night in Atlanta (his son roomed with my brother all during his time at Furman). As we drove away from the airport, I was shocked and weirded out by the roads – there were no people anywhere. Even in my short time in Haiti, I have become so accustomed to people everywhere. People upon people. Everywhere. And now I saw no one. For some reason I felt lonely. Or maybe it was simply some other feeling I mistook for loneliness. I do not know.
At their house, I stayed up and talked at length with Harrison about Haiti. As I told my stories of arguing about prices in the streets, the poverty, the disease, the guns, the sweet people, the sad children, the happy children, the hungry children, the devoutly religious yet misguided, the trash everywhere, the people everywhere, the strange encounters, I began to doubt in my own head whether these stories were true anymore. They seemed so bizarre to talk about. If I had been Harrison, I don’t know that I would have believed them. Yet I knew they were true- I was there; yet it seemed so strange to talk about in the US.
I awoke the next morning (after the night I flew in) thinking I was still in Haiti. Surprised, I realized my parents were there to take me to the doctor in Greenville. At the doctor’s office I was totally out of sorts and confused. What was my phone number? Where did I live? Then even in casual conversation I felt pompous for talking about Haiti. “What is your job now?” I would be asked. I would say I was doing sort of an internship at an AIDS clinic in Haiti. It sounded so aloof and holier-than-thou even to me. Everyone loves it. “God bless you” they would say, “We’re so proud of you for what you’re doing, please stay clean and safe”. In fact, one of the first questions I received was “Are you doing mission work?” It was an innocent and sweet question. But I wanted to explain how I felt about missionaries. Not that I think they are bad people; how could I think that? But how I thought it was pompous and wrong to come to a foreign land, especially as a rich westerner, and try to convince people to believe what you believe. It’s all so audacious. To me it’s as if because you were born into this rich lifestyle that your customs, rituals, and beliefs are somehow better. It can be so disrespectful in so many ways. Don’t take this as my thinking missionaries are bad people – in fact, I know many great people that are missionaries. But I think philosophically it’s a bid pretentious, especially considering that your religion is determined mainly by where you’re born. Who among us would, upon being born in Iran, with all are friends and family being Islamic, would look across the world at the US and say “you know what, forget my friends and family, my culture, my religious stories that I know, my holy book; I am going to be a Christian.” How come you haven’t looked across at Iran and thought “I’m going to become Muslim.” You’re probably reading this saying, “well, because Christianity is right.” I assure you that people all over the world hold these same convictions about their religions, most with the same amount of evidence for them as modern Christianity. If you are going to do mission work per se, please focus on the people and respect their culture, values, and religion. Try to focus on helping them and understanding them. You might be surprised to learn how devout they are in their own right.
At any rate, I felt silly and phony for talking about Haiti to people, as if a month there didn’t qualify me for anything, especially when I fled for my own healthcare. At any rate, I went on to get an Ultrasound the next day (Friday). There, the lady taking my information before the procedure asked where I worked, what I was doing, and we got to talking about Haiti. She then told me how proud she was of me; her brother is HIV positive. I then told her that I thought in the next 40 years or so we would have an HIV vaccine (I actually think sooner); all the other “big” vaccines took years to develop – and we just started working on the HIV vaccine. It will happen, as hard as that is to believe. She was so interested in everything. For some reason though I still felt like a phony; like one month there doesn't really allow me to know anything about anything.
At any rate, that night I spoke with my doctor about my results. As I said, all the scans were normal (this is good). The only abnormality was that my serum bilirubin was elevated (~2.6 mg/dL). Years ago when I had abdominal pain and had to stop running, I became jaundiced at times and my bilirubin was always high (in this “moderately high” range). My doctor mentioned Gilberts syndrome, and my “other doctor” in Haiti (Dr Kall, my roommate) bet me 50 gourdes that’s what I had. Basically, 3-7% of people in the US have this syndrome. It’s an enzyme deficiency which allows free bilirubin (a by-product of red blood cell breakdown) in blood to remain slightly elevated. Bilirubin is neurotoxic if in high concentrations (~15-25 mg/dL), but fairly innocuous at lower levels (except that it may give you a yellow color; jaundice). Interestingly, patients report clinical symptoms of strange abdominal pain in which tests show no pathology, and they may come and go during times of stress, fasting, and physical exertion. Also, bilirubin tends to act as an antioxidant; data on Gilbert’s Syndrome patients show cardioprotection due to this (lower risk of atherosclerotic events like heart attacks, strokes, CAD, etc).
