"Blesss Me, Ultima" with Miriam Colon (2012)

This film is like a poem. In fluent and ethereal ways the story unfolds about a boy, his grandmother and a bond that exists between them. The story takes place during the middle of World War Two in New Mexico.

A woman comes to live with Antonio’s family; the reason is never really clear why. It is known to the viewer that she delivered all of Antonio’s brothers and sisters. She has a reputation as a “curandera”; or a type of healer; and the boy is immediately drawn to her mystique. Adding to that aura is the way others react to her. They seem to want to keep her distant, which puzzles Antonio.

The boy and the woman take walks together and she teaches him all that she knows about the plants which cure; as well as the ones which will hurt. As they become closer he begins to understand that she is truly at one with nature. Indeed, nature is her God. She speaks with the trees and the rivers, passing that understanding to Antonio.

When a man in the village inadvertently stumble upon a coven of young women holding a blood sacrifice in the woods, he feels he has been cursed, and so takes to bed, seeming possessed and ready to die. No doctor; or Priest; has been able to cure him. This simple woman, who is usually reviled as a witch, is called upon to rid his body of the poison within; be it real or imagined. She takes Antonio with her only after he tells her he is not ashamed to be with her.

What follows will alter Antonio’s life and perceptions of those around him. And as time passes and the old woman gets ready to pass on, she reveals the biggest secret of all to Antonio; the secret of who we are and how we are connected to the world in which we live.

Fluently directed and well written, this film is carefully paced and will leave you thinking about life; and death; just in a different way.

This film is from a contemporary classic novel first released in 1972. It has won many awards for literature and is emblematic of the Chicano struggle for identity in a multicultural society. For more about the book, see Wikipedia at;

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bless_Me,_Ultima

Colonoscopy - Not Always Routine

Last Thursday I went in for a routine Colonoscopy. For those lucky enough to be unfamiliar with the term, a colonoscopy is a procedure whereby a fiber optic cable is inserted into your intestines via your anus; which is a tricky procedure at best; requiring well trained hands and eyes on the part of the doctor who performs the procedure. The only thing missing from the equation is an allowance which must be made for the doctor’s hearing, which may not always be on a par with his skill in the hands and eyes department.

To be fair, I am a difficult case. I am afflicted with a defective gene called HLA-B27, and as a result of this I have several medical conditions which turn the standard procedure of performing a colonoscopy into a tricky affair. With the patient needing to be “prepped” for the procedure by the means of a very potent chemical which makes Ex-Lax sound like a Hershey’s Kiss, the preparation can leave the patient devoid of any of their daily medications, and even open to dehydration. Such is the case with me.

Because of my medical problems I have always felt it incumbent upon myself to make these concerns and needs known well in advance; just as I did with this “procedure”. I even wrote my concerns in large block letters on each of the myriad of forms I was required to fill out prior to the event. So, in essence, everyone concerned with the performance of my colonoscopy had a veritable road map, if you will, of my medical problems, as well as any concerns I had about the course of my treatment, which was scheduled to last 3 hours, start to finish. Those concerns included extreme pain, dehydration, and the possibility of perforating my colon, which is one of the things that killed my mother.

7 hours and 45 minutes after entering the facility where my colonoscopy was being performed, I was released with my blood pressure 50% higher than normal; dehydrated; and with a bruised colon. During the procedure the doctor had come close to perforating my colon and I was rushed into another area of the building, with the doctor running alongside my wheelchair holding my IV aloft. He looked as white as a sheet at a Klan rally, which did much to ease my concerns and fears.

Some x-rays were taken and there was some whispering between the doctor and the x-ray tech before the tech insisted on having a real opinion of the x-ray rendered by the Resident doctor on call. This was done very quickly and it was decided that my colon had not been perforated, which would have resulted in a need for the same type of surgery which began my mother’s march toward death. So that was good.

The reason I am writing this is to help dispel a troubling concern I have about these procedures being done at an alarmingly increasing pace, with no regard for the individual patient and any special medical needs which our rapidly aging population may require. There seems to be no criteria for the impaired or special needs patient when it comes to a colonoscopy.

My advice; for what it may be worth; would be to perform this procedure in a hospital, where the patient can be “prepped” while attached to an IV, with any applicable daily medications infused through the IV. The patient can also recover from the procedure without the threat of having to be transferred to the hospital if they don’t “wake up.” That is exactly what happened in my case; I was scolded awake, in extreme pain, dehydrated, and being yelled at; threatened with hospitalization unless I “woke up.”

Millions of these procedures are performed each year without any problems at all. While this is laudable, it has also ushered in a sense of complacency which is completely at odds with the severe complications that may arise when dealing with a patient who is both elderly and compromised. And, it is especially galling when you have provided a “road map” showing every concern and pitfall which might be expected while dealing with your body.

