This morning, over a sunrise at Railroad Park, I met two wonderful, godly men to discuss and pray for the inner city of Birmingham. After praying, one of the guys brought up something to me, knowing that the idea of stigma in our society has been weighing on my heart lately (as is hopefully evidenced by my previous posts). He said, essentially, most people, when they picture heaven, picture all white people or all black people... there is, in no part of the country, such a thing as a truly multiracial church, so what should people expect except to see only people who look and think like they do when they picture paradise?
The idea struck me, and I have been thinking about it all day. When you close your eyes and attempt to imagine what heaven will be like, who is there? Hopefully we can all think of some specific people-- celebrities or family and friends--but who else? Do you have room in your Heaven for the pregnant teen in your high school, for the homeless man who asks you for money on the street corner, or for the gang members in your neighborhood? What about that patient that doesn't take his medicine like he's supposed to, or the one who shows up to your emergency room expecting some free detox? Do these people make it in, or is your Heaven more like the Brady Bunch--blond-haired, blue-eyed, well-dressed men and women who just "look" like they must be good people?
Sadly enough, having a theologically correct picture of what Heaven is or is not has little effect on the types of people we actually picture being present there. I'm not suggesting that just anyone will be able to waltz into Heaven on Judgment day... in fact, I'm suggesting just the opposite. If we truly comprehend the mercy of Christ and the love He has for all people, we realize that no one has an advantage. True justice condemns us all, regardless of the choices we make and those that were made for us. I am no different than my ER patient-- not the homeless guy, not the drunk driver, not the rape victim or the rapist. No. different. So if, per the grace of the cross, my Heaven includes me, is it not possible that it could include these people?
Knowing this could change our lives, if we let it. So I have a challenge. For one day, for everyone you see, ask yourself, is this person in my Heaven? What is your answer? Who got in, and what did they look like? Why did you let them in? Does your decision reflect what you know about the grace of Christ and His attitude toward people? And after you have done that, what will you do with the information you've learned?
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Monday, September 17, 2012
Jumping the tracks, pushing boundaries
Have you ever been in the position where there is something you've always wanted to do, but you keep telling yourself you'll do it when you get older? We've all been there... waiting to become the person we want to be. Waiting until something--that elusive event or age or social status--happens to us. Well, tonight, in some small way, I made a step toward becoming that person. And let me tell you, it was amazing. Here's the story...
Anyone who knows me decently well knows that I want to start a homeless clinic when I become a doctor, and that I have dedicated my life to building relationships with homeless individuals and being their advocate to the general public. While I've taken steps toward learning how to start, run, and participate in a free clinic, I haven't made much headway in the whole relationships area. Yeah, I've met medical needs and done the occasional shelter meal, but that hardly counts. Recently, I started going to a new church, Mosaic, which I love because it makes urban ministry a priority. It is connected to a houseless ministry called Avail, which I have known about for several months but recently felt extremely convicted for not volunteering with them. But tonight was the night. And it was fun. And it changed my life forever.
Camp #1: Under an overpass on the Northside of Birmingham. We met 3 people-- we'll call them George, Andy, and Bob (of course, names have been changed to protect the people). We cooked a meal and shared it with them... the six of us volunteers with the three of them, all eating chili dogs and cheese puffs together. I learned that Bob has been houseless for quite some time, down on his luck and just can't seem to break the cycle. He used drugs in the past but doesn't now (which I fully believe). Talking to me, he became emotional-- he hasn't opened up to anyone like this in years and, embarrassed to cry in front of a girl, he runs off. Andy and George travel together. They are staying under the overpass and saving up money to get an apartment together. They've found one that costs $195 a month, and a social worker is helping them move in. George is from Milwaukee, while Andy is from Birmingham. Andy is turning 60 in a few months, and she has been in Birmingham her whole life. She was even in 16th Street baptist church the morning it was bombed, and she knew the four kids who were killed. She lives on the streets because she moved in with her mother to take care of her, but her mother, sister, and father all died within the span of a few months, leaving her with an unfinished college degree and nowhere to live. She spends her days at the library reading mystery novels, and she loves poetry and plays. She and George can't wait to join our Bible study next week and ask us to pray before we head out. Beautiful.
