Friday, December 18, 2020

Vaccinating Despair, Injecting Hope

 


Vaccinating despair

Immunizing against virus

       and

viral fear and isolation

Inoculating resilience

Injecting hope

Inspiring immune response

                                           and

infectious optimism                     


I had some other thoughts for this week’s piece, but the energy brought on by the arrival of a vaccine has truly been infectious. I couldn’t ignore it. As a writer, I know that you speak to the moment. It might not be there next week. That has been my guide through this blog’s existence.

I asked a group of first graders this morning about what they were going to do over winter break. Okay, okay – I actually asked them what healthy things they were going to do over break. A few students answered that question with “I think we need to get back to going to school”. Some answered with a question of their own, “When is this going to be over?”

I agree with these 6 year-olds that it would be great for our health and wellness to get back to a normal existence. And while I don’t have an answer for where/when the finish line is of this endurance challenge, it is a wonderful place that we find ourselves this week as the first covid vaccines are given.

The vaccine is a holiday present delivered with dry ice and stored at negative 70 degree Celsius. Batteries sold separately. Restrictions apply. Not available in all 50 states…yeah, we know the verbage of latest, greatest holiday gifts all too well. 

Playstation move over, Pfizer move in. 

Asking partner “Can we afford this?” replaced by questioning health insurance, “Will you cover it?”

The vaccine is a small bit of light cracking through the end of the tunnel. Do you see it? Look closer. Squint if you need to.

The vaccine is a reason to smile, sigh and maybe even cause for tear ducts to open.

The vaccine is an invitation for all of us to move past despair and 2020 and all that we need to leave behind.

Let us roll up our sleeve and accept the injection of hope.


UNM's healthcare workers show off their "boo boos" on first day of vaccinations this week.

Wednesday, December 9, 2020

Drift

 

trail

turned

to

snowy

              drift I did

into a world not virtual

into a space immaculate

into myself



drift today into your own not-virtual

    immaculate space

dare to unplug from all of the noise

                                     sounds that silence the lullaby that trail of life is wafting your way

drift far away, to dreams and ancestors and all that fills your cup

drift to yourself

 

*Special thanks to Mother Nature and the snow she provided somewhat unexpectedly last week for us in New Mexico.

Wednesday, November 25, 2020

Gratitude


Gratitude

Grows with slowing down, stillness

 

Gratitude

Knows the nooks and crannies of our soul, landing gently like Sandhill Crane upon

Fertile

Feeding ground.

Flows

Over

Into

the places trampled upon by 2020

setting them 

anew

alive

awakened.

 

This week of thanks

                     giving

                     gave me a chance to hear beautiful answers to question

“What does gratitude sound, feel (heart and hands), smell, and look like for you??”

Enjoy the feast as you scribe your own answers and share them with loved ones!

                    

I am grateful for the eyes, 

the eyes of the heart,

as they look at the beauty within 

and the beauty not often seen in all of life.

 

I am grateful for the hands,

the hands that serve others,

as they reach out to lift others up and push them gently to positivity and inspiration.

 

I am grateful for the ears,

the ears that listen,

as they hear the laughter of the child, a parent's cry, a partner mourning, 

and Creator's way to live in happiness. 

 

Eyes of the heart,

Hands that serve others,

Ears that listen,

all working together to make one 

feel loved

give love

and not lose their way with Living in Love, Loving in Life.

– Shannon

 

Effortless breath; birds singing as if it was spring; a smile for no apparent reason.

Sun rise and set—one thing we can count on.

Still breathing.

-Amy

 

What does gratitude sound like?

        Thank you… You're welcome

What does gratitude feel like?        

        In your heart: peace…safety…love

        In your hands: sharing…showing…building

What does gratitude smell like?

        Cut grass…fallen leaves…rain

What does gratitude look like?

        Birds flying in unison…dogs sleeping…warm fire pit

-Michael

 

Gratitude for me is ubiquitous.

It is in the rising of the sun 

and the rising of the moon

and

it is observing the values you have

strived to live by reflected back by

your children and grandchildren.

-Allan

 

Delicately waking up to the aromas of love and lemon pepper

Stretching to the blessings

High fiving the transitioned

 

Nature is shut down but there are genealogical trees swaying, growing and smiling green leaves of joy in the room we live

Standing on the mountains of our ancestors

Gazing at each gift amongst the abode

 

Beholden the Creator!

