The Guatemalan Doctor

The Guatemalan Doctor

IMG_1069

We take a chicken bus to the hospital in Sololá, Guatemala. The emergency room is simple: 5 beds in a row sheltered by curtains. The sanitation conditions are questionable. There are no respirators (patients are bagged manually, all through the night) or fancy medical equipment. The emergency room is a bustling gathering place for the daily misfortunes of any of the 500,000 residents of Lago Atitlán.

My classmates and I, fresh from the airport, are dressed in navy blue scrubs, shiny and new from Walmart. I have a stethoscope around my neck: a Littman Cardio III. I’d guess that it’s the most expensive stethoscope in the hospital. It’s also auscultated the least amount of hearts; I’d be willing to bet that too.

(more…)

The Art of Conversation

The Art of Conversation

IMG_0076

If you’ve ever participated in the medical system somewhere in the world, chances are there is a medical chart out there with your name on it. I have one in my hands now and I task myself with the job of getting to know it. It is based on a true story: a patient who has entrusted me with his case. I read through the 200-page document, transfixed as stories in the untidy scrawl of half a dozen interns – some of them now well-immersed in practices of their own – unfold on the white pages. These pieces of paper, bound together by a fragile cardboard shell, capture snapshots in time of the encounter between these young practitioners and the patient. I read between the lines. Coffee stains represent early mornings that followed late nights, plainly stated observations reflect the colour of different lenses with which these young naturopaths-in-training saw the world at that time. Their pens tell 6 versions of the same story. Their treatment plans tell the story of emerging practice styles and personal healing philosophies.

(more…)

Re-framing Stress to Live Longer

Re-framing Stress to Live Longer

036

My second year of training to be a naturopathic doctor was horrific in many ways. It began with performance-based physical exams, which brought with them the crippling feeling of being a deer, stunned by a set of bright headlights, unable to act in the face of the impending doom before me. Before practicals, my stomach would do whatever it wanted, my heart would boom in my chest, rocking my whole body with its force. I swore in these moments that I didn’t know my name, let alone the entire series of steps of a thorough lung and thorax exam. I became a bumbling mess. I hated the feeling. (more…)

Pin It on Pinterest