Camp #2: Across the train tracks, also on Northside. This was a bigger camp-- a community of sorts, where everyone knew each other and they all had a role to play in society. We ate with them as well-- more chili dogs-- and I met a few more people. Among them were Annie and James, and also Gavin (again, names have been changed for protection). Annie and James were a couple who lived in Oak Grove before moving to this camp. They were in their basement when the April tornadoes hit last year, and they lost everything. Annie has two kids, both grown, and one granddaughter. They are all housed and she gets to see them occasionally. She is already saving money to get her granddaughter a Justin Bieber backpack for Christmas. She is the only woman, hanging out with a bunch of guys, and as I am leaving she begs me to come back next week. Gavin went through a recovery program and graduated not long ago as a "success" of the program. He is now back on the streets, not having the resources he needed to maintain the lifestyle he'd been taught about. He also begs me to come back next week. And of course, I will. Because this experience was beautiful.
We packed up and headed back to the car. We had to jump a train that had stopped on the tracks, blocking our way. It was scary, but exhilarating! As I jumped down from the train car and ran across the tracks, I began to reflect on the night. To think about what my parents would think, and how I would be back next week no matter what anyone would think. To begin to understand the hearts of a misunderstood people group firsthand, and experience the healing that comes from loving someone despite what their past has beheld--maybe even more so because of what their past has beheld. Thank you, Avail, for pushing me over the tracks and into the person I have dreamed of becoming.
Until next time,
Jessi
Saturday, August 18, 2012
The right to healthcare: what does it really mean?
I'm gonna preface this post by saying that I might meet some disagreement. All I ask is that it be read with an open mind, as from someone who's been there, and then you can go on thinking whatever you like.
The literary journal for the School of Medicine finally came out, in which I submitted an entry entitled, "A New Perspective" about my trip to a hospital in the Dominican Republic last summer. I'll include an excerpt so you can see where my thinking was going:
-Jessi
The literary journal for the School of Medicine finally came out, in which I submitted an entry entitled, "A New Perspective" about my trip to a hospital in the Dominican Republic last summer. I'll include an excerpt so you can see where my thinking was going:
My next patient, in the orthopedic unit, was a man with a broken leg from a motorcycle injury. He needed surgery, but was waiting on his family to bring back a surgical screw from Santo Domingo. In the meantime, he was lying in bed with two gallons of water hanging from his foot—makeshift traction. He was not sure when he would be able to have surgery, but in the meantime he appeared comfortable and seemed to enjoy the company of other patients in the large, multi-bed room with him. [...] Although many of my classmates were gawking at the substandard level of care, I was able to see the truth: If these patients came to the United States, they wouldn’t receive care at all, except maybe in the Emergency Room after waiting several hours, and even then being looked down upon by hospital staff and hurried through the system to be thrust back to the curb. Maybe the Dominican Republic doesn’t have everything right in terms of health care, but neither does the United States. No matter where I am, there will be some people I can treat and some I cannot. Sometimes it will work and sometimes it won’t, even when the answer seems clear. But in every case, I have a responsibility to listen, smile, and pray with my patient, treating them as an individual and making their hospital experience seem as much like a home as possible. I am convinced that the Dominicans are much closer to mastering this skill than the best American doctors we have to offer.
As I read my entry again, one thought occurred to me: This is Cooper Green. Cooper Green is Jefferson County's hospital, run by government tax dollars (1% of sales tax, to be exact), to care for citizens with no insurance. Recently, there has been a debate around closing the hospital's inpatient side because funding cuts have been so severe that patients are not getting the care they need. This is true-- A fellow classmate of mine informed me a few weeks ago that they had run out of pillows, and I know they have run out of certain medicines as well. Yes, this is a huge problem, and I do believe that people deserve better care. What strikes me as dangerous, though, is that we are deluding ourselves if we think that this particular population of people will get better care. Sure, from the comfort of our own, middle-class American homes, it seems an abomination for a hospital to exist that can't even give our patients pillows. But what if some patients don't go to the hospital for pillows, or even cutting-edge medical care?
We refuse to accept health care, for ourselves or anyone else, if it is anything less than the best. That is why we produce top-notch doctors, medicines, and equipment here in the United States. But when we resolve to offer nothing less than the best, where does that leave the non-middle-class Americans? The dichotomy for us, when presented with "best" or "just okay", seems an easy decision. But if we come to grips with the fact that we have two dichotomies at war here-- the other being "just okay" or "there's nothing here for me"--does a role for "just okay" suddenly emerge? And if so, how do we define this substandard set of standards, so that we in medicine can maintain our Hippocratic oath of "Do no harm?"