 

Fully seasoned with warmth, comfort, paprika, life and a dash of salt

Family recipes ready to consume

Imbibing the earth’s hydrogen, hydrogen, and oxygen

Everyone safely encompassed in these four walls

 

Beholden the Creator!

 

Deeply,

          Inhaling a soul full of gratitude

For there is nothing more to want

 

Thankful

-Danielle




Friday, November 20, 2020

Bowls into Cabinets

 

How does a clean bowl get put back into the cabinets?

Not a trick question, but a real dilemma if you are a little one.

Dwarfed by the imposing height of the cabinets, my kiddos huddled to discuss.

Eavesdropping, here is what I heard,

Small legs.

Big cabinets.

Clean bowls.

Should we just go play?

I need to go potty.

 

Like any respectable adult, I tried to re-focus my mind on real things. Quickly move on from this frivolity to things adults should be thinking about

What shirt to re-wear for work from the couch today? Pajama pants again?

How to balance personal wellness and being up-to-date in my pandemic news consumption today?

Why aren’t there any clean bowls in the cabinet?

Should we just go play?

I need to go potty.

 

About a week later, not intending to get to the bottom of the mystery, I did just that. Catching a glimpse of the children shuttling clean bowls to empty cabinets, I snuck with fatherly deftness around the kitchen’s perimeters.

Channeling my inner James Bond, looking over my shoulders for any sign of “bad guys”, I crouched low.

Ouch. A bit too low.

Should have stretched out before trying that.

Here is what I saw:


When life gives you imposing challenges today and in these next weeks, become the child you still are. Throw away ego and figure out who it is around you who can help you reach the cabinets. 

As COVID roars, the cabinets seem higher than normal, the kitchen is lonely, and the bowls are staring at you. In those moments, become a little one again. Reach out, reach up for the support you need. Think about friends, family, neighbors who might be reaching for the cabinet, and offer a hand before they ask.

And finally, give in to those two nagging thoughts we adults so carefully suppress:

Should we just go play?

I need to go potty.

Friday, November 13, 2020

Writing to Heal: The 45-Word Edition

 



Calm

Peace

Tranquility

Breathe them in, slow and deep

 

Calm

Peace

Tranquility

Embrace your antidote

                                   4

                                    COVID Craze

                                        Virtual Daze

                                            Dizzying Maze

 

Calm fears with gratitude

Peace

Tranquility ur new attitude

 

Breathe them in, slow and deep

Grow your own healing

If necessary, use words.


This week, I wanted to play with a self-imposed challenge: what can I say in 50 words or less that is meaningful around the climate where election and COVID spike has everything stirred up. Take the challenge yourself - 50 words or less 😊

Friday, November 6, 2020

A vision for undoing racism + achieving equity in health

Thirty-three times I have written.

In gratitude.

In confidence that we can turn our world toward hope and healing. 

Of our planet. Of ourselves. Of our communities.

This week, I want to focus on someone else’s writing.

A long time ago, back in October when COVID numbers were low, we were asked to give a keynote address at the New Mexico Public Health Association (NMPHA) conference on racism and health equity. Adults speaking to adults.

It seemed like a perfect moment to get creative and bring youth voices into the conversation.

So, we asked young leaders from our Native Health Initiative partnership to meet at Robinson Park on a pandemic Sunday. Bring an open heart and dress in a way that reflects your cultures. No other instructions.

We sat beneath a tree. Air was calm, birds chirped their hellos.

The youth began to write, speaking to their experiences of what they had to tell the world on undoing racism, to working toward equity in health. They spoke about not being listened to enough by the adult world.

Their voices were captured on film, with my brother leading the way on the videography side of things. I had contributed the concept for the film, but the youth wrote all of their own lines.

Hip hop culture, both in the art and the music would provide the backdrop for the film.

The conversations were interesting as we moved from one location to another.

“Does mentioning this take away from our work, implying that despite the handicap of being young, that we still made big things happen?” they discussed.

Does focusing on healthcare miss the larger picture of what allows people to have health?

What does a healthy education system look like?

What does a healthy food system mean?

What does a healthy neighborhood feel like?

Without further ado, I would like to present their vision, their answers. This film was premiered at that NMPHA conference, saved as the last part of the address. 

Youth speaking. Adults listening.

