So a sentimental post as we prepare to leave a place that has been so home-like for the last 9 months...
We are so accustomed to having medical people tell us what not to eat. Anything that tastes good is probably in someway bad for you, or so it seems somehow. I try, and I think a lot of doctors do, to actually not tell people what not to eat, because life has to be worth living if you are going to live longer for it, but the "Western Diet" is pretty terrible and there is actually a lot that probably shouldn't be eaten or drunk or whatever. However, though that is the first relationship between food and medicine that springs to mind, as I spend a fair bit of my time being the bad guy and saying what not to eat (I really do try to not be that guy), that is not the relationship that is on my mind tonight. Tonight is for something far better than that.
As some people know, Z and I are food critics extrordinaires (at least in our own minds), and have a another, though recently neglected blog about our sushi eating adventures (what can I say, NZ has crappy sushi). And I have previously written about the non-nutritional significance that food holds. Z and I are big fans of Michael Pollan (In Defense of Food, The Omnivore's Dilemma, The Botany of Desire). There are recurring themes in his books about the communal, emotional, and even spiritual nature of food, particularly in In Defense of Food, though he definitely got a bit preachy in that one. And it's true, food is definitely far more important that the calories and nutrients that it bring into our bodies. So much of our lives, individually, and culture, as a collective, is occupied by food and the rituals that we build around it. In medicine, more particular to my own situation, food is so often symbolic to people of life, vitality, and happiness. One of the hardest things that there is for families to deal with, is when a loved one becomes so sick that they can't even eat...when, as part of the natural dying process, the body stops accepting or wanting food. Food is so intrinsic to the human condition, that to see a love one not eating is almost to see them as not a person anymore, as already dead. On the happier side, and on the side that is on my mind tonight, food is also quite often a gift. And, despite often being that guy who tells people what not to eat, patients, not infrequently, bring me food (or as the case may be, alcohol...that's right Mom and Dad, you should probably stop reading about now).
I mean, of course, come the holidays, there are lots of chocolates, etc... that show up at doctors' offices, like everywhere else. And we quite often, as a hospital, have gracious patients send in sweets (you see, it is always the thing the we tell people not to eat that they send in...we can only assume because they are getting rid of those things at home) or something else nice, as a thank you. But what I'm referring to, in particular, is the gifts that have been given to me by my patients. I have never received a non-food gift. It is always food. And it is such a profound things. This week, particularly, has been beneficial to my gastrointestinal tract, but I can remember each and every patient that this has happened with.
The first time that I ever received a gift from a patient, was a Christmas bottle of homemade wine from a patient while I was working as a medical assistant prior to medical school. I had really done nothing to warrant a gift. The wine was terrible (and my brother got mad at me for bring this gift home to my parents' house, which is always alcohol-free...though I'm not sure what else I was suppose to do with it). But I can still remember that person who gave it to me.
The first time that I actually had taken care of a patient who gave me something, was an incredibly sick patient with leukemia, who battled his way though a gut-wrenching couple of week of chemo and post-chemo illness. I was his intern...or became his intern, anyway. He and his wife made their own wine...had the grapes grown for them in California, I think, and imported so that they could juice them, barrel them, ferment, and mix them. He struggled so hard through those weeks, to get back to many things, wine-making being one of them...and that they shared a bottle of the passions of their labor with me, was so meaningful. Unfortunately, they made Merlots, which I still haven't acquired a taste for, but I enjoyed every drop of it shared that same night with our friends Anh and Andrew in their home in Boston. The patient made it through:-)
Another patient who I had the true privilege of sharing a difficult portion of his life with, had a brother who owned a fantastic little Asian restaurant. We were just going to check it out (we are foodies after all), but on finding out that we were there, we had food lavished upon us in such abundance that we could not think to eat it all. And though we tried to get the waiter to bring us a bill, it was not allowed by the brother. It was a truly profound experience.
This last couple of weeks, though, has truly been special. A patient that I had previously seen in the hospital, and who had been so afraid that, because of their new condition, I was going to tell them they had to stop drinking wine (they only drank it occasionally, but they enjoyed it very much), and had been so overjoyed when I told her it was fine to drink that she had brought me in a bottle of wine then, was randomly at the hospital on my birthday last week, and found out it was my birthday (maybe it was the subtle "Happy Birthday" banner the nurses had strung across my office); she went home and brought me another bottle of wine (tell me that is not the most complex sentence you've ever read).
On top of that, I had recently run into the head cook at our favorite pub, Howl at the Moon, in a work related capacity. As some of you know, every Friday night since we've arrive in Gore has been pie night at The Moon. Savory pies are AWESOME and clearly lacking from the standard American diet. So nearly every Friday, we've gone to Howl at the Moon to eat pie...it is a ritual...or was until the menu changed about 2 months ago, much to my despair. However, after discussing this problem with the head chef, pie magically appear in the freezer at The Moon...not on the menu, but waiting for Z and I to arrive and order them tonight. FANTASTIC. This on the same day that another patient, who has been distilling his own liquor for 15 years, brought me in a bottle of his moonshine...well, he's not blind and still has functioning kidneys, so it must be safe to drink, right? We'll see, perhaps.
So tonight, I sit home, typing a new blog entry with a belly full of pie, contented with life (I haven't worked up the nerve, though, to do more than sniff the whiskey). I am blessed to work such a great job with such great people. It reminds me that the job, just like food, is not just about trying to make people live, but letting them live well.
L'chaim! To Life!