Monday I go to look at the function of my gallbladder via a HIDA scan. If my gallbladder is ejecting properly, then I will return to Haiti soon with a clean bill of health. If my gallbladder is not ejecting, then I am in trouble. I cannot pay for the surgery “out of pocket,” and my insurance will not cover it. Still, I feel pompous for these thoughts – in Haiti there are patients who have cancer and there is nothing we can do. No money or facility for chemo. Anyways, as of now, it looks like I do not have a “hot” gallbladder, and the physical pain has subsided. I still don’t quite have my appetite all the way back yet, but I am feeling much better.
Mandy arrived in town yesterday to see me at my parents’ house; this has been nice. I also had a chance to talk with my roommates (Karl and Maryam) in Haiti via Skype. It was so good to speak with them and strange how much I missed them. Perhaps because we experience so much together each day there is a bond there that must develop. But it felt so good to see/talk to them. For whatever reason, I find myself strangely missing Haiti. While it’s wonderful to be here with my family and friends, something of me is still with Haiti. Almost like even after leaving, those images I see each day are stuck in my memory – pictures on my brain of children in the streets, people upon people, moms with buckets on their heads, and dad’s that are hard to find. I am reminded again how blessed I have been my whole life. Today I was able to see my sister and my beautiful niece Chelsea. My younger brother FJ came in to town to check up on me, my good friend Bruce Gladden called to check on me. Today I was also able to eat regular meals, and tonight my brother, his girlfriend, Mandy, Tracey, Chelsea, and Mom and Dad had dinner and then played a game of PIT around the table. As usual, it was just a lot of laughs and a lot of love. It was nice.
As of now it looks like I am in no immediate danger with the gallbladder, I may have Gilbert’s Syndrome, and I miss Haiti. For now I am trying to rest and recover so I am healthy enough to return. Thank you to the various people who have sent nice notes of support during this. They have been much appreciated. And if you get the chance, call your parents today and thank them for the upbringing you had, the food on the table, the schooling, the health care. Many of us have been truly blessed.
I went to get an ultrasound of my abdomen first. Everything looks fine. I have no gallstones. My liver, gallbladder, pancreas, aorta, and kidneys all look normal. This is good. Let me back up.
Overall, this (trip home) has been a strange experience. As soon as I stepped into the ATL airport the night I flew in I started experiencing culture shock. And it wasn’t that everyone was speaking English again or that I was surrounded by people with my skin color again. Rather, it was the shock of how clean and orderly everything is. No trash around. No pushing. And the most bizarre thing was that there were no people. A good family friend, Mike, was nice enough to pick me up at the airport and bring me to stay at his house for the night in Atlanta (his son roomed with my brother all during his time at Furman). As we drove away from the airport, I was shocked and weirded out by the roads – there were no people anywhere. Even in my short time in Haiti, I have become so accustomed to people everywhere. People upon people. Everywhere. And now I saw no one. For some reason I felt lonely. Or maybe it was simply some other feeling I mistook for loneliness. I do not know.
At their house, I stayed up and talked at length with Harrison about Haiti. As I told my stories of arguing about prices in the streets, the poverty, the disease, the guns, the sweet people, the sad children, the happy children, the hungry children, the devoutly religious yet misguided, the trash everywhere, the people everywhere, the strange encounters, I began to doubt in my own head whether these stories were true anymore. They seemed so bizarre to talk about. If I had been Harrison, I don’t know that I would have believed them. Yet I knew they were true- I was there; yet it seemed so strange to talk about in the US.
I awoke the next morning (after the night I flew in) thinking I was still in Haiti. Surprised, I realized my parents were there to take me to the doctor in Greenville. At the doctor’s office I was totally out of sorts and confused. What was my phone number? Where did I live? Then even in casual conversation I felt pompous for talking about Haiti. “What is your job now?” I would be asked. I would say I was doing sort of an internship at an AIDS clinic in Haiti. It sounded so aloof and holier-than-thou even to me. Everyone loves it. “God bless you” they would say, “We’re so proud of you for what you’re doing, please stay clean and safe”. In fact, one of the first questions I received was “Are you doing mission work?” It was an innocent and sweet question. But I wanted to explain how I felt about missionaries. Not that I think they are bad people; how could I think that? But how I thought it was pompous and wrong to come to a foreign land, especially as a rich westerner, and try to convince people to believe what you believe. It’s all so audacious. To me it’s as if because you were born into this rich lifestyle that your customs, rituals, and beliefs are somehow better. It can be so disrespectful in so many ways. Don’t take this as my thinking missionaries are bad people – in fact, I know many great people that are missionaries. But I think philosophically it’s a bid pretentious, especially considering that your religion is determined mainly by where you’re born. Who among us would, upon being born in Iran, with all are friends and family being Islamic, would look across the world at the US and say “you know what, forget my friends and family, my culture, my religious stories that I know, my holy book; I am going to be a Christian.” How come you haven’t looked across at Iran and thought “I’m going to become Muslim.” You’re probably reading this saying, “well, because Christianity is right.” I assure you that people all over the world hold these same convictions about their religions, most with the same amount of evidence for them as modern Christianity. If you are going to do mission work per se, please focus on the people and respect their culture, values, and religion. Try to focus on helping them and understanding them. You might be surprised to learn how devout they are in their own right.
