A few years back (actually, more than a few, but that's part of any man's  effort to ignore the pasage of time) my favorite poet spent a summer traveling around Europe. His travels resulted in an expansion of his vision of the world,  a cornucopia of experiences to be treasured for a lifetime, and the writing of several works of poetry, some of which I will share with you in this, as well as future blogs. I admit to just a twinge of jealousy as I read of his journey, both for the adventures he lived, as well as for his talent in describing them. But then, the greatest gifts any child can give to a parent is to start off in his footsteps, than rapidly outdistance him with the passing of years. If any of you develop a wanderlust in reading his words, I make no apologies, and wish you bon voyage.

 

the first step

 

on the rim of this bowl

standing with toes out over the edge.

 

the opposite side winks across the distance of three months.

one step will begin the plunge.

two points and a trajectory -

what lies between?

 

probably:

opportunity, hunks of clay, waiting to be molded.

adversity, to be stumbled on like a landmine.

      (but let us hope not an actual landmine)

adventure like a hot wire of chance charged with the current of risk,

or: the balancing of opportunity and adversity,

 

the only certain is the unknown:

a forest of moments

yet seed in the fertile future

waiting for the days and nights

to be born.

 

 

 

Truth be told, we doctors don’t cure very many people. While we often take credit for the healing powers given to our bodies by nature, many maladies will get better with tincture of time, while others will progress to worse or fatal outcomes despite our best efforts. What a physician can do in almost all instances is help relieve pain, decrease anxiety, offer comfort and give some measure of hope. These skills are what many have described as the art of medicine. Sadly, as our scientific capabilities are increasing, I see many colleagues and most students losing the skills of the art of touching, communicating, and empathy that for centuries was the cornerstone (and at times, the only skill) of our profession. Therefore, the following poem should be part of every medical school’s curriculum.

 

The Laying On of Hands

 

Priests offered it in weekly benediction to bless

after chants and motets, in Eucharist

or Mass, to magnify a union or heal

the sick. Doves were sometimes released.

 

Lovers do it too. The caress – careless or casual.

The home from work, the comfort me, or the moment

when hands become all scent and skin; the arch of the wrist,

the smooth palm and pure white fingernail tip.

 

So doctors learned it, palpated sick limbs, gauged temperatures,

pulses; probed chests, abdomens and necks to fathom symptoms,

interrogate signs. But now machines seek better, deeper,

further, filling the walls with images, bright and cold.

 

 

Danielle Hope

 

 

It has been a long time since I had the chance to post to this blog. Thanks to all of you who have inquired about my prolonged absence, have sent me good wishes, or requested to see me back here again. I'm happy to report that I'm no longer MIA, remain in good health, and have recently returned from the holiday of a lifetime, a trip of my dreams.

 

We spent the last two weeks of February in Patagonia, Southern Chile, in the company of my son and daughter-in-law. They flew over from Paris, met us in Santiago, then remained with us during our travels throughout the South. Flying the 2000 kms. from Santiago to Punta Arenas affords the traveler a vista of volcanoes, fjords, the majesty of the Andes and the grandeur of the numerous archipelagos that make up much of southern Chile. It's a five hour ride by van from the airport on the Straits of Magellan to the Torres del Paine, a national park of unparalleled beauty, still unspoiled in its magnificence by the presence of man. We hardly saw anyone during our whole time there, save for the guanacos roaming the hillsides and the giant condors soaring over the peaks. I won't attempt to describe what we saw, but have provided you with a few pale visions of the scenery that entranced us all in the accompanying album.

 

We hiked through many parts of the park, and thanks to our knowledgeable and friendly guides, learned quite a bit about the geology that created this incredible place, the variety of flora and fauna present in great abundance, as well as something of the indigenous people who settled this land, sadly now almost all but extinct through the ignoble actions of the Europeans who had taken over in recent centuries.

 

We also spent five days aboard the Skorpios III, a small, specially built Chilean ship ideal for the exploration of the southern ice fields of Patagonia that contain 1/4 of the all the fresh water on our globe. Again, I'll allow the photos to speak for themselves, as they provide a far better image than my words ever could. I will only comment on the incredibly warm and generous reception we received from all the Chileans we encountered throughout our travels, and the equally wonderful foods we were lucky to enjoy during the trip. Just to give you one of many examples that have stuck in my mind, let me briefly tell you of our last night in Punta Arenas. The Skorpios bought us back to Puerto Natales the morning prior to our return flight to Santiago, from which it's a two hour drive back to Punta Arenas. Our flight wasn't leaving until 10 PM that night, so we, along with our luggage, were deposited at a small local travel agency, giving us the chance to spend some more time exploring this historic city. We were told ahead of time the agency was closing at 7 PM, so we figured we would pick up our bags before than, and wait the rest of the time at the airport. The young woman who worked at the agency, unasked, not only provided us with her cell phone number agreeing to come back after hours and open up for us to reclaim our luggage, gave us an excellent (an inexpensive) local place to have dinner, but also arranged for her father and a friend to drive us to the airport at half the cost the airport van was going to charge us.

 

Between my work, the students I teach, and the demands of family and friends, I may not be able to post or visit as often as I would like, but want you to know that I have missed you all, and look forward to reestablishing contact with you again. In the meantime, I wish you a happy Easter weekend. Be well,

J.