pulse of life - Western University of Health Sciences

Transcription

PULSE
OF LIFE
Contributing Authors, Poets, Artists and Photographers
Cover photo: Syed Jafri, DO ’15, “Cityscapes: Los Angeles”
Brion Benninger, MD
James Borke, MS, PhD
Farouk Bruce, OD ’17
Brenda Campbell
Catherine Chang
Roslyn Davis
Vincent Duong, PharmD ’15
Patricia Gomez
Kathleen Gozum, PharmD ’15
Syed Jafri, DO ’15
Zachariah Kamla, DO ’16
Phoebe Kemp, DVM ’15
Vincent Kennedy, DO ’17
Sandra Khanian, PharmD ’16
Ramni Khattar, DO ’15
Albert Lee, DO ’14
Joshua Geeming Lee, DO ’15
Jon Martin, DO ’16
Mona Marzban, PharmD ’16
Nina McCoy
Paula Nuguid, DPM ’15
Maryam Othman, MD, MPH
Jacklyn Palkert, DO ’16
Freesia Parekh, DO ’16
Kelly Parks, DPM ’16
Avni Patel, DO ’17
Himani Patel, DPM ’16
Elizabeth Pines, DO ’16
Laura Poindexter, DPM ’17
Kevin Ramirez, DO ’17
Priya Rao, DO ’15
Mara Rase, PharmD ’16
Luke Rauch
Sourav Roy, DO ’17
Mark Sah, DO ’15
Jesus Sanchez, DO ’04, MSHPE
Priya Saxena, DO ’15
Amelia Servin, DO ’15
Lauren Smith, DMD ’17
Derrick Sorweide, DO
Megan Sturdy, PhD, DO ’15
Talia Tabaroki, PharmD ’14
No Photo Available:
Brooke Bodart
Deanna Dunn, PharmD
Vanessa Majeski, DO ’17
Jenny Tjahjono, DMD
Jeffrey Tsai, DO ’16
Christina Vo, DO ’16
Jason John Wei, DO ’17
Shawn Whelan, DO ’17
Pulse
By Kevin Ramirez, DO ’17
We all start baseline---Thereafter quickly thrown up, then down.
Life ensues so wavering, continuous and rhythmic.
It’s a cycle of rising and falling, sunrise and sundown
Day by day, experience-by-experience, it’s constantly in fluctuation.
Will I rise or fall? The patterning is both.
The instant I stood to walk, I quickly tumbled.
The moment I rose to speak, I tripped over words.
The time I leaped to make friends, I fell out of the loop.
I am not always going to stay on top.
I realize I will come down,
But I’m not staying low either.
Living has its ups and downs.
That’s what makes it natural.
Uplifting or shattering, remarkable or painful.
Each breath takes us somewhere.
Our existence is continual, every beat pushes.
Up, down, up, down, up, down.
It’s so beautiful to see it rise,
And equally good to see it fall.
Because then you know, you’re alive.
Amelia Servin, DO ’15, COMP-Northwest | “Sunset Over Farmland”
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Western University of Health Sciences
Volume 17 • 2014
Table of Contents
1 Poetry and Photo
“Pulse” By Kevin Ramirez, DO ’17
Photo by Amelia Servin, DO ’15, COMP-Northwest
22 Photo Gallery
Vanessa Majeski, DO ’17, COMP-Northwest,
“Targeting Neglected Tropical Disease through Education”
4 President’s Message
Philip Pumerantz, PhD
President, Western University of Health Sciences
24 Making a Difference with Health Education
By Maryam Othman, MD, MPH, Director, Division of Global and
Community Health, Assistant Professor, Department of Social
Medicine and Healthcare Leadership, COMP
6 Editors’ Message
Brandon Samson, PharmD ‘16, Editor-in-Chief, Abigail Arguijo,
PharmD ‘15, Jolan Chou, MSBS ’13, Chad Easthouse, DVM ’17,
Kathleen Gozum, PharmD ’15, Whitney Greene, DVM ‘16,
Albert Lee, DO ‘14, Fisayo Nwachukwu, DO ’17,
Freesia Parekh, DO ’16, Thomas Schaefer, DVM ‘17,
Daryl Traylor, MSMS ‘14, Christina Vo, DO ’16, and
Elena Younessi, PharmD ‘15.
10 Advisor’s Message
Symbiosis is a Key to a Satisfying Career
James D. Scott, PharmD, FCCP, AAHIVP, Associate Dean for
Experiential and Professional Affairs, Associate Professor of
Pharmacy Practice and Administration, College of Pharmacy
12 Photo Gallery
Syed Jafri, DO ’15, “Cityscapes”
14 A Pulse in Practice
Kelly Parks, DPM ’16
16 Poetry and Photo
“Discovering the Pulse of Care” By Farouk Bruce, OD ’17
Photo by Shawn Whelan, DO ’17
17 What am I doing here?
Shawn Whelan, DO ’17
25 Being Human
Megan Sturdy, PhD, DO ’15, COMP-Northwest
26 Photo Gallery
Freesia Parekh, DO ’16, “Nicaraguan Medical Mission Trip”
27 Talking With Strangers
28 Photo Gallery
30 Pulse of Life
Brion Benninger, MD, Executive Director, Medical Anatomy
Center, Department of Medical Anatomical Sciences,
Department of Family Medicine, Department of OMM/NMM,
COMP-Northwest
Photo by Syed Jafri, DO ’15
32 Patient Care Beyond the Limits
Jesus Sanchez, DO ’04, MSHPE, MA, Assistant Professor of
NMM/OMM and Family Medicine, COMP
34 The Sonoran Blues
Zachariah John Kamla, DO ’16, COMP-Northwest
18 A Best Friend Forever
Mona Niki Marzban, PharmD ’16
36 The Pulse of a U.S. Army Ranger
Nina McCoy, Director of the Willed Body Program, WesternU
Pomona Campus
19 The Pulse of US!
Farouk Bruce, OD ’17
38 The Final Pulse
Mark Sah, DO ’15, COMP-Northwest
20 Peru 2013
Derrick Sorweide, DO, Assistant Professor of Family Medicine,
COMP-Northwest
39 Poetry and Photo
“Three Decades” by Jon Martin, DO ’16
Photo by Jason John Wei, DO ’17
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HUMANISM
IN THE
HEALTH SCIENCES 2014 • VOL. 17
Health Education Center at night by Jess Lopatynski, University Photographer
40 Poetry
”Gram” by Elizabeth Pines, DO ’16 and “Catch Me if You Can”
by Linda Schumacher, grandmother of Elizabeth Pines
57 Photo Gallery
Amelia Servin, DO ’15, COMP-Northwest,
“Tranquility of Rejuvenation”
41 Photo Galleries
Vincent Duong, PharmD ’15, and Patricia Gomez, Coordinator of
Affiliated Patient Care Services, Eye Care Center
58 Fine Art
Ramni Khattar, DO ’15
42 Dog Days of Depression
Phoebe Kemp, DVM ’15
59 Fine Art
Himani Patel, DPM ’16 and Mara Rase, PharmD ’16
43 Poetry and Artwork
Avni Patel, DO ’17
60 Poetry and Photo
“Humanism in Haiku” by Vincent Kennedy, DO ’17
Photo by Christina Vo, DO ’16
44 Fine Art
61 Poetry
Haiku by Kathleen Gozum, PharmD ’15
46 Inspiring Moments in Guatemala 2013
Jeffrey Tsai, DO ’16
62 Poetry and Photo
“Day In, Day Out” By Deanna Dunn, PharmD and
“Lullaby for Table Six” By Laura Poindexter, DPM ’17
48 Life Lessons
Joshua Geeming Lee, DO ’15
49 How Meaningful Life Connections Brought Me
to WesternU
Sandra Khanian, PharmD ’16
50 Poem and Photo
James Borke, MS, PhD, Professor, College of Dental Medicine
51 Maintaining Life’s Pulse
Paula Nuguid, DPM ’15
52 The Pulse of Life
Brenda Campbell, MA, University Advancement
53 Poetry and Photo
“A Compassionate Space” By Priya Rao, DO ’15
54 The Best Medicine
Catherine Chang, Instructor, Physician Assistant Education
56 Poetry
“Emergency Room” by Lauren Smith, DMD ’17
HUMANISM
IN THE
63 Finding Paradise in the Margins
64 Photo Gallery
66 The Pulse of Life is Hope Looking Forward
Roslyn Davis, Library Assistant, Harriet K. and Philip Pumerantz
Library
67 Interprofessional Collaboration Between the College of
Graduate Nursing and the College of Dental Medicine
Brooke Bodart, Center for Oral Health, and Jenny Tjahjono,
DMD, College of Dental Medicine, Clinical Managing Partner
68 Poem and Photo Gallery
“Expression Session” by Luke Rauch Recruitment and Public
Relations Officer, WesternU COMP-Northwest
70 Photo Gallery
72 Professionalism
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A MESSAGE FROM THE PRESIDENT
Hello everyone:
Each and every year, Humanism in the Health Sciences is one of the most
enjoyable things I read, and something I look forward to seeing months before
it actually is in my hands. You might think I’m saying that simply because it’s a
WesternU publication, but there’s a lot more that goes into my opinion than
just loyalty to the cause.
