I'm thinking that I should rename my blog, Inspired by Dr. Rao. In the same post that he mentioned Bharathnatyam, he mentioned that there was a sunflower painting by Van Gogh that he had seen a thousand times and yet never tired of it. I was intrigued, and a little embarrassed that art had never moved me that way.
Still, there are books that I feel that way about. Well, I don't have time to read any book 1,000 times, but I love classic books because I can read them over and over and get something different out of them every time. If fine art could move me in the same way; I had to know!
So I went to the library and got a book. I settled for one of those books with the name everyone loves to hate, Art for Dummies. The author, Thomas Hoving, made a similar observation about being able to see a painting or sculpture over and over and still marvel at it. Even better he claimed that anyone could have this experience if they simply immerse themselves in art. He was even generous enough to say that one could start with clay frogs, and that gradually one's taste would evolve. With that encouragement, I went to the Internet to look at art. As a working mother of five, I couldn't just run out to an art museum! Being the impulsive person that I can be, there was no way I was going to mess around with clay frogs and hope my love of art would evolve. I just googled fine art. Why not jump right in?
Wow! I was almost instantly addicted. The amazing thing is that I have looked at fine art before and it didn't move me the way it does now. There is a quote by Clinton Fadiman that says (paraphrasing), "When you reread a classic you see things in it that you did not see before. Not that the book has changed, but you have changed." I'm grateful that I have changed into someone who can appreciate art.
Because I love people and cultures, I approached the art (this time) from that perspective. What was the artist trying to say? Why did he chose this subject, these colors, etc? More importantly I asked myself, what does this painting say to ME?
In hopes that you will also be moved to explore fine art, I would like to share some art that has captured my heart and why it moves me so.
Irises by Van Gogh I was at first drawn to this simply because I love Irises. What really moves me though is that Van Gogh painted this picture while he was in the hospital. It was a hospital garden. I remember one of the times I was in the hospital (in the past 3 years I spent a little over 3 weeks in the hospital...not not consecutively.) I remember during one of the week long stays being feeling very afraid about the future...if indeed there would be a future. I remember when the hospital staff let me go on a walk without a chaperon. I walked outside to a beautiful garden. The flowers, the sunshine, it was so uplifting. Sometimes words are not enough to describe a feeling, but it was a tender moment. When I look at Van Gogh's Irises, I am reminded of that time.
Starry Night Over the Rhone I love the stars. I love water. How could I resist this painting? I love the couple in the right corner. This reminds me of my husband and I facing life, both the storms and the sunsets together.
Maternity Before I started really looking into art, there was one thing I thought I knew...that I didn't like Picasso. I still don't have an appreciation for abstract art, but this painting by him is incredible.
Breakfast in Bed This is my favorite picture so far. To me it is a celebration of motherhood, which I love. It has been said that a picture is worth a thousand words. So I will just let you see the picture, and hope you understand what I can't find the words to say.
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Friday, January 2, 2009
The Culture of Healers
Lately I am fascinated with the culture of Doctors, nurses...healers. Years ago (we won't talk about how many) when I was 17, I took an EMT class. I turned 18 by the time the class ended and was able to take the test and become an EMT. I loved the class. I love medicine.
Working on the ambulance (which I did for about two years) however was a different experience. I was very uncomfortable with it. When I was under pressure (and being on an ambulance IS pressure!) it seemed that everything I had learned evaporated from my brain and I was left clueless, helpless, and hopeless. In my own defense, when I turned in my "two week notice" and explained this concern to my boss he encouraged me to stay and said he had no complaints from my partners. Whew!
Still that was not the only problem. I also found out that I am rather shy about touching strangers. Definately a problem for an EMT. The biggest problem though was the emotional attachment. I wanted to take everyone home with me, and when we lost one...that was too much. An EMT certification needs to be renewed every two years. When my two years was up, I didn't renew.
The company I worked with did transports as well as emergency calls, so we did a lot of transports for people to and from radiation treatments and from the hospital to the nursing home etc.
There was one teenage boy who had cancer and every day he needed to be transported for some treatment. I remember the first time I saw him lying there in bed, he had to have been 6 ft tall, and I thought, "oh this boy needs to be playing basketball, not lying in a hospital bed." We were all rejoyced with him as he began to get his strength back and the nurses put up a sign "speed limit 1 mph" trying to urge him not to overdue it. Eventually he left Tucson, where I worked and returned to his home town.