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Hidden agendas in walking downtown
My story (actual)
It was 8:24 am, and I was hurriedly walking from my apartment to school from orientation, which was supposed to start at 8:30 am. I decided to dress nice--not too nice, but just enough to pass as business casual, just in case there was a dress code for the day that I was unaware of. At the corner of 20th street and 5th avenue south, I encountered a man riding a bicycle. Being cautious, I gave the tiniest of smiles. He quickly stopped the bike, maybe a foot in front of me. "What is the time on your watch?" he asked. Not wearing a watch, I pulled out my phone to check the time. "It's 8:24," I said, and turned to keep walking. But he did not move out of the way. Instead, he held his hand out awkwardly. My first thought: Dang it, he wants my phone... what have I gotten myself into! My second thought: Oh, maybe he just wants to shake hands. Hmmm, never shake hands in the STD clinic... but I'm sure this man doesn't have syphilis, so okay. I tentatively stick my hand out, and he grabs it, and kisses it! Repulsed, I pull my hand back, turn, and scamper off. "I'm sorry," he calls out behind me, but I don't even turn my head.
For the rest of my walk, I smile at passersby only occasionally and talk to no one. I'm not even that attractive, I think. All I want to do is be friendly without being approached for money, cat-called, or touched! And then I really thought about it. How cold and calloused I was. How hard it is to practice what I preach about people on the streets. Being a single girl in my 20's, I know I need to be careful, but really, Jess? You won't even smile for fear of, what exactly-- being talked to? No wonder these people don't trust mainstream society, rarely open themselves up to others, and have less-than-refined social skills, if this is what they are repeatedly greeted with in return for even the most genial interactions. If that poor man never talks to a young white girl again, I have no one to blame but myself and the hundreds of others just like me. I know what you're thinking... It's okay, Jess! There are strange people out there. You have a right and good reason to be cautious and callous toward strangers. I would have done the same thing. But consider the story from this man's point of view:
His story (conjecture, but probably more true than we realize)
It was only my 4th day at my new job. I woke up at sunrise to get in the breakfast line at the shelter early so I would have plenty of time to make it to work by 8:30. Breakfast was out by 7:30 this morning, so I scarfed down some grits and orange juice, packed my belongings up from the shelter, and started the 20-minute bike ride from the shelter to my job. I was cutting it close and didn't have a clue what time it was. I know better than to approach people, especially around the medical district since most of them are always in a hurry, but then I saw a nice-looking girl smile at me from about a block away. I decided it was worth it to ask her for the time. I think I've startled her... oh no... ok, well, at least she told me what time it was. I have 6 minutes before I'm late to work, and I'll surely get fired if I'm late, but I really want to thank her. I'm so embarrassed, I have nothing to give her to thank her for her kindness. I've seen men kiss a lady's hand to be very polite before, so maybe I'll try that. Oh, no, I don't think she liked that. "I'm sorry," I said. What did I do wrong? I didn't mean to frighten her. I stand there, dumbfounded, watching her hurry away. I can't ever get it right, I guess she's just like the rest of them after all. And now I only have 4 minutes to get to work... f***!
What is this? Just an unfortunate interaction, or some commentary on social and societal conditioning? What gift would I have received if I hadn't just gone into survival mode and run off? I'll never know, because society says I'll do exactly the same thing tomorrow.
"Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unaware." -Hebrews 13:2
-Jessi
It was 8:24 am, and I was hurriedly walking from my apartment to school from orientation, which was supposed to start at 8:30 am. I decided to dress nice--not too nice, but just enough to pass as business casual, just in case there was a dress code for the day that I was unaware of. At the corner of 20th street and 5th avenue south, I encountered a man riding a bicycle. Being cautious, I gave the tiniest of smiles. He quickly stopped the bike, maybe a foot in front of me. "What is the time on your watch?" he asked. Not wearing a watch, I pulled out my phone to check the time. "It's 8:24," I said, and turned to keep walking. But he did not move out of the way. Instead, he held his hand out awkwardly. My first thought: Dang it, he wants my phone... what have I gotten myself into! My second thought: Oh, maybe he just wants to shake hands. Hmmm, never shake hands in the STD clinic... but I'm sure this man doesn't have syphilis, so okay. I tentatively stick my hand out, and he grabs it, and kisses it! Repulsed, I pull my hand back, turn, and scamper off. "I'm sorry," he calls out behind me, but I don't even turn my head.