Click here to watch the 2-minute film


After the film showed, Emelia spoke and we put up the last slide, to make sure everyone had heard their call to action:



Friday, October 30, 2020

Jump!

 Like a good dad, when my kids talk I listen.

“Dad, we want a trampoline.”

My mind went where most parents’ minds go when expensive, potentially dangerous requests are made from our well-intentioned little ones.

“Which neighbor has a trampoline so that I can fulfill this request?” I pondered.

Luckily, I could answer the question. A lovely neighbor does indeed have one of these jumping, bouncing polypropylene sandboxes with springs. And in good condition. And with netting to make me feel safer as a parent.

So, after gaining permission to jump, we headed over to try it out.


Our three oldest got right to jumping. No hesitation. Barely a “Thank you for letting us invade your yard and use your trampoline for our dad who is too cheap to buy us one.”

Our smallest watched for a few moments, trying to figure this out. Clearly, she had second thoughts. Has she read the Pediatrics guidelines around injury risks from such devices?

I picked her up and placed her on the springy surface.

Her look back to me communicated a strong skepticism.

“Dear, you jump up and then have fun falling down.”

In her mind: “Fall. Falling down. That means getting hurt, boo-boos, ouchies, band-aids.”

Despite my pleading, I couldn’t convince her that this was a safe place to jump and fall. I carried her off the trampoline.

 

 

We don’t jump because we are afraid to fall.

We don’t take that leap because of the security of feeling our feet on the ground.

We miss the exhilaration of being airborne because we are so focused on what happens when we come down.

Fear of failure holds us back from envisioning the heights we can reach.

Focusing on past “ouchies” and falls keeps us from jumping ahead.

Trauma and scars from hitting the ground in the past trip us up in the present, both keeping us from jumping and putting us into a “fall mindset”

So much so that when a trampoline moment presents itself, with possibilities of reaching superhero heights, we turn around and ask to get off without having taken a jump.

Even when trampoline moments ask us to suspend our beliefs around falling, ask us to re-consider the equation falling = failing, it is still tempting to back away without ever going airborne.

Excited to where you all take this analogy, how you choose to finish the piece…

Excited to hear whether this piece helps you jump!



Friday, October 23, 2020

Explosion

 


Explosion

Flames tenaciously, menacingly bursting upward

The truck sat in the middle of the road, consumed by the fiery uproar

Its driver remained in the vehicle

Smoke signaled impending doom

 

Explosion

Of humanity rushing from their vehicles

Thirty or more sprinted in superhero form toward the vehicle

Using their strength, wits, and first responder skills to

pry open passenger door

pry hope from despair

pry life from death’s grasp


We worked in harmony like ants bringing an injured comrade back to the colony,

Successfully bringing the driver out safely,

Stopping traffic and all that we might have been rushing to do.

No one cared about political affiliation, where you worshipped, views on abortion, immigration status, bank account balance, color of skin, educational status, sexual orientation.

All unimportant.

We were unified in saving a life.

We were connected in a struggle to

                                                                      pry open passenger door

pry hope from despair

pry life from death’s grasp

We needed each other.

 

Why can’t we similarly unify, dropping everything that divides to find our mutuality, our common bonds on the other fiery emergencies of this moment?

Systemic Racism that threatens to burn us to a crisp.

A virus that laughs through its flames as politics infect public health to the detriment of us all.

 

Let us need each other more

Let us connect with each other’s humanity

Ignore the bumper stickers on the car

See the beautiful being who sits amidst flames within

Fire that threatens both of you

                              all of us

Act accordingly

                                    Explosion of love

                                    Explosion of love

                                    Explosion of love

Wednesday, October 14, 2020

Mask up!



I wear a mask

Some might label me a sheep

Yes, proudly I am

In fact, it is something called herd immunity*

Proudly part of the herd

Baah’ baah’

 

I wear a mask.

Even as a doc, I can’t cite you the risk level as another person passes

But I wear the mask to show respect for their life, their health, and their family at home

And yes, for myself and my family at home as well

 

I wear a mask

Not any more as a political statement than

getting a flu shot

flushing the toilet

or picking up my dog’s poop

I wear it because it is the right thing to do as a member of a larger community that relies on me to make the right decision

I wear it because I don’t want to see communities of color suffer any further in this pandemic

I don’t want anyone to suffer

 

I wear a mask

Believing in science

And a crazy principle called “disease transmission through air particles”

Not because of how I vote or my religious beliefs or my political party (feminist)

 


I wear a mask and ask that you do the same

Why?