Humanism is planned, budgeted, written and edited by students, faculty, and
staff, which sets it apart from how most of WesternU’s published material is
done. The “grassroots” nature of the magazine is one of the things I love about
it. What’s more, each year the Humanism staff adopts a theme for the
magazine that serves as a unifying force for all of its content – another facet
that helps set it apart.
This year, the theme is “The Pulse of Life,” and you’ll be amazed and
impressed by the myriad ways “the pulse” has been interpreted and expanded
upon in the following pages. These stories, essays, poems and art come from
the heart and hands of WesternU family members – proof itself, in print, of
“The Pulse of Life” residing here.
I know you’ll enjoy Humanism in the Health Sciences as much as I always do.
My best to you all,
Philip Pumerantz, PhD
President, Western University of Health Sciences
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HUMANISM
IN THE
Opposite page: construction is almost complete on The Daumier, a new mixed-use student housing project on the WesternU Pomona campus adjacent to the Health
Professions Center. This page (top-bottom, left -right): COMP-Northwest Ice Cream Social, August 2013; Convocation and White Coat Ceremonies, August 2013;
Southern California Podiatric Medical Student Association at Club Day, August 2013; CGN students at the LA County Fair, September 2013; CVM launches a second
Veterinary Ambulatory Community Service (VACS) vehicle, October 2013; a memorial service honored 46 willed body donors, including six veterans, November 2013;
WesternU was a presenting sponsor for the American Diabetes Association's Step Out: Walk to Stop Diabetes Los Angeles, November 2013; 120 foster children received
gifts, enjoyed crafts, and shared a holiday meal at WesternU’s Santa’s Workshop, December 2013; a memorial service for long-time WesternU Board of Trustees Chairman
Warren Lawless was held January 2014; College of Pharmacy students present a lesson in microbiology to Pomona Health Career Ladder and American Indian Health
Career Ladder students, January 2014; College of Dental Medicine students provided free dental exams, cleanings, fluoride treatments and sealants for about 50 children
at the Give Kids a Smile event, February 2014; COMP Match Day celebrated the COMP Class of 2014, which had 108 students match through National Resident
Matching Program (NRMP), 69 through American Osteopathic Association, 11 through the military, one through San Francisco Match and one through the Canadian
Resident Matching Service, March 2014.
HUMANISM
IN THE
5
EDITORS’ MESSAGE
From left to right: Brandon Samson, PharmD ’16, Albert Lee, DO ’14, Thomas Schaefer, DVM ’17, Kathleen Gozum, PharmD ’15, Christina Vo, DO ’16,
Freesia Parekh, DO ’16, Fisayo Nwachukwu, DO ’17, Chad Easthouse, DVM ’17, and Daryl Traylor, MSMS ’14; inset portrait photos: Abigail Arguijo, PharmD ’15,
Jolan Chou, MSBS ’14, Whitney Greene, DVM ’16, and Elena Younessi, PharmD ’15.
Brandon Samson, PharmD ’16,
Editor-in-chief
There were a lot of inquiries sent to
us about how to interpret this year’s
theme, as if there was some sort of
actual answer to this question. When
I had initially proposed the theme, I
developed it around the premise of
the inspirations we gather out of life
and how they drive us in everyday
life: from the abstract to the concrete,
from people to pets to inanimate
concepts. If I were to think of an
interpretation that reflects myself,
think about pulse in music (see The
Pharmacist and the Musician from
last year’s issue). Pulse is beat and
rhythm. Without pulse, music ceases
to have form, even with the other
crucial elements (tone, melody,
nuance, etc.). Pulse gives life to music
and, at the same time, to the
individual. Needless to say, Pulse of
Life is whatever you think it means,
and this is evident in this year’s
submissions.
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Thomas Schaefer, DVM ’17
“Thump thump, thump thump.” Our
heart beats through our days of joy,
our days of sorrow, our days of
accomplishments and our days of
failure. It enables us to have our
pulse: a pulse that brings nutrients
and removes wastes in our body. A
pulse that is always present
throughout our lives. The very
existence of a heartbeat and a pulse
not only means we are alive, but also
allows us to experience the emotion
that our lives bring. While we, health
care professionals, desperately try to
avoid and prevent that flat line on the
cardiac monitor, too often we don’t
take a step back to appreciate the
pulse and heartbeat that we are
fortunate to still have. When feeling
exhausted working late in the
hospital, or frustrated dealing with
difficult patients, please remember, we
still have a pulse. A pulse to enjoy
life. The pulse of life.
Each of us has our own experience;
our own memories, plans, and
dreams. What unites all of us is that
inexplicable thing called life. For
some it’s long, others too short, but
either way we only get one chance to
make it worthwhile—to find our
pulse. For many of us here at
WesternU, that pulse lies within
health care, for me, veterinary
medicine. Aiding animals and their
humans is something I have been
passionate about my entire life. It is
an idea that has grown within me
since I was a young boy who couldn’t
spell veterinarian, let alone imagine
going to school to become one.
Veterinary medicine, to me, is a
dream that becomes more attainable
with each day. It courses through my
body like the blood pumped with
each heartbeat. It is my pulse of life.
HUMANISM
IN THE
Kathleen Gozum, PharmD ’15
Christina Vo, DO ’16
Freesia Parekh, DO ’16
In the grand scheme of things, my
existence is as insignificant as a drop
of water in the sea. However, I would
like to think that choosing to become
a pharmacist validates my existence.
The pulse represents something more
than just the palpable turbulent blood
flow through our circulatory system.
Having a pulse means we are alive. As
health care providers, we should
always have this strong desire to
improve and prolong life. We want to
ensure the pulse endures for as long
as it should, as we treat every beat as
if it is the last. Being in this
profession, I’ve learned how much of
an impact I can have in the lives of
our patients by working with them,
educating them, and ensuring their
safety. I have realized my purpose,
and that is to help the pulse of life
endure. In my lifetime, being able to
help lives will be my life well spent…
As a second-year medical student and
an advocate of mindfulness, the pulse
of life to me can be anything from
non-human to human, from concrete
to abstract, and from subjective to
objective. It can be related to wellness
and health, whether physical or
emotional/mental. However, the most
important thing I see in the pulse of
life is its ability to ignite excitement,
curiosity and passion. It is a feeling
that I get when I am doing what I
love most, such as working toward
my goal of becoming an osteopathic
physician, challenging myself to try
new things, listening to music, taking
pictures, and spending time with the
people I care about the most. The
pulse of life is what I strive to find
every day, to ensure that I am living
up to my fullest potential and doing
all that I can to be happy and healthy
in whatever I am doing.
Humility: That was what I witnessed
when I spent nine days in Nicaragua
this past summer on a medical
missions trip. The Nicaraguan
community walked miles and stood in
line for hours just to see a doctor. At
times, they would be asked kindly to
come back the next day because there
was just not enough time. They
smiled and returned without
complaints. For some, this would be
the first and last time they would ever
receive medical attention. To us, this
seems like such a foreign thought, but
for them it was life. Despite it all, our
patients were so happy and humble.