One day, we had a transport to the town where this boy lived. We dropped off our patient at the hospital there and as we were getting ready to leave I saw this boy's family. I was happy to see them again, and rushed over. I asked them how he was doing, without speaking they took me to his room, where he lay in bed. He was in a coma. I went to his bedside and held his hand. I started crying; I couldn't help it. I am crying now as I type this. His family came over and hugged me and we wept together.
This and other experiences helped me decide that the medical field was not the place I wanted to be. I am still fascinated with medicine, but like a tourist on safari for me it is better observed from a distance.
So I am curious what motivates people to work in the medical profession? In search of answers to these questions, I turned to books (by now you are not surprised at that, right?) I am still pondering, but for now I wanted to share a couple books I have found helpful and interesting.
My Stroke of Insight by Jill Bolte Taylor is a fascinating memoir by a brain scientist who had a stroke and recovered. Your initial thought might be that that sounds boring, but trust me it isn't. If you look up the book at amazon.com, they have a link to an excerpt of her giving a presentation about her experience. Just watch it and you will see that she is not boring at all. Highly recommended!
How Doctors Think by Jerome Groopman This book really answers some of my "doctor culture" questions and his style of writing is very enjoyable. As a patient, I found it a little eye opening and a little disconcerting. Definately a worthwhile read.
Anatomy of Hope by Jerome Groopman I like this one better than his other book and I would call this a "must read". It was uplifting and inspiring. It gave me much to think about.
On Call: A Doctor's Days and Nights in Residency by Emily R. Transue I just picked this one up from the library, so I haven't read it yet. Though if the dust jacket is a reliable indicator, this book may have more answers to my questions. At any rate it looks interesting.
Since I am really getting interested in memoirs, I turned to blogs. Here are my two favorite "doctor" blogs:
http://itsabooger.blogspot.com/ I love the variety in this blog. The posts cover a wide range of topics, ranging from medicine, family, to rants about the neighborhood slum lord. It is very well written and engaging. Funny too, which is always a nice breath of air. My only complaint is that it is too short. I hope that there will be more posts forthcoming.
http://badakerecrao.blogspot.com/ This blog is by a 67 year old, some what cantankerous old doctor in India. Of course, it speaks to me in two ways. I love the posts about his patients, but I also really love the cultural experience his experience being in another country. You know he has his patients keep their medical charts with them, and bring them when they come in? He does a lot of house calls to, can you imagine?
Working on the ambulance (which I did for about two years) however was a different experience. I was very uncomfortable with it. When I was under pressure (and being on an ambulance IS pressure!) it seemed that everything I had learned evaporated from my brain and I was left clueless, helpless, and hopeless. In my own defense, when I turned in my "two week notice" and explained this concern to my boss he encouraged me to stay and said he had no complaints from my partners. Whew!
Still that was not the only problem. I also found out that I am rather shy about touching strangers. Definately a problem for an EMT. The biggest problem though was the emotional attachment. I wanted to take everyone home with me, and when we lost one...that was too much. An EMT certification needs to be renewed every two years. When my two years was up, I didn't renew.
The company I worked with did transports as well as emergency calls, so we did a lot of transports for people to and from radiation treatments and from the hospital to the nursing home etc.
There was one teenage boy who had cancer and every day he needed to be transported for some treatment. I remember the first time I saw him lying there in bed, he had to have been 6 ft tall, and I thought, "oh this boy needs to be playing basketball, not lying in a hospital bed." We were all rejoyced with him as he began to get his strength back and the nurses put up a sign "speed limit 1 mph" trying to urge him not to overdue it. Eventually he left Tucson, where I worked and returned to his home town.
One day, we had a transport to the town where this boy lived. We dropped off our patient at the hospital there and as we were getting ready to leave I saw this boy's family. I was happy to see them again, and rushed over. I asked them how he was doing, without speaking they took me to his room, where he lay in bed. He was in a coma. I went to his bedside and held his hand. I started crying; I couldn't help it. I am crying now as I type this. His family came over and hugged me and we wept together.
This and other experiences helped me decide that the medical field was not the place I wanted to be. I am still fascinated with medicine, but like a tourist on safari for me it is better observed from a distance.
So I am curious what motivates people to work in the medical profession? In search of answers to these questions, I turned to books (by now you are not surprised at that, right?) I am still pondering, but for now I wanted to share a couple books I have found helpful and interesting.