Because you are too important not to be here because of COVID

Ditto for those in your family

Ditto for those you might infect

 

I wear a mask and ask that you do the same

Because it is a statement of love for your community

Because together we can bring reason, humanity, and caring for each other back into this polarized, angry shouting match we find ourselves in

Because we are together in this herd called humanity

Baah’ baah’



* As a professor in population health, I need to clarify that herd immunity is not quite the same as wearing a mask. Herd immunity is the idea that if enough people are immunized, the herd as a whole is protected. But in this case, I couldn't resist the poetic connection between sheep...herd...herd immunity. This blog is an escape from my academic life, after all :)


Wednesday, October 7, 2020

Bass and Treble

 

Way back when, humans listened to music without Spotify, Air Pods, smart phones, and blue teeth/tooths.

In those B.S.P. (Before Smart Phones) days, people would actually get off their tooshies (medical term for gluteal area) and walk over to a thing called a stereo to adjust the sound using something called an equalizer. Crazy huh? Millennials reading this are already distractedly Googling all of this to verify I am not spinning tall tales.



Let’s use the equalizer analogy as we consider what music we play for ourselves today. 

Treble represents the positive in life – the beautiful moments of each day, the practice of gratitude and the people and experiences that make us grateful. All that sustains us will be treble.

Bass, meanwhile, represents the negative – things that stress us, things that cause us to worry, fear, and which bring on anxiety.

Yes, life does give us a starting material for the music we hear, but it is our decision of how we adjust the equalizer that makes the difference between symphony and cacophony.

“Woe is me” is not a reflection of the orchestra, but is a reflection of that person’s inability to lower the bass so that treble can ring.

And if treble weren’t easy to tune up, the majority of media even exist. Regurgitating the same bad news, knowing humans will consume it over and over and over. In those rare cases of treble amongst so much bass, you would never hear a “feel good” story repeated one day to the next on the 10pm news.

“Now to follow up on that incredible tale of the boy who raised $10,000 for his classmate with cancer from yesterday. We thought we would take another look at this tale since we felt it was so important for our city.”

Nope. But crime, natural disasters, political squabbling attract attention day after day. I think our own internal “news feed” plays out similarly. Much easier to regurgitate and perseverate on the bass in our lives.

My friends, play with the equalizer today. Play with that innate ability to attune to treble and let the positive dictate your thoughts and actions. Bass will still be there, but it will exist in balance with, and in the context of the treble sound. You might even appreciate new and more constructive angles on the bass sounds by not focusing on them.

Today, life will not give us treble or bass. No, today we get to choose how to manipulate the equalizer and make music out of the sounds that life presents.



A simple exercise for those interested in tuning their equalizer:

Write down 3 things that have most bothered/worried you in the last week. These are your bass.

Now, take those 3 things and come up with the opposite statement. Ex: “I am worried about my grandmother’s health becomes “I am grateful to have my grandmother in my life.”

Today, as you go about the day, when you find yourself beginning to think in “bass”, simply adjust the equalizer and turn that worry into its “treble” opposite.

Repeat as needed.

Friday, October 2, 2020

Gháájí’: New Year, New You

Renewal

As full moon lights the sky, 

Gháájí’, the Navajo New Year is celebrated. 

A chance for all of us five-fingered people to breathe deep
                                                                         give thanks
                                                                         renew vows to self
                                                                                                  life
                                                                                                  each other
Leaves brighten to hues not seen since 2019
Melons, squash, apples reaching maturity after months of growing pains
Mornings crisp with scents of green chile wafting olfactory goodness our way.
Cinnamon, pumpkin and other flavors soon to come.

What do you want the new year to look like?
What do you want the new you to look like?
What do you need to leave behind in the year that was?
What must be cultivated in the year to come?
Beyond the seeds themselves, 
How will you water and fertilize and nurture those seeds you plant?
Where do you want to start?

Take some time this weekend to breathe it all in, get out the Crayolas, canvas, journal, etc. and begin to draw yourself into a new year, into a new you.