While we were worried about
receiving a good WiFi connection at
our compound, they exuded nothing
but joy, thankfulness and contentment
in their homes. That left an
everlasting impression upon my heart.
For me, the pulse of life is these
wonderful people. And to them, I
dedicate this.
HUMANISM
IN THE
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Chad Easthouse, DVM ’17
A philosophers guide to the pulse of life
I find the pulse of life to be ineffable
in many ways, only to be interpreted
through a network of wisdom and
redirection – most aptly captured
through an admixture of form and
the abstract. Through the
concomitant pairing of the irrational
and the rational. Dionysus and
Apollo.
It is the capricious logos of
Heraclitus’ Cosmic Child.
It is Nietzsche’s eternal recurrence.
Just as Sisyphus, we become one with
rolling the rock up the mountain, and
yell: “Again, again!”
It is Heidegger’s Augenblick, in which
the concept of time is left behind, and
all is one large self-emergent puddle
of Being-in-the-World, and through
this, we are authenticated.
It is the order found amongst the
most chaotic of patterns.
Fisayo Nwachukwu, DO ’17
Abby Arguijo, PharmD ’15
Early this year, I had a discussion
with a mentor of mine. I was eager to
discover what inspired him to become
a leader in medicine and community
health. His response revolved around
the importance of spirituality and
family in his life, as well as the value
of a strong support network. While
reflecting on his words, I
acknowledged how the dynamic pace
of medical school can sometimes
prevent some from creating quality
time for those things that matter
most. It’s so easy to get engrossed
with school and work that we
occasionally have difficulty balancing
life outside this bubble. I imbibed the
wise words of my mentor, and they
have vastly enhanced my experience
as a medical student. My resolution is
to maintain my equilibrium in the
busyness of life by embracing my
relationships and pursuing other
enriching, non-medical interests.
When I consider this year’s theme for
Humanism in the Health Sciences, I
am reminded of the daily fluctuations
of the pulse of the human body. Such
is the same in our lives, this
fluctuation. Sometimes life speeds up,
such as in grad school, and sometimes
life slows down. In this time of our
lives as students, we can sometimes
feel the effects of both a fast- and
slow-paced rhythm to life; this is
what I call the pulse of life. In times
of fast moving, fast thinking, and fast
acting, it is important to remember
what really matters both personally
and professionally. Slow times give us
a chance to reflect and take a deep
breath. I have enjoyed my time
working on this magazine, send good
wishes and hopes to this year’s
graduating classes from all of the
colleges here at WesternU, and look
forward to new challenges and
accomplishments as I ride the pulse
of life.
Nothing eludes it.
From the picayune, to the farreaching, its existence is infinite.
Extricate oneself from this pulse, and
you’ll truly reside outside reality,
amongst the Kantian noumena.
Lost – Never to return.
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HUMANISM
IN THE
Elena Younessi, PharmD ’15
Whitney Greene, DVM ’16
Information for Authors and Artists
I was at a friend’s wedding, sitting at
my table and watching the guests
dance. One middle-aged man
gathered a crowd around him as he
danced for his lady. He stood taller
than those around him, a glow of
happiness emanating from his smile
as he moved his arms and legs with
intensity. After the crowd parted, I
could tell the lady in front of him was
his elderly mother. Later I saw the
two walking hand-in-hand, him
steadily holding her elbow with one
hand and in his other hand a white
rose for her. How beautiful. Such
honor. Such respect and love. What a
heartwarming way to celebrate the
person who gave life to you— to
condense the years of energy they put
into raising you into a spectacular
blaze of dance, and return it to them
with such immense love. I was
inspired to give back to the two
people and the One above who quite
literally gave me the pulse of life.
The pulse of life is what drives every
individual and creature on this earth
forward. No matter the
circumstances, species, gender, or skin
color, it is that pulse that keeps us
moving. Everyone has their own
motivation and force within them
that keeps pushing us forward,
through the good times and the bad.
As long as we do not lose sight of that
factor, we can tackle and accomplish
anything.
Humanism in the Health Sciences (HHS), an awardwinning journal of Western University of Health
Sciences (WesternU), accepts the work of students,
alumni, faculty and staff of WesternU. HHS is
managed and edited by WesternU students and
faculty. It is published annually and distributed free
of charge to interested individuals and institutions
worldwide. The next issue is scheduled for
publication in May 2015; deadline for submissions is
February 15, 2015.
We would also like to acknowledge
the support and contributions of
Dr. and Mrs. Philip Pumerantz;
Debra Nelson, Graphic Designer,
WesternU Publications Department;
university photographers Mirza
Hasanefendic and Jeff Malet; and
Jeff Keating, Executive Director of
Public Affairs. Without them, this
issue would not have been possible.
HHS publishes essays, short stories, art,
photography, poetry, case reports, literature reviews,
and letters. All articles are reviewed by the editorial
board; content experts review scientific and other
appropriate submissions. Stories, articles, and essays
should be relevant to the theme of the journal, health
care practice, or WesternU.
Manuscripts should be submitted as a Microsoft
Word file. Photographs, illustrations and artwork
may be submitted in Adobe Photoshop (PSD),
Adobe Illustrator (AI), EPS, JPG or TIF format on
disc or via email.
Articles and artwork accepted for publication
become the property of HHS and Western University
of Health Sciences.
To request copies of this or previous editions, please
write to: Western University of Health Sciences,
ATTN: Publications, 309 E. Second Street, Pomona,
CA 91766-1854, call (909) 623-6116, or e-mail:
[email protected].
To alert us of any errors, please write to
[email protected].
HUMANISM
IN THE
9
ADVISOR’S MESSAGE
Symbiosis is a Key to a Satisfying Career
By James D. Scott, PharmD, FCCP, AAHIVP
Associate Dean for Experiential and Professional Affairs
Associate Professor of Pharmacy Practice and Administration, College of Pharmacy
In a biology class long ago, most of us learned the definition of symbiosis as an
interaction between two different organisms living in close physical association,
typically to the advantage of both…or something similar to that. Then, for the
most part, we never thought about it again. But the reality is symbiosis (or
symbiotic relationships, to be more specific) is essential in our lives virtually
every day. Without symbiotic relationships, we would not be able to function in
society, or even in the periphery of society. It is one of the factors that contribute
to the Pulse of Life.
The most common symbiotic relationships people think about are those with our
significant others: the give-and-take with the special person that we construct our
life with so that the needs of both individuals are met, and both are happy. But
there are other symbiotic relationships in our professional lives that can help
maintain a happy work life. For brevity, I will focus on professional societies,
staff members, and patient-provider relationships.
All too often, practicing health care providers pay too little attention to
professional societies. During school, involvement in professional societies is seen
as necessary check-boxes on curricula vitae so that students can be considered
competitive candidates for post-graduate training programs and/or jobs. Once
they begin their careers, professional societies are seen as either activities that
others do, or groups to join because they can provide some benefit to themselves.
Most people do not view professional societies as symbiotic relationships, but
these organizations are the voice for your profession. They lobby on your behalf,
they provide input into accreditation and licensing standards, and they educate
the profession. However, they are dependent on members of the profession to
survive. Practicing professionals need to be part of the work and planning of the
society in order for it to be effective in helping to advance the profession. A great
example in the area of pharmacy is the recently passed SB 493. This bill was
written by a wide array of relevant professionals, but the real push (and funding
for lobbying) came from the state-level professional societies. The impact of this
bill will change the practice of pharmacy in California, and is already a role
model throughout the United States.
Many people understand the symbiotic relationship between colleagues of the
same profession. They take shifts for each other, bounce problems off of each
other, and refer patients to each other. However, it is less common to recognize
the symbiotic relationships between health care providers and their support staff.
All too often, health care providers (regardless of discipline) belittle and demean
the support staff — clerks, secretaries, technicians, assistants, etc. Power trips are
common and can interfere with a healthy work environment. The reality is,
however, that support staff and providers need each other. Without either
component, each would be unable to effectively do their job. Treating support
staff with respect and valuing them as people and professionals fosters a work
environment that will enable everybody to thrive. In Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell
described the three necessary characteristics of job satisfaction: autonomy,
10
HUMANISM
IN THE
complexity, and a connection between effort and reward.
