Wounded Healers

I recently had the opportunity to attend a good friend's wedding where a freelance poet sat contemplatively in the corner with his typewriter, ready to write poems "on demand." Intrigued by his abilities to speedily create a poem, I sat down and he asked me to give him a topic. Thinking of my current experience in Honduras, I told him, "global health." He then asked me for one thing in my life that had recently been healed, and I said, "a friendship." In an act of introspective determination, he closed his eyes, paused only for a brief moment to collect what seemed like an endless number of ideas, and began typing seamlessly as if the words he were about to put on paper had already been made known to him. Just under a minute later, he tore the small sheet of paper from the typewriter and handed me a poem that read:

where do doctors heal?
can a doctor heal?
within the tough pills
swallowed,
i wonder how this doctor found
the cure
to become a better person.
ah, the medicine of the 
moment...the global health
of this generation may reside
where medicine hides...when have
you recently told yourself
i love you.
                                        ~ cubsthepoet

In this poem, a collection of words are artistically shaped amidst an array of pondering question marks, halting periods, deviating commas, and omitting ellipses. Further complicated by an absent title, this poem left me contemplating its hidden meaning for me...and then it finally dawned on me. If I could give this poem a title, I would call it "Wounded Healers."
***
A 6-year-old girl saw me in clinic for follow up this week. After two years of living with her disease, her face, hands, and legs are beginning to swell again, and her kidneys are still dumping massive amounts of protein. She suffers from a kidney problem called nephrotic syndrome. For most children, a round of steroids puts the disease into remission. But for her, steroids only seem to put her disease into a lulling sleep, only to wake again in a slow and silent attack on her kidneys. She most likely has a disease that cannot be diagnosed (by kidney biopsy and other complex testing) or treated with the available resources here in Honduras. Eventually her kidneys will fail- her mother knows this as she looks me in the eyes while I tell her there is not much more we can do besides continue the steroids. I ask her if she can return in a month to repeat a urine test. For many patients, monthly visits are cost-prohibitive and require long journeys by bus and taxi. Her mother explains that she will continue to do what is necessary despite the challenges. Her mother is a wounded healer, a true model of sacrificial love.
***
At some point in our lives most of us have heard the ubiquitous maxim, "do unto others as you would have others do unto you" and/or "love your neighbor as yourself." The interesting and often overlooked aspect of these words is that it implies that we actually love ourselves. Too often today, this is not the case. Indeed, to love others we must first love ourselves- and not in a self-absorbed or egotistical way, but in recognition of our unique personhood within our even greater common humanity. In truly recognizing our worth we also learn how to love others unconditionally. Only sometimes are we able to fix, only sometimes are we able to replace, only sometimes are we able to put in remission, and only sometimes are we able to heal. But we are always able to love.

We are all wounded healers. But for those working in the healthcare field especially, the expectation of healing, both from the patient and the provider themselves, can be overwhelming. Sometimes this perseveration on healing distracts us from our own brokenness. Other times, our obsession for healing conceals the true "cure" for all of the ailments that plague the human body. I would be the first to tell you that I have fallen victim to this mentality too many times. The words written by cubsthepoet remind me that the most important precursor to healing, and also the ultimate cure, is love. 

"the global health 
of this generation may reside 
where medicine hides...when have 
you recently told yourself 
i love you."

***

A "Catracha" Easter

A couple of weekends ago I had the privilege to experience a unique "catracha," or Honduran, Easter vigil celebration. After the Easter candle was kindled from a ground fire, every individual then lit his or her candle in series until all carried a burning light. Walking in the darkness of night no longer presented a challenge as we processed in candlelight to the local church. Here, hundreds of Hondurans from small communities all over the province gathered to celebrate the Resurrection. Most arrived as truck "cargo," standing crammed together in the beds of trucks in groups of teens or twenties to share the monetary expense of a long road trip. A full church overflowing out the front door reverently celebrated the Easter Vigil Mass followed by singing and dancing. I even got to try a local Honduran delicacy- the tamal- whose cooking was tasked to one of the communities to share with everyone. After a long evening of celebration, I hitched a bumpy ride back to the hospital with the others from the community of Lucinda, crammed in the bed of the truck trying not to fall from all of the potholes.


***

The Fruits of My Labor

This week I was gifted a variety of fruits. The first one came from the nurses, and it is called paterna. Interestingly the word paterna in Spanish means "of, or pertaining to, a father." It's a strange fruit with an interesting process of consumption. I have included a step-by-step picture of how the fruit looks after you open it, remove the seeds, and then eat the sweet, chewy white stuff around the seed. For its complexity, the edible fruit yield is quite low, but it's still tasty!


Lester, the newborn baby with a severe infection I told you about a couple of weeks ago, is thriving and growing well. It was a difficult journey for all of us, and seeing smiles on both his parents' faces as they brought Lester in for a check-up and watching little Lester surpass his birth weight brought me great joy. His parents gifted me a handful of Red Delicious apples this week as a token of appreciation. Sadly, my time here in Honduras will be coming to a close in just over a month, and Lester will have his next check-up after I'm gone. An apple a day may keep the doctor away, but four apples brought us together one last time in a warm, heartfelt embrace.

Comments

  1. Always enjoy your updates! What an amazing experience!

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