A Day's Life. . .

I was called to Don Luis’ house at 8 pm by his son because his father could “no longer talk.” In the darkness of the driving rain, we sloshed through the muddy terrain alongside an overflowing river. During the hike, I gathered more information from my companion: Don Luis was a 73-year old man in good health with no significant past medical history who, after eating dinner, took a nap and had been delirious and unable to rise from bed. When we reached the clearing around his house, I saw a sea of candles held by people surrounding the bed where Don Luis lay. There were over twenty people in the room, both friends and family, and most of them saying he was going to die tonight. I quickly worked up a differential diagnoses list, which ranged from meningitis, hypertensive stroke, subdural hematoma, to overdose with an herbal sleep medicine. There was no equipment to perform a lumbar puncture, a head CT was out of the question, and the clinic was severely short on antibiotics.

“That night, I burned with the frustration of being unable to adequately treat a patient in unstable condition. But I was struck by a deeper understanding of what medicine truly is. ”

The nearest hospital was over two hours away, over a dangerous mountain trail of rocks and mud. It seemed that we would have to wait until morning if we wanted to get him to a hospital. I rushed to the clinic with Etelvina, fellow health care promoter, and after we gathered what medicines we could find, we hurried back to the house. After giving Don Luis the first round of antibiotics to treat what I cautiously presumed to be meningitis, I sat with his family and waited. Throughout the rest of the night, we maintained a midnight vigil with Don Luis, all of us wishing life into him. That night, I burned with the frustration of being unable to adequately treat a patient in unstable condition. But I was struck by a deeper understanding of what medicine truly is. As I looked around the house, I saw Don Luis’ wife, his children, and his friends staying by his bed and sleeping under the doorways as the rain continued to fall. The medicine I was able to offer was not for Don Luis alone but for all of us, a symbol of hope that life could be preserved even in the darkest hours of life. And it was an incredible honor to be embraced by Don Luis’ friends and family as we watched and waited together for Don Luis to recover. The cookies and coffee I ate that night were among the sweetest I have ever eaten. Thankfully, within twenty-four hours, Don Luis recovered enough to recall that a few hours before his symptoms began, he had drunk a strong herbal sleeping tea after a few drinks of homemade maize alcohol. He has since made a full recovery. And I will never forget that night in Estancia.

In This Issue:

DGH in El Salvador: Earthquake Relief
DGH Locally: Liberation Medicine in the US
Creative Fundraising: Photography Exhibit
Welfare Reform & Immigrant Children
Human Rights In the Arts
The Olympic Living Wage Campaign
A Day's Life... Ben Lee
Cup-by-Cup Earthquake Relief
Dorothy Granada Under Attack Again