As professionals, we expect these qualities in a job. But
staff members deserve them, too. Everyone has a role, and
all of these roles are dependent on each other. Viewing the
health care system as a symbiotic relationship helps to keep
the perspective of working as a team.
Additionally, as an educator, I would include the facultystudent interaction as a symbiotic relationship. Faculty
members are loaded with important information and
experiences, and most faculty members enjoy passing on
that information to their students. However, just because
we are teaching does not mean students are learning. If we
are to truly strive to educate, then we need to listen to, and
learn from, our students. What worked well in a lecture or
assignment? How well did the class do? What types of
concerns did the student(s) raise about a lecture or text
question? This type of feedback can help a faculty member
grow and improve, and help them become better educators.
Students in health professions educational programs come
from a wide variety of backgrounds. Spending time talking
to students about themselves and their backgrounds can
help faculty members grow as people.
The vast majority of health care providers view
relationships with patients as unidirectional. The provider
has the training, the experience, the license, and the
authority to make decisions on the direction of care their
patients receive. But in reality, this is actually a symbiotic
relationship. I am not just talking about the need for any
health care practice to have patients in order to survive
(although that is one aspect of it). What I am referring to is
the knowledge and experience that the patients have that
can add to the knowledge and experience of the health care
provider. Each patient is unique: their lives, their histories,
are different from everyone else. Listening to a patient and
learning about how their symptoms presented (in their own
words), how their treatment has progressed, and what their
barriers are to successful treatment can add to a health care
provider’s ability to better treat that patient, as well as
other patients in the future with similar situations.
Additionally, talking to patients about their lives can help
grow the relationship between patient and provider, and
add to the life experiences of the provider. In my
experience, this is not only true with patients with whom
we have nothing in common, but it is MOST true with
these patients.
Recognizing these professional symbiotic relationships is a
large part of the humanistic approach to health care.
Treating patients, co-workers, subordinates, bosses, other
professionals, and patients as humans is the core to being a
humanistic health care professional. Promoting and
participating in these symbiotic relationships supports
positive work environments and improved care. They are
part of the pulse of a health care system. ■
“Everyone has a role, and all of these roles are dependent on each
other. Viewing the healthcare system as a symbiotic relationship
helps to keep the perspective of working as a team.”
Photo courtesy of Shutterstock.com
HUMANISM
IN THE
11
Syed Jafri, DO ’15 | “Cityscapes Series”
One of my hobbies is cityscape photography. Part of what inspires me to pursue it is the idea that certain
views of cities, of complex, intricate urban landscapes, exude a sense of life ... a pulse of life, if you will.
Cities become ecosystems unto themselves. Every skyscraper, every light post, every stretch of the
highway, it all has layers of meaning that reflect the nuance of that particular metropolitan area.
12
Above: “New York”
Top Right: “Golden Gate Bridge”
Middle Right: “Brooklyn Bridge”
Bottom Right: “Los Angeles”
13
A
pulse, by its very nature, is rhythmic, persistent, and
an indicator of a stronger and more impressive power
beneath it. As medical students, we can emulate its
characteristics, and see how they might play a role in this
unique journey toward becoming caregivers. Like a pulse,
we must be consistent and bounding toward that goal, as
physical representations of the art of caring for others. This
requires many traits — humanism, compassion, leadership,
zeal, and resilience — all working in a coordinated and
rhythmic concert to propel us toward our future.
Like most discussions at WesternU, let me begin with
humanism, the ambiguous yet crucial term that defines our
education and future practice. Humanism can be hard to
define. As with most ideas students struggle with, I looked
to leaders I respect to glean a definition of what it means to
practice humanistic medicine. I found great examples in the
faculty and leaders in my field, but the most important way
I formulated my definition of humanism was through the
people I encountered while volunteering at community
events. When interacting with people — who come to you
vulnerable from pain, lacking in understanding of that
pain, and thus in need of your help — I have realized that
it is not only important to address their pathology, but also
to have compassion for their basic human goodness and
spirit, which are in need of healing and reassurance. The
beauty of recognizing this duality of medical care as a
student is that the same vulnerability from lack of
experience and newly budding educational foundation is
easily recognized and reflected in ourselves.
Respecting this integral commonality between caregiver
and patient early in my career, as it extrapolates to all
other shared human characteristics, has been essential to
my understanding of humanistic service, and thus I have
come to define it in a cyclical manner. Since patients have
A Pulse in Practice
By Kelly Parks, DPM ’16
14
HUMANISM
IN THE
taught me so much about the human spirit and its
resilience, it is then my obligation and privilege to take that
lesson and use it to become a better physician, so that I
might turn that skill and vocation back toward them and
continue the cycle. What a beautiful way to be of service to
others — to care and nurture for their bodies and spirits
when they are vulnerable and scared, and share in their
triumphs, relief and joy as they heal, improve and grow.
This relationship is not without a price, as it requires trust
and leadership — traits that are not given or intuitive, but
learned and earned. The real mark of a leader is not in his
or her own accomplishments, but in the accomplishments
of those they lead, for that is the measure of their
influence. Since leadership is not intuitive, but earned and
developed, it requires that those you lead trust you and are
confident in your abilities, which in turn requires that you
continually strive to be your best self through personal
growth, reflection, and the ceaseless pursuit of learning.
Being a lifelong learner requires a zeal for knowledge and a
refusal to become sedentary, rooted in the understanding
that our best is what those who trust us deserve.
As the world and our professions evolve, so must we. It is
likely that we will meet adversity along the road to
acceptance by professional peers as we settle into our
respective fields. It has often been said that it is difficult to
know how to pick yourself up if you never fall; the ability
to develop strong introspective skills, and be honest and
vulnerable with yourself, is crucial to success. These hard
lessons learned from struggles and setbacks are the ones
that will help us put ourselves in our patients’ shoes when
the odds are stacked against them, and will help us remain
true to ourselves and our professions when meeting
roadblocks along the way.
It is a privilege to be studying medicine. With each new
challenge and triumph we experience, we change a little bit
more into the provider and person we hope to be: Men and
women of compassion and service, with and for others,
rhythmically pulsing — step by step — toward our greater
cause.
The rhythmic art of caring.
m
Like a pulse, we must be consistent and
bounding toward that goal, as physical
representations of the art of caring for
others. This requires many traits—
humanism, compassion, leadership, zeal,
and resilience—all working in a
coordinated and rhythmic concert to
propel us toward our future.
HUMANISM
IN THE
15
Discovering the Pulse of Care
By Farouk Bruce, OD ’17
It is a discovery after all
In knowing what drives the self
A discovery that is made from within
For when the rhythm of all things dwells on pulse
It only suffices that the self constantly seeks its pulse in life
Whether conscious or not
Then comes the decision to avail to this driving force
Which should never be in conflict with our pursuits and hopes
For in such an event lies the certainty to derail us
Whether sudden or gradual
From our journey to care
For what more is fundamental to us than giving ourselves to the task of caring so purely
And as pulse is to nature, so should caring to our endeavors
We are care givers after all and thusly known by the world around us
And perchance should we stray on this arduous and yet worthy journey, it shall not be so far
Grounded in the knowledge of what starts with a discovery
And continues endlessly with what becomes the pulse of our self!
Shawn Whelan, DO ’17 | untitled
16
What am I doing here?
Stinging pain shoots down my sides. I am hunched over
and gasping for air. Six weeks into medical school, and I
am trying not to lose the pack. Starting a marathon race
with flip-flops is not a wise decision. Scrambling in circles
trying to amass the proper runners’ attire and cutting
corners to get back on track, I have been able to pick up
my pace a bit, but there is still a long way to go.
Halfway through, the finish line seems almost out of reach.
Nonetheless, I am carrying my gained momentum forward
with a crafted study routine involving hours of diligence:
watching and re-watching lectures, taking notes, inserting
figures, drawing nerves, arteries and muscles, dissecting
and analyzing human cadavers, studying with classmates,
asking questions, attending office hours, tutoring and
review sessions, taking practice exams, and trying to put all
the individual fragments of knowledge together to reveal a
clear vision of the big picture.