 


Friday, September 25, 2020

The Ever-Present Presence of the Present




The ever-present

Presence

              of the

Present

              a

Present

              Gifted to those seeking its warm embrace

              Remedy for dis-ease

              Cure for living in worlds

              “Has been”

              “What was”

              “Yet-to-come”

 

The ever-present

Presence

              of the

Present

              Is our natural state

              Known well to little ones and wise elders

              Sought by those in between (if they even care to seek)

             Like all things valuable, it can't be captured by smartphone, thumb drive, DVR


The ever-present

Presence

              of the

Present

              a

Present

              That offers itself to us at this precious moment

              And next hour

              And all of tomorrow

              Fear not as you reach to greet its embrace


Note: This piece brought me back to the second piece in this Writing to Heal blog, a prose piece about the Superpower of Being Present. Feel free to revisit that piece!

Friday, September 18, 2020

Signs of Change

Can things really change?

Can our country find a way to admit systemic racism and then do the hard work to undue it?

Can we begin to live with our Earth, ending our suicidal quest to dominate it?

Will we begin to honor the Indigenous Peoples of this land, reversing their second-class status in a land that is their own?

Well, I can’t honestly answer all of these questions with a positive answer. At least not with confidence.

But I can see some signs that make me hopeful. I want to share two of those with you.

Example 1: U.S. Forest Service

My family thought about places to get away and enjoy a hike. The outdoors seem to be one place where the pandemic loses its grasp over us. Aside from a piece of fabric covering the face’s mid-section, you almost can forget about words like “6 feet apart” and “Zoom”.

With fatherly skill, I quickly steered the conversation toward Wheeler Peak, my selfish choice for our hike. Our tallest mountain in NM at 13,147 feet, I had wanted to climb this for many years. We looked up the hike and found that, at that moment, the trails in that area were closed. Reading further, they were closed due to traditional ceremonies of the Taos Pueblo.


Carson Forest Supervisor, James Duran stated

“It’s important that the Carson National Forest works to support local traditional communities to continue a traditional way of life that makes the culture of Northern New Mexico so rich and truly unique”. We appreciate the public’s patience and willingness to support our local tribal communities in maintaining long standing connections to these mountains during this unique period.” (link here)

YESSSSS!!!!!!!!

Many of us, myself included, may never have associated public lands and the National Park System as anything beyond an attempt to conserve and preserve the natural beauty of our country. But Indigenous communities have a very different history with the creation of such lands.

Just as land was stolen from these people since the arrival of Europeans, conservation efforts simply provided another avenue to trample over these same communities. As Marcus Colchester writes, “National parks, pioneered in the United States, denied indigenous peoples’ rights, evicted them from their homelands, and provoked long-term social conflict. This model of conservation became central to conservation policy worldwide.”

Making the position of the Carson Forest even more important is the context of Taos Pueblo and the U.S. Forest Service. Just a few miles away from Wheeler Peak is Blue Lake, known to the Taos Pueblo as Ba Whyea, a sacred site to that Tribe used for many traditional ceremonies.

In the name of conservation, the U.S. government appropriated Blue Lake and the surrounding area and placed it under the control of the Forest Service. The Equivalent of The Vatican being taken away from Catholics, Mecca confiscated from Muslims. These thefts usually came without consultation with Indigenous communities. The struggle by Taos Pueblo to regain control of Blue Lake similar to Standing Rock in 2016, represented Indigenous struggles for religious freedom and the protection of sacred sites. (After 64 years of protest, appeal, and lobbying by Taos leaders and their supporters, Blue Lake was restored to the Pueblo in 1970.)


So, to see the Forest Service now working as a protector, not a threat to Taos Pueblo is a victory for all of us. To see words acknowledging that traditional ways are what make our land unique is incredible in a land that has largely ignored and “othered” Indigenous ways at best, often working explicitly to eradicate them completely. (“Kill the Indian, Save the Man” policy of the U.S. Boarding Schools, for example).

Example 2: Princeton University



No, I was not about to take my family on a trip to New Jersey. “Kids, jump in the car. We are heading to audit a weekend course at an Ivy League institution.” Not quite.

But September 2nd letter by Princeton’s president Christopher Eisgruber to acknowledge systemic racism caught my eye.

“Racism and the damage it does to people of color nevertheless persist at Princeton as in our society, sometimes by conscious intention but more often through unexamined assumptions and stereotypes, ignorance or insensitivity, and the systemic legacy of past decisions and policies.  Race-based inequities in America’s health care, policing, education, and employment systems affect profoundly the lives of our staff, students, and faculty of color.