For the rest of my walk, I smile at passersby only occasionally and talk to no one. I'm not even that attractive, I think. All I want to do is be friendly without being approached for money, cat-called, or touched! And then I really thought about it. How cold and calloused I was. How hard it is to practice what I preach about people on the streets. Being a single girl in my 20's, I know I need to be careful, but really, Jess? You won't even smile for fear of, what exactly-- being talked to? No wonder these people don't trust mainstream society, rarely open themselves up to others, and have less-than-refined social skills, if this is what they are repeatedly greeted with in return for even the most genial interactions. If that poor man never talks to a young white girl again, I have no one to blame but myself and the hundreds of others just like me. I know what you're thinking... It's okay, Jess! There are strange people out there. You have a right and good reason to be cautious and callous toward strangers. I would have done the same thing. But consider the story from this man's point of view:
His story (conjecture, but probably more true than we realize)
It was only my 4th day at my new job. I woke up at sunrise to get in the breakfast line at the shelter early so I would have plenty of time to make it to work by 8:30. Breakfast was out by 7:30 this morning, so I scarfed down some grits and orange juice, packed my belongings up from the shelter, and started the 20-minute bike ride from the shelter to my job. I was cutting it close and didn't have a clue what time it was. I know better than to approach people, especially around the medical district since most of them are always in a hurry, but then I saw a nice-looking girl smile at me from about a block away. I decided it was worth it to ask her for the time. I think I've startled her... oh no... ok, well, at least she told me what time it was. I have 6 minutes before I'm late to work, and I'll surely get fired if I'm late, but I really want to thank her. I'm so embarrassed, I have nothing to give her to thank her for her kindness. I've seen men kiss a lady's hand to be very polite before, so maybe I'll try that. Oh, no, I don't think she liked that. "I'm sorry," I said. What did I do wrong? I didn't mean to frighten her. I stand there, dumbfounded, watching her hurry away. I can't ever get it right, I guess she's just like the rest of them after all. And now I only have 4 minutes to get to work... f***!
What is this? Just an unfortunate interaction, or some commentary on social and societal conditioning? What gift would I have received if I hadn't just gone into survival mode and run off? I'll never know, because society says I'll do exactly the same thing tomorrow.
"Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unaware." -Hebrews 13:2
-Jessi
Introductory statements
As is customary, I suppose I should introduce myself so that you may decide whether to trust and give credence to my thoughts in further posts... so here goes! I'm Jessi, a third year medical student from Birmingham, Alabama. I got my Bachelor of Science in Nursing from Belmont University in Nashville and then came straight to medical school at the University of Alabama School of Medicine in Birmingham. I am currently taking a year away from medical training to get my Masters in Public Health from UAB. I am passionate about bringing healthcare to homeless and underprivileged communities around the country.
I have known I wanted to run a homeless clinic since I was in the 7th grade and took a trip to a local homeless shelter with my church. I believe it was then that I received a spiritual calling, and I cried in the car the entire way home and for the rest of the evening because I wanted so badly to do something to end homelessness right then and there. It has been a long and winding road of God preparing me for this work--it took years just for me to realize that I was capable of taking the path to becoming a physician and that I deserved to have my dreams come true.
As I try to gain a little insight into the lives of people on the fringes of society, the fundamental beliefs on which I was raised repeatedly come into question. My experiences have shaped my ideas on God, family, politics, health, and much more. Journaling has always been therapeutic for me in working through these larger-than-life questions and allowing me to draw lasting, meaningful truths from my experiences. I have thought about blogging several times, not for others so much as for my own benefit, but lately I have learned what a joy it is to read the blogs of others. As a wise physician told me a few days ago, "It is a wise man who learns from his own experience, but a wiser man who learns from the experience of others." So I hope that, if you feel inclined, you will embark on this journey with me, on medicine and other matters!
-Jessi
I have known I wanted to run a homeless clinic since I was in the 7th grade and took a trip to a local homeless shelter with my church. I believe it was then that I received a spiritual calling, and I cried in the car the entire way home and for the rest of the evening because I wanted so badly to do something to end homelessness right then and there. It has been a long and winding road of God preparing me for this work--it took years just for me to realize that I was capable of taking the path to becoming a physician and that I deserved to have my dreams come true.
As I try to gain a little insight into the lives of people on the fringes of society, the fundamental beliefs on which I was raised repeatedly come into question. My experiences have shaped my ideas on God, family, politics, health, and much more. Journaling has always been therapeutic for me in working through these larger-than-life questions and allowing me to draw lasting, meaningful truths from my experiences. I have thought about blogging several times, not for others so much as for my own benefit, but lately I have learned what a joy it is to read the blogs of others. As a wise physician told me a few days ago, "It is a wise man who learns from his own experience, but a wiser man who learns from the experience of others." So I hope that, if you feel inclined, you will embark on this journey with me, on medicine and other matters!
-Jessi
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