As I descend deeper into the labyrinth of human anatomy, I
am amazed by the microscopic forces that manifest to
create our physical structure. I am intrigued by the intricate
interaction of our different systems that produce an elegant
synchronicity in movement and function.
Sacrificing travel, freedom, and adventure leaves me
longing for lost horizons. Yet at the same time, I know that
I am undertaking a journey of the mind, and that while my
HUMANISM
IN THE
By Shawn Whelan, DO ’17
physical presence on the earth is no longer moving as it
once was, my brain is exploring even further past our
everyday sight into our body’s own mystery.
Living in balance, while trying to absorb this immense
wealth of information, is akin to trying to drink from a fire
hose. However, with hard work comes great reward. I
envision the friends, family, and fellow humans that I will
one day understand on a profound level in order to apply
the healing arts to their bodies, minds, and souls.
As I climb upward, trying to resist looking down upon my
fears, struggling to keep my grip, I rely on planning,
equipment, teamwork, and technique to continue my
ascent higher. The horizon is too vast to properly soak it in
all at once, and the perilous drop is stupefying. Yet life is
lived for the challenge, no matter in what form it may
manifest. Only by stretching beyond our limits do we
realize what is truly attainable, and are we able to gain an
unobstructed glimpse of our own potential.
Passions can be ignited by hanging off rocks on the side of
a mountain, or in the tumultuous waves of the crashing
sea. The spark that burns within compels us to achieve our
goals against all odds. When a dedication to the craft
exists, an innate desire is tapped into which propels us
forward to break through to the other side of possibility. ■
17
“...a forest green and gold medical
dictionary became her best friend —
a best friend that guided her toward a
deeper understanding of the world.”
their honeymoon had arrived! The beautiful sundress Moe
got for Maryam to wear on the first evening out in the City
of Angels was nothing compared to the excitement in her
eyes and the huge smile that spanned her face.
A Best Friend
Forever
By Mona Niki Marzban, PharmD ’16
Unlike many 18-year-olds, Maryam’s life was full of
responsibilities and obligations that she took on to relieve
her parents’ stress of having seven children — three boys
and four girls. Maryam studied hard in school, and
dreamed of becoming an architect.
But those dreams came to a sudden halt when her
surroundings completely changed, thanks to a chaotic
revolution. She was lost and confused, to say the least, and
her boyfriend, Moe, knew all too well what she went
through, as he faced similar struggles. Maryam and Moe
spent many moonlit nights on the rooftop dreaming of life
plans. After weeks of talking, they decided to tell their
parents about their ideas. You see, courting was very
different in 1977, and Moe couldn’t just propose and plan
a wedding. So, one night he formally asked to meet with
Maryam’s parents, and some of his family members joined
him for the special evening. The evening quickly lost all
formality as Maryam and Moe’s family celebrated their
young and sweet devotion to one another. To this day,
Maryam recalls this as a time when the world stood still,
and she could feel her heart push elation throughout her
body.
A few months later, Maryam and Moe were boarding their
connecting flight from Frankfurt to Los Angeles – finally,
18
They enjoyed their honeymoon in Los Angeles so much
that they decided to stay. They’d found the perfect city to
harvest their plans and to live the American Dream. Only
knowing a few conversational sentences in English, and
with just a few hundred dollars in their wallets, Maryam
and Moe still could not imagine a better place to make
their dreams come true. Maryam could visualize living in a
big home with the love of her life, children, and the chance
to bring family members from Iran to the States. Cuddling
on the floor of their unfurnished room, Maryam closed her
eyes and felt as if they were the only two people in the
world.
Fast forward from 1977 to 1982. Maryam and Moe were
raising their 4-year-old son, Michael, and were on the
verge of renting their first apartment, a place all for
themselves. After taking little Michael to school every
morning, Moe would make his way across the city to his
worksite 45 minutes away from home. In the meantime,
Maryam was working as a register clerk in a local grocery
store, and had begun nursing school. Maryam earned a
spot in an accelerated program to become a LVN. Prior to
starting her program, she purchased an important book
that would stay in her family for many years to come.
Being that English was Maryam’s second language, a forest
green and gold medical dictionary became her best friend
— a best friend that guided her toward a deeper
understanding of the world. Maryam would spend many
sleepless nights taking care of little Michael and studying
for her courses with her best friend alongside.
In 1988, a very pregnant Maryam completed a program to
become an RN. She valued her time with patients, and was
looking for a greater challenge than the ones presented to
her as an LVN. Finally, in 2010, Maryam earned her
bachelor’s degree in nursing. She had officially become the
first member of her entire family to graduate from college!
Over the years, she acquired many textbooks that she
claims to have read from cover to cover. Today, though,
her bookshelf is full of memoirs written by nurses and
HUMANISM
IN THE
physicians, many editions of “Chicken
Soup for the Soul,” and a heap of books
on personal development and growth.
Having worked at a county hospital in
Los Angeles for 24 years, Maryam is
excited to celebrate her 25th year
surrounded by so much written wisdom.
She does miss one book, however — a
book that she passed on to her daughter,
one that probably will not be returned to
her. Maryam sits at her desk some nights,
her eyes closed. She can’t help but
chuckle, thinking of how her days of
studying quickly turned into nights of
studying and ended in the very early
morning hours. She often finds herself
feeling incredibly nostalgic as she looks
back on those exciting days.
Maryam recounts her life with a few
standout moments, but when she looks
back on her career as a nurse, she feels
incredibly fulfilled. Knowing the wealth
of knowledge she gained from the pages
of her forest green and gold best friend is
exactly what helps her daughter day in
and day out.
As she peers outside of her window,
above her desk, Maryam smiles from ear
to ear. She looks at the stars with bright
eyes as she feels the world stand still,
envisioning her daughter sifting through
the pages of their forest green and gold
best friend, spending countless nights
researching and understanding. Maryam
is satisfied knowing that her entire
education is applied to saving the lives of
so many underserved community
members, who much like her, at one
point, could only speak a few
conversational sentences in English.
That’s not the reason why Maryam
smiles, however. Maryam is elated to
know that when her time is finished in
this world, her daughter will carry on her
altruistic care, passing along their forest
green and gold best friend for many
generations to come, thus ensuring that
not a single heart will skip a beat. ■
The Pulse of US!
By Farouk Bruce, OD ’17
An interpretation of pulse
The concept of pulse is perhaps one of the most eloquent ways
of describing the intrinsic behaviors of all things and events.
Pulse does not dictate whether a thing has to be present, or
whether an event has to happen. But it definitely has a say in the
manner in which the thing or event exists. It says that, aside
from the existence of the thing or event, some “other
phenomenon” has to occur to hold together or drive that thing
or event. In essence, everything pulses! This manifests
everywhere, from spontaneously beating cardiomyotic cells, to
the rhythm of music, to the vibrational motions of subelemental matter.
Often, though, this phenomenon of life and matter occurs in
tune to other components of our world. While this is only a
minute aspect of what pulse is, this harmony that defines some
aspect of pulse is by no means trivial, given the measure of its
relevance to our careers as health care providers. From the first
day of our training, until the last when we hang up our
instruments, we pulse together.
The pulse of us
The above interpretation, which is only one of an infinite
number of ideas about pulse, should not sound so abstract,
especially given what we have come to know through the core
values of this wonderful institution. WesternU’s call for us to
explore our roles in interprofessional care serves as the platform
to discover not only how we pulse, but how we pulse with
others. We then somehow become the pulse of a much larger
and stronger entity that provides unparalleled, high-quality
health care to our patients.
But before we discover how we pulse together, we ought to
know how we pulse on our own. I pulse to the rhythm of
humanity, knowing that no matter how flawed we are, we still
strive to be our best. And while I have strived to live by this
pulse, I realize that I still have to discover my pulse in my niche
as a caregiver. Then, I can be a part of that larger entity that
brings not only care, but hope and life to many. As a part of this
larger entity, I sustain that continuum of pulses from each one of
us, fitting into the bigger pulse of the cause, providing pure care
that eventually feeds the pulse of humanity. This serves the
hierarchy of pulses!
So I say again that we pulse together! My pulse is people. What
is your pulse?
HUMANISM
IN THE
19
Peru
2013
By Derrick Sorweide, DO, Assistant
Professor of Family Medicine,
COMP-Northwest
20
M
achu Picchu. It seems to be on everyone’s bucket list.