Racist assumptions from the past also remain embedded in structures of the University itself.  For example, Princeton inherits from earlier generations at least nine departments and programs organized around European languages and culture, but only a single, relatively small program in African studies.”

YESSSSS!!!!!!!!

Coming from an institution that represents power and privilege, this divergence from the default - finding ways to justify unjust systems that serve to benefit that person/group speaking - is refreshing. It is healing. It is needed.

So, back to those initial questions, I can say that I have some hope that I can be a part of making real change happen. That is the only place any of us can start – acknowledging our own responsibility to pave a different road for our own lives, our own words, our own actions. We can be transformed just like the Forest Service and Princeton University to stand for undoing racism and a new way of treating each of Creator’s beautiful creations, land/air/animals included.

Healing awaits us, my brothers and sisters.


Wednesday, September 9, 2020

Connection

 

We had turned to leave, the ICU machines and monitors beeping their goodbyes.

Working at the University of New Mexico’s Hospital as a family physician, I had come to visit this patient with a colleague who is a physician assistant upon the request of the ICU team.

Our patient, Ms. Armijo, an elderly woman who'd been hospitalized in critical condition after emergency abdominal surgery for abdominal pain called out after us: “You know, the thing I am really worried about is being all alone.”

As we turned around, and I saw Ms. Armijo’s fright amidst her frail, failing body.

I had thought that our lengthy, pathology-driven questioning had covered all of the bases pretty thoroughly. Where do you hurt? How do you hurt? Are the pain meds working for you?

Now, frozen in mid-stride by her question, I realized that we had neglected the most important thing: Connectedness.

COVID had forced our hospital to adopt a no-visitors policy. On every floor, the hand-holding and bedside banter that partners, siblings, neighbors and coworkers normally lavish on hospital patients was replaced by a sickening silence. Even I, a family physician, couldn't visit my own patients who'd been hospitalized or sent to skilled nursing facilities due to COVID.

Imagine yourself in that ICU bed. Scared for your life, feeling so weak that you cannot even lift a spoon to your mouth--and suffering all of this alone, without the comfort of your loved ones at your side.

This was the situation Ms. Armijo was facing. Not only that, she didn't even have her connection to her family and the outside world with her cell phone missing. No wonder she was distraught!

Our team went back to her bedside. This time we did the listening, not the talking.

“I have no idea what happened to my cell phone in all of this,” she started.

“Have you been able to talk with your sister and family?” I asked.

“No, and that’s what I am really worried about. My sister who takes care of me and she must be going crazy not knowing how I am doing. Sitting here, I don’t think they even know if I made it out of surgery alive! If it weren’t for the pandemic, they would be sitting right here by my side.”

I was being taught, the physician as the student, my patient Ms. Armijo as my teacher.

“Thank you for sharing”, was all I could muster.

“This is not a ‘no news is good news’ scenario for them,” she added.

Listening to her speak, both what was spoken and lay in the pauses and expressions, I was not ashamed but more eager to be her student. To me, it felt like a direct, visceral reminder [or some such] that asking Ms. Armijo about her sense of connectedness, or otherwise, was as important as probing into her abdominal pain and lab results. We were being taught that you cannot have full health or healing if you're disconnected from those you love.

I've started to realize that connectedness can actually be considered as yet another vital sign--as important, in its way, as any heart rhythm or puff of breath.

And in these extraordinarily difficult times, loneliness can almost be considered a new medical condition, one affecting close to 100% of our hospitalized patients, one requiring its own treatment plan. This was true, I realized, not only for Ms. Armijo but for all of our hospitalized and nursing facility patients.

The phone was found by her family, discarded in the chaos that led to her ambulance ride to the hospital. Over the next few hours, with painstaking effort, it was delivered to the hospital - passed like a hot potato to the security guard at curbside, then to a nurse courier, past the badge-access checkpoints and, finally, safely into the hands of Ms. Armijo.

Her body still had a long way to go in terms of healing. But she was now connected back into her world, her support system.

Heading to the next patient on our list, we all knew which question we would ask first. It would not be about pain level, appetite, or bowel movements. Those would wait for later. First question would be simply, “How can we help connect you to those you love?”




* This piece was first published July 28th, 2020 by Pulses: Voices from the Heart of Medicine.