At any rate, I felt silly and phony for talking about Haiti to people, as if a month there didn’t qualify me for anything, especially when I fled for my own healthcare. At any rate, I went on to get an Ultrasound the next day (Friday). There, the lady taking my information before the procedure asked where I worked, what I was doing, and we got to talking about Haiti. She then told me how proud she was of me; her brother is HIV positive. I then told her that I thought in the next 40 years or so we would have an HIV vaccine (I actually think sooner); all the other “big” vaccines took years to develop – and we just started working on the HIV vaccine. It will happen, as hard as that is to believe. She was so interested in everything. For some reason though I still felt like a phony; like one month there doesn't really allow me to know anything about anything.
At any rate, that night I spoke with my doctor about my results. As I said, all the scans were normal (this is good). The only abnormality was that my serum bilirubin was elevated (~2.6 mg/dL). Years ago when I had abdominal pain and had to stop running, I became jaundiced at times and my bilirubin was always high (in this “moderately high” range). My doctor mentioned Gilberts syndrome, and my “other doctor” in Haiti (Dr Kall, my roommate) bet me 50 gourdes that’s what I had. Basically, 3-7% of people in the US have this syndrome. It’s an enzyme deficiency which allows free bilirubin (a by-product of red blood cell breakdown) in blood to remain slightly elevated. Bilirubin is neurotoxic if in high concentrations (~15-25 mg/dL), but fairly innocuous at lower levels (except that it may give you a yellow color; jaundice). Interestingly, patients report clinical symptoms of strange abdominal pain in which tests show no pathology, and they may come and go during times of stress, fasting, and physical exertion. Also, bilirubin tends to act as an antioxidant; data on Gilbert’s Syndrome patients show cardioprotection due to this (lower risk of atherosclerotic events like heart attacks, strokes, CAD, etc).
Monday I go to look at the function of my gallbladder via a HIDA scan. If my gallbladder is ejecting properly, then I will return to Haiti soon with a clean bill of health. If my gallbladder is not ejecting, then I am in trouble. I cannot pay for the surgery “out of pocket,” and my insurance will not cover it. Still, I feel pompous for these thoughts – in Haiti there are patients who have cancer and there is nothing we can do. No money or facility for chemo. Anyways, as of now, it looks like I do not have a “hot” gallbladder, and the physical pain has subsided. I still don’t quite have my appetite all the way back yet, but I am feeling much better.
Mandy arrived in town yesterday to see me at my parents’ house; this has been nice. I also had a chance to talk with my roommates (Karl and Maryam) in Haiti via Skype. It was so good to speak with them and strange how much I missed them. Perhaps because we experience so much together each day there is a bond there that must develop. But it felt so good to see/talk to them. For whatever reason, I find myself strangely missing Haiti. While it’s wonderful to be here with my family and friends, something of me is still with Haiti. Almost like even after leaving, those images I see each day are stuck in my memory – pictures on my brain of children in the streets, people upon people, moms with buckets on their heads, and dad’s that are hard to find. I am reminded again how blessed I have been my whole life. Today I was able to see my sister and my beautiful niece Chelsea. My younger brother FJ came in to town to check up on me, my good friend Bruce Gladden called to check on me. Today I was also able to eat regular meals, and tonight my brother, his girlfriend, Mandy, Tracey, Chelsea, and Mom and Dad had dinner and then played a game of PIT around the table. As usual, it was just a lot of laughs and a lot of love. It was nice.
As of now it looks like I am in no immediate danger with the gallbladder, I may have Gilbert’s Syndrome, and I miss Haiti. For now I am trying to rest and recover so I am healthy enough to return. Thank you to the various people who have sent nice notes of support during this. They have been much appreciated. And if you get the chance, call your parents today and thank them for the upbringing you had, the food on the table, the schooling, the health care. Many of us have been truly blessed.
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