My Stroke of Insight by Jill Bolte Taylor is a fascinating memoir by a brain scientist who had a stroke and recovered. Your initial thought might be that that sounds boring, but trust me it isn't. If you look up the book at amazon.com, they have a link to an excerpt of her giving a presentation about her experience. Just watch it and you will see that she is not boring at all. Highly recommended!
How Doctors Think by Jerome Groopman This book really answers some of my "doctor culture" questions and his style of writing is very enjoyable. As a patient, I found it a little eye opening and a little disconcerting. Definately a worthwhile read.
Anatomy of Hope by Jerome Groopman I like this one better than his other book and I would call this a "must read". It was uplifting and inspiring. It gave me much to think about.
On Call: A Doctor's Days and Nights in Residency by Emily R. Transue I just picked this one up from the library, so I haven't read it yet. Though if the dust jacket is a reliable indicator, this book may have more answers to my questions. At any rate it looks interesting.
Since I am really getting interested in memoirs, I turned to blogs. Here are my two favorite "doctor" blogs:
http://itsabooger.blogspot.com/ I love the variety in this blog. The posts cover a wide range of topics, ranging from medicine, family, to rants about the neighborhood slum lord. It is very well written and engaging. Funny too, which is always a nice breath of air. My only complaint is that it is too short. I hope that there will be more posts forthcoming.
http://badakerecrao.blogspot.com/ This blog is by a 67 year old, some what cantankerous old doctor in India. Of course, it speaks to me in two ways. I love the posts about his patients, but I also really love the cultural experience his experience being in another country. You know he has his patients keep their medical charts with them, and bring them when they come in? He does a lot of house calls to, can you imagine?
Gangs and Families
I love to study different cultures...and I loosely define culture as groups of people who think the same way. Therefore, a culture could be a group of people who are of the same "race", or a religion, or people that are interested in the same thing i.e. homeschooling.
I work with teenage boys in a foster care group home. Several of them are members of gangs. Naturally I decided I have a unique opportunity here to learn more about "gang culture" by going to the source.
One evening one of the boys was drawing gang insignia on a poster board and I figured that was an invitation. So I hesitantly began asking him questions. I didn't really expect him to be very forth coming. Surprisingly he was as long as I asked direct questions.
I asked him which gang he belonged to. "Family," he corrected. I said, "ok whatever," and the conversation continued. I really didn't take the family idea very seriously.
I felt awkward at first so trying to be coy, I said, "So how did you join the gang? Did you just tell them you wanted to be a member?" He just looked at me as if to say, "I know you are not THAT stupid," and said nothing. So I rephrased my question being candid and honest this time. "Ok, I have heard that to join a gang you have to be 'jumped in', and I want to know if that is true."
He said, "Yes, in my gang you stand in the center of a circle of 13 guys." Thirteen seems to be an important number to hispanic gangs. "One guy gives the signal and they all start beating you for a couple minutes, then they stop."
You are probably thinking what I was thinking, "What an insane ritual! Why would anyone want to do that?" Then suddenly it hit me, why they do it. Because gangs are often involved in fights, they want to know that prospective new members can handle the pressure of a fight and not turn 'coward' and run when they need you. The reason someone would subject themselves to that is because the streets can be a dangerous place, and it helps to have "family" (we would say a gang), to watch your back. And he didn't mention...but I assume...assist you in getting drugs more easily. Of course, just being in a gang makes the streets even more dangerous, but the boys don't seem to think through this part of it.
"So what about girls?" I asked. Again he gave me the look and was silent. "Ok, I heard that girls who want to join a gang are gang raped or have to have sex with the gang members, is that true?" He said that in some gangs it is, or when a girl is the first female member of that gang. But in his gang, a girl who wants to join is "jumped in" by other girls, just as the boys are.
I asked him other questions and found out that it is generally true that there are higher up gang members who give out assignments to the lower level members. I asked him what kind of assignments he had as living in a group home he had very little freedom. He said his assignment is to do recruiting kind of work while he is at school. Lovely. . .
"Is it true that when you join a gang you are basically in for life? And what happens if you change your mind, can't you just move cross country and start a new life?" I wondered.
He said "yes you are in for life, and no you can't just move across country. Eventually, they will find you. There's always someone who knows someone who will recognize you. And when they do, they will be furious that you turned your back on the family."
