-Tortillas hechas a Mano-

March 2018

On my last day of clinic I saw a Latina Elder. Gray and white hair fell to her shoulders, and she was no taller than 5 feet. She is an 82 year old mujer living with rheumatoid arthritis amongst other chronic illnesses that she has been able to manage off and on. Her movements have been slowed by her illness and every other step she took you could see her face cringe from the pain. Still she smiled as we shuffled along and got to know one another a little more as we took little breaks for her to catch her breath as we neared the exam room.

I asked her to step on the scale and as her husband helped her find her balance she commented that her weight would be lower. She disclosed that she loved hand made tortillas but could no longer make them. My heart opened even more to her story. We sat down, we talked about her health and I listened to her tell me more about her illness. Rheumatoid had stiffened her hands- – I had noticed this as we were walking. Her fingers deviated to one side, swollen joints and rigid muscle tone.

I mentioned to her that one of my favorite things was to make tortillas because it reminded me of my family. She then stopped me and asked “hablas español?” And I confirmed that I did. Her smile got even bigger and her eyes and posture perked up. With her smile she shared with me how much she loved to speak in Spanish, it reminds her of her family and her culture and growing up talking to her sisters.

We continued with our visit- we went over her Meds and concerns she would want to discuss with her provider. As we closed our conversation we naturally ended in Spanish. She reached both her hands out and grabbed mine to thank me for our conversation. I felt her wrinkled hands, cold to touch yet radiating so much energy and wisdom press down on mine. In that instant I felt connected to a much larger narrative and the reason I chose a career in medicine

She was my last patient of the day, on the last day of my clinic rotation. The timing could not have been better. I can only hope our conversation made a difference for her because it made a deep impact on me. What I realize in this moment is how much I miss speaking in Spanish, and how important it is to be able to connect with someone in Your own language. Our elders have so much to teach us, so much to share and even in these brief moments and visits we have the opportunity to recognize and witness their narrative.

The anniversary of my mother’s death is nearing, and I feel myself becoming more reflective, more aware and alert to the lessons around me. There is a fine line between countertransference and connection and in medicine we often limit our connection to patients to avoid this line. The señora I met that day reminded me that connection is part of a person’s health and wellness. I am thankful to all those individuals that have shared their illness narrative with me, to those that have allowed me to bare witness to their strength and vulnerabilities- Because of them I am a better person.