The Street Child

Surprisingly, I was able to leave work early today. The workload was not too heavy and I finished early enough to go home right before lunch time. I got off at the usual subway station, and started walking towards my house. I realized that there was no food cooked at my house, since I always eat lunch at the hospital's cafeteria, and that cooking something would take me too long and I was not in the mood for it. So, I spotted a McDonald's close by and I decided to go in and have a Big Mac for lunch and then just get home and SLEEP.

As I approached the McDonald's, a street child approached me, trying to sell me some candy. He was enthusiastic about the candy he was selling, and he tried to convince me that it was the best quality candy on the market. I did not feel like eating candy, but I saw desperation hidden behind his smile.

-"Have you eaten anything today?" -I asked.
-"No." -He replied.

So I invited him to lunch at McDonald's. At least I wouldn't eat by myself, which I hate. He ordered a Happy Meal and I got my much desired Big Mac. I was surprised he didn't order more, but then I remembered I didn't have more money on me, so I didn't insist much on him ordering anything else.

We got our food and we sat down to eat. I immediately started to make a visual assessment of his overall health and nutritional status. It's called "Habitus Externus" in medicine. Judging by his external appearance, he belonged to a low-income family, was slightly underweight for his height and age, but fortunately, he did not look malnourished. I asked him about himself. He told me is 8 years old, he goes to school during the day and sells candy in the evenings. His older brother gets him the boxes of candy so he can sell them and contribute some money to the household. He explained that his older brother works as a clown and also cleans windshields at many traffic lights, earning his living with the tips he gets form the drivers. He has a mother who works as a seamstress, and his father comes and goes, sometimes they don't see him for months, but whenever he's at home, he beats his mother and renders her unable to work for a few days, until her wounds are healed and she can go back to work. He also explains he has a baby brother who he adores.

-"Does he hit you?" -I asked.
-"No. Whenever he's home my older brother and I take the baby with us and we sleep on the streets, close to the house, until he leaves again. Then, we go back to the house and take care of our mother, who is usually badly beaten. We have told her to press charges, but she wont do it." -he said while eating his burger.

He explained that he uses the money he makes selling candy to buy his school supplies, and whenever him or his mother don't have enough money to do so, his older brother pitches in so he can have anything he needs to go to school. He is on his school's Honor Roll and he dreams of becoming a doctor one day. He also thanked me for buying him lunch. Apparently, by doing a "Habitus Externus" on me, and judging by my external appearance, he could infer that I didn't have much money and he was thankful that I still went ahead and got him lunch.

-"How do you know I don't have much money?" -I asked.
-"It's your shoes." -he replied.
-"What about them?" -I asked again, shocked.
-"If you had money you would have nicer shoes." -he pointed out.

Dammit, he was right. I am by far, the poorest doctor you know right now. My internship is unpaid and I survive on whatever money my parents can send me from Venezuela, a communist country with a strict currency exchange and with the highest inflation in the world. I also cover extra shifts at the hospital for my coworkers so they can pay me, and sometimes I teach Italian or theater to make extra money. It's almost over though, my internship ends in 6 months, and after that, I will be able to work as a salaried person. It's not like I'm starving, I have enough money to pay for food and bills, and sometimes I can eat at McDonald's or go out with friends, I just don't have income that I can save at this point. In contrast, I have absolutely no debt and my medical school is paid in full, no student loans necessary. Suze Orman would be proud of me. 

We finished eating and we left McDonald's. He gave me a lollipop as a way to thank me for lunch. We shook hands and we both went our separate ways. As I walked away, I felt inspired by this child and his optimism towards life. I also realized that I am, indeed, in dire need of new shoes.

The Best Christmas Present For An Atheist Doctor.

It is that time of the year when Christians around the globe celebrate the birth of their savior, Jesus. I have to admit that Christmas is always a confusing time of the year for me. As an atheist, I do not share the same Christian sentiment that surrounds the holiday, but as a human, I value the time that I get to spend with family and friends, telling them how much I love and appreciate each one of them. This Christmas is a little different though. I recently graduated from Medical School, and I am currently doing a one-year internship that is required before I can pursue any further training as a specialist. It is by no means an easy year; intern physicians have a grueling work schedule and for me, that means working Christmas Eve and New Year's day this year. This Christmas Eve, I happened to be working in the Perinatology department. My duties include, among other things, getting babies that were just born so I clean, measure and weight them, and also make sure they are breathing properly and have a good heart rate. It is an incredible feeling the one I get when I show the new mother her new child. That instant connection a mother makes with her newborn child is priceless, and I get to witness it everyday. At least it makes working holidays easier. But that day was different. The darker side of my profession caught up with me just the day before Christmas. I got to my shift and realized that among my patients was a woman whose full-term child had died inside of her just a few days before, and the baby had to be removed from inside of her so it would not cause her any harm. It was a tragedy, and I realized that I would have to be extra sensitive with her. I spoke with her a few minutes before her C-Section in order to explain how the whole process works. I could tell she was very nervous, but I could also see an emptiness and a sadness in her eyes that I have never seen before. I kept talking to her, but she kept gazing away, like my words were just faint whispers she could not hear. As I was in the middle of explaining the informed consent form to her, she turned her head towards me, looked straight into my eyes, and abruptly interrupted me, saying, "Can you baptize him once he is born?." There was silence. We kept looking into each other's eyes, waiting for the other to say something else, something different. I do not believe in God, but I realized this was not at all about me, but about giving someone else, someone going through a hard time, the chance to have a moment with her dead child. This was not about religion, it was about responding to human suffering like a human being. "Yes, of course. We have holy water in the hospital, I was baptized Catholic as a child and we doctors are allowed by the Catholic Church to perform emergency Baptisms in these situations." I replied. She nodded her head.

I got all the signatures I needed from her, and the nurses proceeded to take her to the Operating Room. Meanwhile, I started a scavenger hunt around the hospital looking for the holy water. Around half an hour later, I found it, and made my way back to the Operating Room, where the surgeons were getting ready to get her baby out of her womb. I scrubbed in and got ready to receive the baby, holy water in hand. This woman trusted me with this important task, and I was not about to let her down. Finally, the baby was handed to me. He was a beautiful, full-term baby boy. The crib where we clean the babies is right next to the operating bed, so she could see everything I was doing while the surgeons were finishing her C-Section. I clipped his umbilical cord, cleaned him, measured him and weighed him. I then proceeded to start the Baptism. I poured holy water on the baby's head and made the sign of the cross on his forehead while saying his given name and the words, "I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." Then, I proceeded to recite the "Our Father Prayer." When I was finished, I wrapped the baby in a white blanket and handed him to his mother. She was still in the operating bed and could not properly hold him, so I laid him next to her face, so she could see him and kiss him. She stared at him for what seemed like an eternity, and told him how much she loved him. She said she would miss him and that she would never forget him, all of this while tears poured like rivers from her eyes. She then looked at me, still crying and said, "You have no idea...thank you." I nodded my head, holding back my own tears, remembering to keep my professional behavior at all times but making sure she knew I was there for her. After some time, I took the baby back to his crib; his little body would be later taken from there so it could be picked up by the funeral home. My job was done. As I left the Operating Room the woman and I locked eyes again, her eyes were still teary but this time they had hope inside. "Thank you," she said again. I nodded my head again, held her hand briefly, and exited the room, realizing that I had just received the most special Christmas gift ever given to me in the form of the purest and most sincere "Thank You."