The doctors who perform these procedures, and the staff who support them, all have degrees and certifications in their fields. And I respect those as emblems of their knowledge. On the other hand, I bear every scar and mark of trauma from anything which has ever happened to me. In that respect there is no greater authority on my body than I. You might say that I hold a Post Doctorate in being me. The only thing which I ask is that this knowledge be granted the same respect as I grant theirs.

Interesting note; the people at the facility where the doctor performed my procedure have called me, apologizing for the problems which occurred, and asking how I was doing. The doctor fled the scene faster than the assassins in Dealey Plaza, and in spite of a call which I have placed to his office, as of this writing, I have not heard back yet.

"Fever Season" by Jeanette Keith (2012)

Science, religion and an epidemic outbreak combine to fuel this story of the Yellow Fever outbreak in Memphis in the summer of 1878. Just as they always have, science and religion were  both battling one another in the 19^th century; only this time they were both fighting as one; to save the life of their city.

Beginning with a background on the history of Memphis, centering mostly on the days leading up to; and including the Civil War; the author paints a picture of the town, and its inhabitants on the Mississippi River. What little was known about the disease is discussed, and a history of prior epidemics; including the 1873 Smallpox/Yellow Fever outbreak; give the reader a sense of being “in the moment”, armed with limited knowledge about the disease and how it spreads. This part of the book has definite applications today, when some segments of society refuse inoculations for diseases which have been under control for decades; or more; in obedience to a religious or tribal doctrine. They are unwittingly turning back the clock to a time when annual outbreaks of various epidemics killed thousands at a time.

In the 1873 outbreak, the town’s entire leadership fled, leaving the populace to fend for themselves. But, in the 1878 outbreak, some remained. They established committees to administer aid to the sick and dying; enlisted donations of food from Washington, as well as the surrounding states; even had former slaves working side by side with whites, which was unheard of at the time. There is no enemy as potent as yellow fever to make people forget their superficial differences, at least for a while.

These local leaders found themselves in a quandary; one which is still applicable today; most, if not all, of the leaders were former Confederates who believed in limited government, state’s rights, and above all else; the Constitution, which made no reference to supplying aid to states in time of crisis. Now, they needed, and were glad to receive this aid from their former enemies. I can’t help but wonder what they didn’t understand about the phrase “to promote the general welfare…” in the preamble to the Constitution.

There were rampant burglaries committed during this time. Some residents arrived home; after the outbreak had subsided; only to find the corpse of a dead burglar lying in the house, a victim of yellow fever, as well as greed.

But, at the same time as these few crimes were being committed, Nuns worked alongside of prostitutes as Memphians put religion, class and even racial differences to the side as they battled the advance of the disease. The scarcity of food was the real danger to civil order. In the Black and Irish quarters; where people felt they were being shortchanged; a petition was drawn up and posted, warning Memphians that “...we can’t starve and don’t intend to do so…if something is not done…. We shall take the law into our own hands.” The food was distributed equally and no mob violence was necessary.

In spite of malicious reports; all untrue; of African-Americans raping sick and dying women, no race riot occurred. People were simply too busy staying alive and helping one another to engage in such trivialities. As a matter of fact, during the entire outbreak, the streets were patrolled by Negro troops and even deputies. And so much help poured in from the Northern states; which only 13 years previous had been the enemy; that many Memphians of that generation would never refer to a Northerner by the derogatory term “Yankee” again.

Even people not acclimated to the fever came to Memphis to help. A male physician, Dr. Besancny, traveled to Memphis and came to the aid of one woman, Miss D.P. Rutter, and after her health was restored he took ill, and she nursed him. A month later they were married, with no doubt that their “ties that Bind” were extra strong due to the nature of their courtship.

There were many and varied reactions to the outbreak, with both heroes and villains enough to fill several books. The author has chosen the finest examples of both, with an emphasis on what we can all do to help one another in times of crisis. This was a time when Protestant and Catholic were bitterly divided, but the outbreak of the fever called upon all of the different religious sects to act as one to defeat a common enemy. In the Jewish community there had been 3,000 people at the onset of the disease. On Rosh Hashanah in 1878, there were only 18 people at services held jointly by the Orthodox and Reform Congregations.

J.M. Keating, editor of the Memphis Appeal, stayed in the stricken city for the duration, keeping lines of communication open and acting on all of the necessary committees required in keeping order and providing whatever means available to alleviate the suffering. He is truly one of the heroes in this story, and shines as a beacon of what the press; and its attendant power; can accomplish when in the hands of principled persons.

There are many stories in our history which illuminate the dark side of human nature. What a pleasure to read a book about a time and place, where; challenged by the most virulent of opponents; people stood together, helped one another as best they could, and even learned from that experience. In the face of recent events, both here and abroad, Ms. Keith has given us a glimpse of man’s “better angels.”