It certainly was on mine. So when John Mata, PhD,
Shaylyn Potter, and Meghan Aabo, OMS III, approached
me with an opportunity to go, I jumped at it. We would be
working with Waves for Development, a group of surfers
who started a nonprofit to try to improve things in the tiny
coastal town of Lobitos. We would be meeting Christine
Tang, OMS II, and Tony Hu, OMS II, in Peru. The group
decided another medical person was needed, so we also
enlisted Denise Monaco, RN, who happens to be my sister.
Our first stop was the historic city of Cuzco. For two days
we shopped, marveled at the Inca foundations, toured the
Spanish Cathedral, and enjoyed its modern Peruvian vibes.
We dined on alpaca tenderloin and washed it down with
Pisco sours. We then traveled up the Sacred Valley to the
Pisac market, the ancient city ruins of Ollantaytambo, and
on to Aguas Calientes. At 4 a.m. the next day, we headed
up the mountain to witness Machu Picchu at first light. We
had secured a pass to climb the mountain behind the old
city, called Huayna Picchu. The trail climbs several
thousand feet up a wet, winding, narrow, 2,000-year-old
trail cut into the rock. At this altitude, your heart pounds,
but the amazing views are worth it. This privilege only
goes to 400 people per day. Near the top, a group stopped
me and asked about my Western University of Health
Sciences t-shirt. It turned out they were from our
optometry school. Travelers from all over the world, and
the first 20 people to the top that day were from our
university!
We then traveled by train, plane, bus, and canoe to the
Amazon jungle. Our lodge had a roof but no walls,
allowing the sights, sounds, and critters to become part of
the fun. We saw spiders the size of dinner plates and
rodents the size of dogs. Beautiful birds and playful
monkeys were everywhere. We had locally made meals and
gathered at night at a local bar to meet people from all
over the world. By far, the best part of this experience was
the staff — friendly, open, hard-working, and
knowledgeable.
HUMANISM
IN THE
Next was Lobitos, in the Northern Desert, on the coast.
We were housed in the Sampapala Surf House. We ate with
the crew or local families. Our goals were humanitarian,
research, and of course, fun. Prior to leaving, we were able
to secure a Ready Relief Box from the American
Osteopathic Foundation. It had $7,500 worth of donated
medical supplies for the clinic in Lobitos. We met with the
clinic there, delivered the box, and discussed their needs.
Our hope was to establish relations between them and our
school. Because of developments in Peru, they have a
beautiful building with very few furnishings and supplies.
We helped put in a water tank for a home. The homes were
made of old and often salvaged wood, and the floors were
mostly dirt. This made respiratory illness a major problem
in town. We helped WAVES cement floors in a couple of
homes as part of their betterment projects. The homes that
had these saw drastic reductions in illness.
The local diet consists of government-supplied rice, home
grown potatoes (400 varieties), and small amounts of
chicken. Anemia, scurvy, and rickets are all real problems.
The elderly also have very little to do, leading to dementia,
depression, and boredom problems. To help with this, we
used techniques learned in the Sahara to put in family
gardens. These were a source of food, pride, beauty, shade,
and even income for the families. For research, the students
conducted health screenings door to door for Dr. Mata’s
data. We also were able to help out at the local school,
help with a beach cleanup, and assist with surf lessons. The
smiles and hugs from the children could melt any heart.
It certainly was not all work. We walked the beaches in the
mornings and at sunset, surfed as best we could, enjoyed
the local beer and food, took lots of pictures, and enjoyed
our friends. It was always a pleasure to be around young
and energetic people with creative minds and caring hearts.
A big “Muchas Gracias” to my friend and colleague,
John Mata, PhD. He made this trip possible for my sister
and me! ■
21
Vanessa Majeski, DO ’17, COMP-Northwest
“Targeting Neglected Tropical Disease through Education”
Inset: “Targeting Water-Borne Disease.”
Opposite page: “Water” all photos Abotoase, Ghana.
I spent two years working to design and implement a community-based control project to reduce infection rates of
schistosomiasis within rural villages in Ghana. This community-based control project included three main visionary
objectives targeted at intensive health education for community motivation, drug treatment with Praziquantel, and the
building of biosand water filters. These efforts were intricately coordinated and implemented in collaboration with
Ghana’s Ministry of Health, and funding was provided by a grant through the Wisconsin Idea Fellowship.
22
HUMANISM
IN THE
23
Making a Difference with Health Education
By Maryam Othman, MD, MPH, Director, Division of Global and Community Health
Assistant Professor, Department of Social Medicine and Healthcare Leadership, COMP
WiRED and Western University of Health
Sciences began working together in
September 2013. The collaborative pair has
played an integral role in providing
assistance to global health agencies such as
the World Health Organization and other
international groups.
images courtesy of shutterstock.com
C
oming from Iraq, I bring with me a very different
vision of humanism. I lived through three wars in my
country and experienced the meaning of inhumanity
firsthand. I worked with the International Organization for
Migration (IOM) in the Medical Evacuation and Health
Rehabilitation Program for Iraq (MEHRPI). I used to
locate people (mostly children) who needed medical
treatment not available in Iraq (the Medical Evacuation
part of MEHRPI), then decided that the Iraqi health system
was not capable of managing these cases (the Health
Rehabilitation part of MEHRPI).
In the process, I encountered many brain-blocked walls.
I’m referring to people who refused to believe that my
work with IOM was purely for humanitarian reasons – to
help alleviate the suffering and the pain that these children
had to endure to enjoy a healthier future. I was threatened
with death if I did not leave Iraq. So I left. All of these
experiences influenced my decision to pursue health care
on a more global, public health level.
I came to the United States on a Fulbright scholarship, and
received my MPH from George Washington University. I
started working as medical director and board member
with WiRED International, an international humanitarian
medical and health education NGO. In September 2013, I
joined WesternU as the director of the Community and
Global Health Division, stepping into the position of the
famous Dr. Rafi Younoszai.
Part of the reason we become health professionals is to
make a difference — to individuals, to communities, and to
24
those less fortunate. As the outbreak of polio in eastern
Syria began to make international news, a collaborative
project between WesternU and WiRED International was
ramped up to help make that difference.
In October 2013, The New York Times reported an
alarming story about a disease outbreak in Syria. “The
officials said that the discovery a few weeks ago of a
cluster of paralyzed young children in Deir al-Zour, a
heavily contested city in eastern Syria, had prompted their
alarm, and that tests conducted by both the government
and rebel sides strongly suggested that the children had
been afflicted with polio.” With this finding, the World
Health Organization (WHO), UNICEF, and other health
agencies quickly put together an aggressive polio
vaccination program. Polio is highly contagious. It has no
cure, and it can paralyze and kill children, especially
children under five years of age. Older people may recall
the horrors of polio when, more than half a century ago,
alarming images of children in iron lungs and some in
heavy leg braces terrified populations worldwide. In the
1940s and 1950s, polio paralyzed or killed more than half
a million people every year. Polio only has one means of
prevention: vaccination. Vaccinations can be oral or by
injection, and several doses are required for full
immunization.
The WHO vaccination campaign will inoculate children in
Deir al-Zour and the surrounding region, gradually
expanding the radius of contact to neighboring countries.
While aid workers are facing security problems because of
HUMANISM
IN THE
the ongoing conflicts in Syria, they also face the challenge of
alerting parents to the need of vaccinating young children.
Dr. Gary Selnow, CEO of WiRED International, and I,
along with WiRED’s medical editors and information
technology team, created a training module on polio to
familiarize health workers about the virus and the havoc it
wreaks on the human body [see
http://www.wiredinternational.org/polioModuleDebut.htm
l for the link to the polio module]. We quickly translated
the module into Arabic and made it available throughout
the Middle East. The purpose of this module is to educate
people about this nearly forgotten disease, and to explain
that vaccination is the only way of stemming the spread of
polio in Syria and other countries in which this paralyzing
infection is sadly making a comeback.