Personally, I don't think it is impossible to leave a gang, I knew someone at church once that was an ex-gangbanger. But I don't really know if he was looking over his shoulder constantly for the first few years. What is interesting though is that the active members of the gang feel they can't leave (and in the case of the boy I talked to, don't want to).
"So is John," (not his real name,) "a member of your gang too?" He laughed at that and said, "No I think he belongs to his dad's gang." Holy cow, you mean this really is a family affair? Yikes.
On a different day I asked another boy why he had chosen to be in gang and he said, "Oh, it just seemed like the thing to do. My father, uncles, brothers are all in gangs."
These conversations left me intrigued, and I wanted to know more. All my life when I have wanted to know something I find a book and this time was no different. I found a book called, "Under and Alone"by William Queen. It is about an ATF officer who infiltrated the Mongol Motorcycle gang. They are said to be the most dangerous motorcycle gang in America. I bet you thought the Hell's Angels held that title. So did I. Apparently the Mongols and the Hell's Angels are bitter rivals, but the Mongols have a reputation for being the more violent.
Unfortunately, I can't recommend the book to you since the language is pretty harsh. Normally, I don't read books with that language either, but I hear it at work and I wanted to know about gangs so I made an exception in this case.
"Under and Alone" illuminated the idea of a gang being a family. In one part of the book, "Billy's" aunt died. She had been like a mother to him and he grieved her loss as one would a mother. He took some time off for the funeral and upon returning went to the office. He said he saw several ATF officers and other staff who all knew he where he had been and why, and no one mentioned his loss. Then he went to meet up with the Mongols for a "manadatory" bike run. The first Mongol that saw him grabbed him in a tremendous bear hug and said, "Billy, I'm so sorry about your loss." Then another Mongol did the same, and another and another. As the day went on, each arriving Mongol greeted him in the same way. He was stunned and deeply moved. He felt more friendship and compassion for his loss from this gang members than he had from his co-workers. At that moment he wanted to just get on his bike and ride off and truly be "Billy St. John" and leave his other life as an ATF officer behind. It was a difficult time for him, but he told himself, "Get a grip, if these guys found out you are an undercover cop they will shoot you on the spot." Still it was a difficult time for him.
That explains one aspect of the gang=family phenomenon.
Something else occured to me. Years ago, I lived in Bethel, Alaska (working with juvenile delinquents). Bethel is in "the bush", and I found it to be very lonely. One day I had an opportunity to talk to the pyschiatrist who came to see the kids. He asked me how I was adjusting and I told him it was hard because the people there won't invite you into their hearts and lives until you have been around for at least a year. "Why would I stick around for a year if I have no friends?" I asked. He explained to me that because of the harsh living conditions in the Bush, what starts out as an ordinary day can quickly become a life or death experience. When people live together in life or death situations, they develop a special sort of bond. And what is gang life if not a daily life or death experience?
All this makes me think, of course, about my family. Besides my biological family, I consider my church associates "family", and I consider some of my close friends as family. As you know, families can bring our greatest joy, and also be our greatest heartache. Fortunately neither of my families would try to kill me if I decided to leave them. Although at times, I might want to kill them!
To my families, I love you and thanks for being my "gang".
I work with teenage boys in a foster care group home. Several of them are members of gangs. Naturally I decided I have a unique opportunity here to learn more about "gang culture" by going to the source.
One evening one of the boys was drawing gang insignia on a poster board and I figured that was an invitation. So I hesitantly began asking him questions. I didn't really expect him to be very forth coming. Surprisingly he was as long as I asked direct questions.
I asked him which gang he belonged to. "Family," he corrected. I said, "ok whatever," and the conversation continued. I really didn't take the family idea very seriously.
I felt awkward at first so trying to be coy, I said, "So how did you join the gang? Did you just tell them you wanted to be a member?" He just looked at me as if to say, "I know you are not THAT stupid," and said nothing. So I rephrased my question being candid and honest this time. "Ok, I have heard that to join a gang you have to be 'jumped in', and I want to know if that is true."
He said, "Yes, in my gang you stand in the center of a circle of 13 guys." Thirteen seems to be an important number to hispanic gangs. "One guy gives the signal and they all start beating you for a couple minutes, then they stop."
