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 Strong Medicine Edward slowly
folded his lanky body to look into the child’s eyes. The doctor’s
murmured Creole Francais mixed with his Southern drawl sounded strange
to my ears, schooled in college French. Our patient,
a dark Haitian boy of seven years who appeared falsely rotund in
this country of deprivation, gazed into Ed’s eyes in wonder.
Hovering in the doorway, wearing a clean but worn red jersey that
hung from one shoulder, he clutched a white plastic bottle. He searched
Dr. Edward Lilly’s hazel eyes for truth. The lean doctor
placed a hand on the child’s exposed shoulder, as much to steady
himself as to reassure the youth. Ed looked over this frail shoulder
into a room illuminated by stray sunlight coming through the concrete
block windows. The boy’s parents hovered behind. Edward rose
to his full 6’1” height, using the boy’s shoulder
for a boost. He tugged at the edges of his crisp white coat to straighten
the folds, and spoke to the boy’s parents in the dimly lit
room. “Your son,
he is looking well.” Edward's warm
smile encompassed the entire family. With a final pat to his small
patient, he pivoted and rejoined our hospital rounds. We were in Leogane
Haiti, on a medical mission for Physicians for Peace. I was a new
gastroenterologist, having entered private practice just three years
before. I had jumped at the chance to come to Haiti with Edward,
a local gastroenterologist. Our mission was to install a complete
video endoscopy suite into L’Hopital Ste. Croix, the first
in this country. A hospital in Suffolk Virginia had donated the
equipment. The Marines, still on the island following Aristide’s
restoration, had delivered the gear by amphibious assault ship.
We were to install and use it for a week as we visited. The hospital’s
chief of staff and fellow gastroenterologist, Jacques Lafontant,
was delighted with this visit of colleagues and our bounty of modern
equipment and donated drug samples. Ed had been to Leogane several
times in the past and had been eager to return. Haiti is a desperately
poor country with an average per capita income of $600. For the
experience of one of our endoscopy procedures, local Haitians would
pay the equivalent of $12 cash. Then, with encouraging words in
my stumbling French, we would tell the patient to “Avalez,
s’il vous plait. Maintenant, respirez, respirez. Soyez calme.
Respirez.” After we completed
our rounds, I asked about the child. Ed told me that he’d met
the boy, Martin, the year before, on his most recent Haitian trip.
By that time, Martin had been hospitalized for two months. With
sunken ringed eyes, wasted to fifty pounds and unable to eat, with
chronic diarrhea and rectal bleeding, his family had brought him
to the hospital to die. They knew he would perish, just as they
knew that a petro vodou curse had been placed on him by a bokor,
or black magic vodou priest. Vodou, which
we refer to as voodoo, is the dominant religion in Haiti. The loa,
or spirits which inhabit the body, may be petro loa, angry and bitter,
or rada loa, sweet, kind and good. Martin’s family believed
that a bokor had made petro death curses on their son, and so he
would die. Ed had done
a colonoscopy on Martin, and found he had Crohns disease in both
his large and small intestines. Unable to absorb nutrients, the
boy was starving regardless of whatever food his poor family might
procure. A prescription of Prednisone, the most effective management
in this poor country, was started. Ed then returned to Virginia. Jacques had watched young Martin rapidly improve with correct diagnosis and treatment. However, the boy’s family had attributed his improvement to the talisman of the pill bottle along with being in a holy place (the Episcopalian hospital) that was a safe harbor from the vodou. Eventually his parents had moved into the boy’s room, and all had been living at the hospital for over a year. The boy carried the Prednisone bottle
everywhere with him, for comfort and protection. Shortly after
our return stateside, Jacques emailed Edward with a follow-up. Martin
and his family had left the hospital, taking with them the medication,
but leaving the safe haven of Ste. Croix. The rada loa, the white
magic, of the foreign wiseman had convinced them that their son
was healed, that the crisis had passed. We in medicine
forget the rada loa that we possess. There is power in the crisp
appearance of our white coat, the tone of our voice, or the comfort
of our touch. A hopeful word, a loving touch - even a smile can
heal our patients. And our magic is without borders. Virginia Beach gastroenterologist, Patricia L. Raymond M.D. FACG is an author and consultant, who speaks to nurses and physicians through hospital systems and medical conventions. With her company Rx For Sanity™, she humorously leads physicians and nurses to rediscover their joy in medicine and to learn to first “Turn Care Inward”. Her book, “Don’t Jettison Medicine: Resuscitate Your Passion For The Career Virginia Beach
gastroenterologist, Patricia L. Raymond M.D. FACG is an author and
consultant, who speaks to nurses and physicians through hospital
systems and medical conventions. With her company Rx For Sanity™,
she humorously leads physicians and nurses to rediscover their joy
in medicine and to learn to first “Turn Care Inward”.
Her book, “Don’t Jettison Medicine: Resuscitate Your Passion
For The Career You Loved!” is available now. Visit www.RxForSanity.com
soon for complimentary information and links to better care for
yourself and for your staff, and to subscribe to our FREE monthly
newsletter, Rx For Sanity™ eNews, with medical humor and simple tips
to enhance your life in Medicine.
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About Dr. Raymond • Speaking Topics • Articles • The Sanity Store • Sensational Free Stuff Subscribe to Passionate Health Care Newsletter Subscribe to Your Health Choice Newsletter Patricia L. Raymond, MD FACP FACG 757-547-0368 • 757-547-7727(Fax) • PLRaymond at RxForSanity.com All Rights Reserved. © 2007 Patricia L. Raymond |
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