WiRED is a non-profit, volunteer driven organization that
provides vital medical education to underserved
communities in regions challenged by war, poverty, and
dislocation. WiRED and Western University of Health
BeÇng Human
Last month, during my third-year internal medicine clinical
rotation, a patient died on my watch for the first time. One
day he was in the office coughing with pneumonia,
refusing to go to the hospital. Two days later he was in the
hospital, out of options. Three days later, I came across his
EKG after he was admitted; he was not doing well. Four
days later, his death certificate was in the stack of
paperwork that needed to be signed.
Is that all I will be at the end of the day? A piece of paper
waiting to get signed off on as my life is neatly written off
as something that simply occurred? And there it was, my
quest(ion), the one that everyone is trying to answer. What
does it mean to be human? Not my life, not my single
existence, but everybody’s?
I may be a fool to think I can even attempt to make a dent
in the answer to this quest(ion). Truthfully, I can really
only answer this for myself. I am but a single thread in the
tapestry of human history, which is but a moment to the
cosmos. But you know what, I’ve come this far. I’m going
to take a stab at it, and that is where it starts – the cosmos.
IN THE
Visit wiredinternational.org for more information
By Megan Sturdy, PhD, DO ’15, COMP-Northwest
I often tell people that I have career ADD. It’s not too
surprising when you realize that I obtained a PhD and then
insanely decided that I needed to become a physician.
Lately, though, I wonder: What is all of this for? What
drives me to continue this search? What am I looking for?
Do I even have a destination?
HUMANISM
Sciences began working together in September of 2013.
The collaborative pair has played an integral role in
providing assistance to global health agencies such as the
World Health Organization and other international
groups. WiRED’s Community Health Information
Libraries offer medical and health education, enabling
physicians and nurses, community health workers, and
ordinary people in developing areas of the world to address
the prevention and treatment of infectious and noncommunicable disease. WiRED has more than 280
peer-reviewed training modules available online and on
portable media, all provided cost-free to users. WiRED
releases its information through its own facilities, clinics
and hospitals, and other non-governmental organizations.
The program through which this polio training module
was developed has been underwritten by Medtronic
Philanthropy.
All the stars out there have been colliding, leaving dust.
Dust that accumulates, forms new planets and inevitably
become a part of life – yours and mine. So congratulations.
You’re made of stardust. To think some alien race, billions
of years ago, may have wished upon our atomical parts.
All those atoms came together to form a fetus that became
a sentient being — you, me, all life. Atoms arranged in just
the right configuration, capable of love, fear, joy, anger,
and all the emotions in between.
All of this is roaming around the back of my mind when an
18-month-old with constipation, at the height of “stranger
danger,” comes into the exam room. One look at me, and
he screams for Mom, but it’s too late. I have to finish the
physical exam. Two minutes into my assessment, he
defecates out of fear. Instant cure. Welcome to pediatrics.
To think — the little bugger is stardust.
Here is the dilemma. We are made of stars, organized out
of quantum physics into precise mechanical structures that
are designed for the fluidity of evolution. Yet it all comes
down to an awkward teenage moment of, does he like me?
Was that a look of desire, or is there spinach in my teeth?
Oh my gosh, it’s spinach! And with that, your procreative
“moment to be” failed. Teenage insecurity vs. billions of
years of evolutionary design, and teenage insecurity wins.
The point of this piece is not to answer the quest(ion); it is
to inspire you to ask it for yourself. What does it mean for
you to be human? ■
25
Freesia Parekh, DO ’16 | “Nicaraguan Medical Mission Trip”
Top: “Native Dancer” Nicaraguan woman doing cultural dance.
Inset left: “Clinic 1” WesternU students Matthew Robinson, Jason Kajbaf and Scott Buzin, all DO ’16.
Insert right: “Clinic 2” WesternU students Freesia Parekh and Winnie Nhan, both DO ’16,
along with Ivy Tuason, RN, MSN, FNP.
In July 2013, a team of WesternU students from various colleges traveled on a nine-day medical missions trip with Global
Brigades. Medical clinics were held in Jinotega and San Gabriel. Over a thousand patients were seen and numerous hearts
touched, along with having many memorable adventures!
26
HUMANISM
IN THE
Talking With Strangers
By Priya Saxena, DO ’15
“Strange is our situation here on Earth. Each of us comes for a short visit, not knowing why, yet sometimes
seeming to divine a purpose. From the standpoint of daily life, however, there is one thing we do know: that man
is here for the sake of other men — above all for those upon whose smiles and well-being our own happiness
depends.” –Albert Einstein
According to a Meyers-Briggs test I took a few years ago, I
am a 26/30 extrovert. I wouldn’t say this is far from the
truth, as I have always considered myself a sociable person.
What this test did fail to mention, however, is that when
given the opportunity to initiate a conversation with a total
stranger, I am shamefully hesitant. This doesn’t mean that I
have kept myself in the dark, though. Looking back on
those few occasions when I chose to don a bolder version
of myself, I never failed to meet someone who didn’t leave
an impression.
Today, for instance, my roommate and I happened upon
Crepes Di Paris, a new crepe restaurant near our home in
Claremont Village. As I walked through the entrance, rich
and complex scents made their way to my nose. Moments
later, I found myself at the mercy of plump, juicy
mushrooms drizzled in a smooth, silky garlic sauce. By the
end of the evening, however, it wasn’t the food that had me
captivated, but rather the stranger we began chatting with
a few tables away.
He wasn’t a celebrity or a political icon. He was an elderly
gentleman wearing a loosely fitted shirt dusted in American
flags, there for what seemed like the simple purpose of
savoring a crepe saturated with lemon and sugar.
We learned that he used to work for a company that sold
electric billing systems to hospitals, and had done business
with the clinic at my school. He also shared that he had
recently retired to forge a path within the music industry.
After collecting his business card and thanking him for the
stimulating conversation, I overheard him thank the chef
behind the counter for the dessert.
“It was delicious. Just like the ones my grandmother used
to make,” he said.
I glanced back at him and found myself wondering what he
must have looked like when he was my age. Before time
had etched itself into the soft folds of his face and upon his
slumped shoulders.
As I walked to my car, I called upon several instances when
I had stepped beside myself to exchange stories with
stranger. A few came to mind.
On a flight to Quito, Ecuador, I met a 12-year-old boy who
came in third place at an international Rubik’s Cube
HUMANISM
IN THE
competition. He pointed out that 2x2 cubes are much
harder to solve than 13x13 cubes.
On a flight to San Jose, California, I met a woman in her
40s who had just gotten her first tattoo, a Koi fish spanning
from the nape of her neck to below her pant line. She was
on her way home to surprise her husband of 22 years.
Outside of a cafe in Claremont, California, I met a 37-yearold man with malignant cancer who had three months to
live. He confessed to me that he was being kicked out of
his house and could no longer afford his medical bills, yet
all he wished for was the courage to call his mother and
tell her that he loved her.
We interpret time as linear. We picture each of ourselves
trekking along our day-to-days, our paths in a forward
motion. And with each stride, we cling to our routines,
starting in the mornings when we slam our alarms off and
sling our lifeless bodies out of bed, and ending each night
by resetting our alarms and sinking into the depths of our
mattresses. Before we succumb to sleep, we ponder the last
16 hours or so. As we mull over the highlights, we let go of
the mundane, allowing it to turn to haze — background
noise, the mere white of a canvas, as its sole purpose is to
hold steady the bolder colors upon it.
While our routines, our safe patterns, are indeed what keep
us moving forward, the moments that stay with us are
those that stray from the ordinary. They are those instances
when we stopped and took a step to the side, changing the
course of our paths, allowing them to cross with another. It
is here, out of the ordinary, where sparks fly and the magic
lies. Where we can exchange smiles, thoughts, and stories
with strangers. Where we, for a brief moment, see the
world through a new pair of eyes.