You are probably thinking what I was thinking, "What an insane ritual! Why would anyone want to do that?" Then suddenly it hit me, why they do it. Because gangs are often involved in fights, they want to know that prospective new members can handle the pressure of a fight and not turn 'coward' and run when they need you. The reason someone would subject themselves to that is because the streets can be a dangerous place, and it helps to have "family" (we would say a gang), to watch your back. And he didn't mention...but I assume...assist you in getting drugs more easily. Of course, just being in a gang makes the streets even more dangerous, but the boys don't seem to think through this part of it.
"So what about girls?" I asked. Again he gave me the look and was silent. "Ok, I heard that girls who want to join a gang are gang raped or have to have sex with the gang members, is that true?" He said that in some gangs it is, or when a girl is the first female member of that gang. But in his gang, a girl who wants to join is "jumped in" by other girls, just as the boys are.
I asked him other questions and found out that it is generally true that there are higher up gang members who give out assignments to the lower level members. I asked him what kind of assignments he had as living in a group home he had very little freedom. He said his assignment is to do recruiting kind of work while he is at school. Lovely. . .
"Is it true that when you join a gang you are basically in for life? And what happens if you change your mind, can't you just move cross country and start a new life?" I wondered.
He said "yes you are in for life, and no you can't just move across country. Eventually, they will find you. There's always someone who knows someone who will recognize you. And when they do, they will be furious that you turned your back on the family."
Personally, I don't think it is impossible to leave a gang, I knew someone at church once that was an ex-gangbanger. But I don't really know if he was looking over his shoulder constantly for the first few years. What is interesting though is that the active members of the gang feel they can't leave (and in the case of the boy I talked to, don't want to).
"So is John," (not his real name,) "a member of your gang too?" He laughed at that and said, "No I think he belongs to his dad's gang." Holy cow, you mean this really is a family affair? Yikes.
On a different day I asked another boy why he had chosen to be in gang and he said, "Oh, it just seemed like the thing to do. My father, uncles, brothers are all in gangs."
These conversations left me intrigued, and I wanted to know more. All my life when I have wanted to know something I find a book and this time was no different. I found a book called, "Under and Alone"by William Queen. It is about an ATF officer who infiltrated the Mongol Motorcycle gang. They are said to be the most dangerous motorcycle gang in America. I bet you thought the Hell's Angels held that title. So did I. Apparently the Mongols and the Hell's Angels are bitter rivals, but the Mongols have a reputation for being the more violent.
Unfortunately, I can't recommend the book to you since the language is pretty harsh. Normally, I don't read books with that language either, but I hear it at work and I wanted to know about gangs so I made an exception in this case.
"Under and Alone" illuminated the idea of a gang being a family. In one part of the book, "Billy's" aunt died. She had been like a mother to him and he grieved her loss as one would a mother. He took some time off for the funeral and upon returning went to the office. He said he saw several ATF officers and other staff who all knew he where he had been and why, and no one mentioned his loss. Then he went to meet up with the Mongols for a "manadatory" bike run. The first Mongol that saw him grabbed him in a tremendous bear hug and said, "Billy, I'm so sorry about your loss." Then another Mongol did the same, and another and another. As the day went on, each arriving Mongol greeted him in the same way. He was stunned and deeply moved. He felt more friendship and compassion for his loss from this gang members than he had from his co-workers. At that moment he wanted to just get on his bike and ride off and truly be "Billy St. John" and leave his other life as an ATF officer behind. It was a difficult time for him, but he told himself, "Get a grip, if these guys found out you are an undercover cop they will shoot you on the spot." Still it was a difficult time for him.
That explains one aspect of the gang=family phenomenon.
Something else occured to me. Years ago, I lived in Bethel, Alaska (working with juvenile delinquents). Bethel is in "the bush", and I found it to be very lonely. One day I had an opportunity to talk to the pyschiatrist who came to see the kids. He asked me how I was adjusting and I told him it was hard because the people there won't invite you into their hearts and lives until you have been around for at least a year. "Why would I stick around for a year if I have no friends?" I asked. He explained to me that because of the harsh living conditions in the Bush, what starts out as an ordinary day can quickly become a life or death experience. When people live together in life or death situations, they develop a special sort of bond. And what is gang life if not a daily life or death experience?
All this makes me think, of course, about my family. Besides my biological family, I consider my church associates "family", and I consider some of my close friends as family. As you know, families can bring our greatest joy, and also be our greatest heartache. Fortunately neither of my families would try to kill me if I decided to leave them. Although at times, I might want to kill them!
To my families, I love you and thanks for being my "gang".
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