Friday, July 16, 2010

Bittersweet

It's my last night on the reservation, and I can't help but feel a little melacholy about that.  I'm really looking forward to seeing my friends, family and Aimee (to say nothing about buying groceries without an hour's drive), but I sure am going to miss this place.  I've learned a ton here, and I dramatically expanded my list of role models. I've also been lucky enough to make some very good friends in the process.

When I talk about learning a ton, I'm partly talking about medical knowledge. But I'm also talking about the advice that changes the way we see the world. The reservation has no shortage of that type of knowledge. Here are a couple of stories that have been rattling around my head for a while. They'll make a good parting post.

Traditional Hopi medicine men have a gift, and they use this gift to not only treat, but also to diagnose their patients. Hopi people (especially the elders) are not used to describing their symptoms. When they come into the clinic to see us, we're just supposed to know what's wrong with them. On more than one occasion, I've been told by a patient that he or she feels "some way". When I ask for more information, the patient usually replies, "I don't know what I feel; I just feel...a way." It adds another degree of difficulty to the history and physical, even if there isn't a language barrier (although those are pretty common here, too). This expectation does a good job illustrating the cultural role of the healer. People go to the medicine man/healer/physician to feel better, and part of that process is being listened to, comforted, and reassured. All of the modern medicine in the world doesn't mean much, if the patient isn't treated with a good dose of humanity.

The second story relates to how we go though life. Hopi people (and I'm told Native Americans in general) are very focused on the here and now. They don't worry very much about the future, since there are enough things to deal with today. In fact, it's not uncommon for social security checks to pile up on the kitchen tables of elderly Hopis, since the checks are just paper to them; they don't help the corn grow. Incidentally, this makes the task of recruting future Hopi doctors very difficult, since the average 18 year old (Hopi or not) is rarely interested in starting down a career path that won't be completed for at least eleven years. (And speaking from experience, the average 26 year old isn't crazy about that, either.) When I first got here, I thought that the biggest drawback to living on the reservation would be the limited range of experiences. I've since learned that this couldn't be further from the truth. But even if it were true, who cares? Working our way up the ladder isn't the most important thing in the world.

And unfortunately, living on the reservation for only five weeks didn't teach me what is the most important thing in the world, but it definitely got me closer to figuring out what is.

-M