The people I have mentioned, among many others, have
left an indelible impression in some part of me. In the
smallest of ways, they have added another shade of color
to my canvas, another perspective to my view. They are the
reason I challenge myself to break away from the same-old
and breach through my angst; the reason I scored a 26/30
on my test. For it is in this exchange, this crossing of paths,
that the true nature and depth of life’s journey can be
sincerely appreciated. ■
27
28
Opposite page: “Yogi” Nepal
Above: “Best Friends” Bhutan
Below: “Becoming a Woman” Nepal
Right: “Relaxing” Nepal
29
Pulse of Life
By Brion Benninger MD, Executive Director – Medical Anatomy Center, Department of Medical Anatomical Sciences,
Department of Family Medicine, Department of OMM/NMM, COMP-Northwest
I had just reclined my chair, set up my Mac laptop, and
was holding a plastic cupful of Diet Coke with ice on an
uncomfortably warm and full Boeing 747 from San
Francisco to Auckland, New Zealand (and was looking
forward to a glass of wine a short time later) when a flight
attendant announced, “Is there a doctor on board? Could
you please make your way toward the front of the plane?”
I leaned over and looked up an empty aisle, then sat for a
moment, hoping it wasn’t anything urgent. I then asked the
passenger beside me to watch over my contents, and said I
would be back shortly as I lifted my tray, trying to balance
and prevent everything from collapsing in order to crawl
out of my seat to make my way up the aisle.
I was greeted by three flight attendants who looked both
concerned and grateful that I had come forward. They
quickly pointed to an older, slightly overweight woman,
sandwiched in a middle seat. Evidently, she had been
unresponsive for a few minutes. There were no other
volunteers. At first glance, she was extremely pale and
clammy with her head drooped down and slightly leaning
to the aisle side. I introduced myself only to witness a poor
response, which included an attempt at lifting her head to
make eye contact with a soft, painful type moan, then
collapsing her head again. I knelt down to eye level in
order to better communicate with her over the noise of the
plane and her weak voice. While I spoke with her, I
reached over and held her hand to both comfort her and
obtain clues about her condition. Her hand felt cool and
limp while I palpated her radial pulse, which was
30
transmitted through a firm, if not pathologically hardropey artery, at 120 irregular and weak. I wanted to
exclude a cardiac event, and I was also concerned about a
neurological insult or dehydration.
Her appearance and hard artery reflected a person
probably in her 60s or 70s. She did not respond alertly to
my questioning, so I politely asked the person sitting in the
aisle seat to move so that I could place Mrs. X onto the
aisle floor in case further resuscitation was required. I
remained connected to Mrs. X by holding her hand,
constantly assessing her pulse as I asked her questions
about her name, age, history of what occurred prior to
boarding, and other information. I discovered her daughter
was sitting in the window seat next to her, answering most
of the questions, because Mrs. X was still unable to
respond lucidly or with strength to her voice. Her daughter
described kidney surgery within the past year, and they
were returning home from the USA prematurely because
they received unexpected news that Mrs. X’s mother had
passed away. Mrs. X had not slept for the past 20 hours.
The captain of the plane confronted me regarding her
survival. I responded that I would do everything I could,
but her vitals were not stable. However, she always had a
pulse. The flight medical kit did not contain a stethoscope.
A nurse escort had come forward to kindly offer her
stethoscope. I could faintly hear Mrs. X’s heart sounds due
to plane noise and possibly a cardiac insult. I could not rely
on the stethoscope. Her pulse, blood pressure and visual
observations were my best tools for monitoring and
gaining insight into her constitution. We transferred her to
first class because it afforded more room to administer
automated external defibrillator (AED) intervention.
I sat beside Mrs. X and held her hand for the next eight
hours, only releasing to take her blood pressure every 15
minutes for two hours, then every half hour for the next
six hours. When she finally managed to sleep some six
hours later, I tried to release her hand, and she clasped it
quite firmly, almost as a reflex. It appeared that holding
her hand provided her comfort even when I thought she
was not aware. The only other time I released her hand
was to speak with her daughter, who was extremely
distraught (she had just lost her grandmother and was now
in fear of losing her mother). I comforted her by explaining
that I was not going to leave her side until we landed,
while continuing to regularly monitor her pulse and check
blood pressure, which had not worsened. Also, I could
provide further emergency treatment if needed.
Her pulse rate had dropped below 50 and elevated above
120, with variation to the rhythm appearing weak to
thready in volume. Likewise, her blood pressure varied and
was equally unstable. Neurologically, she was initially
confused and poorly responsive, but during the next eight
hours, she progressively became more lucid and responded
appropriately to questions, although the responses were
delayed, and it appeared she applied great focus and effort
to respond appropriately. Fluids were replaced slowly over
the past five hours. Her pulse was always present, but
several times I thought I was moments from using the AED.
I was connected to Mrs. X by her physical and emotional
pulse. Usually, one physically feels a pulse or emotionally
comforts a patient by holding their hand for a few minutes.
I felt her pulse and provided emotional comfort for the
next eight hours. The social pulse was the concern that
others around us had for Mrs. X. I provided a brief
explanation to them to defuse their anxieties. It was
comforting to see these fellow travelers rallying for Mrs. X,
whom they did not know, as she struggled for life.
Upon landing, she was successfully transferred to the
hospital. I received an email from her daughter three days
later, explaining that Mrs. X was stable and had been
discharged from the hospital, and was recovering from
home. A few weeks later, I received individual, deeply
heartfelt notes from Mr., Mrs., and daughter X for the care
and attention provided. The captain and all the flight
attendants on my return flight home came by, individually
thanking me.
I want to thank Mrs. X and my clinical mentors for
teaching me the multiple values of the “pulse of life”, and
lastly want to say how proud I am to be a part of
WesternU faculty promoting the DO “way” that nurtures
the pulse of life.
Syed Jafri, DO ’15 | “Cityscapes Series: San Francisco”
31
Patient Care Beyond the Limits
By Jesus Sanchez, DO ’04, MSHPE, MA, Assistant Professor of NMM/OMM and Family Medicine, COMP
D
uring my fourth year of medical school, I had the
privilege of participating in a moment-defining case. I
was rotating through the Rancho Los Amigos Medical
Center Hepatology Service, a very demanding and wellrespected service. The attending physician was trained by
the clinicians who “wrote the book,” so to speak, on
hepatology. I was but one of several medical students, the
majority of whom came from surrounding allopathic
institutions. Being an osteopathically trained medical
student, it was safe to say that I was going to have to work
extra hard to practice the distinctive aspects of my training.
The service that I was assigned to had approximately 25
patients with a variety of different liver diseases.
During the third week of the rotation, I was assigned to the
case of Mr. Ceja. He was a 64-year-old Hispanic who had
had a long bout of liver cirrhosis and was entering a phase
of liver failure. As a medical student, I had to conduct a
history and physical exam, and present my findings to my
attending physician. What made this a unique patient
encounter was that the patient was in a “hepatic coma,”
and was unable to participate in the examination process.
However, Mr. Ceja had various members of his extended
family at his bedside, and I was able to gather a history
from them. Through my discussion with his family, I
learned that Mr. Ceja was a hard-working man who had
sacrificed himself by working several jobs to help support
his family. It was also brought to my attention that he very
much loved his wife, who was living outside the United
States, and that their separation from one another had
contributed to his depression prior to his hospital
admission. The family emphasized that his only wish was
to see his wife once again.
When I finished my evaluation of the patient, I presented
to the service attending, who happened to be an
international medical graduate in his hepatology fellowship
training. I gave him a synopsis of the history and physical,
presented my assessment and lab values, and concluded
with a discussion of my care plan that included the
rationale for my decisions. Part of this discussion included
the desire of Mr. Ceja to see his wife once again, to which
the attending quickly redirected me to the lab values. Mr.
Ceja’s ammonia level was high, and his liver function tests
were indicative of severe liver disease with imminent
failure. The attending’s comment before he walked away
Sometimes, it is not the tests we order, the procedures we do or the
medications we prescribe that provide the best care. Sometimes, it
is the ability to relate to and understand the human condition and
all of its frailties.
32
HUMANISM
IN THE
was, “Based on his lab values and the way he looks, this
patient will likely not make it through the night.” At that
moment, I felt hopeless and defeated in my attempt to
make a difference in this patient’s life. My attending had
given his expert opinion. Besides, I was a medical student.
What did I know? The incongruence between what I was
told and what I was trained to do lasted all of three
minutes, when I saw the social worker walk by.
Being an osteopathic physician means that we are trained
to look at the whole patient, not just their problems or
disease process. The philosophy of osteopathic medicine
was introduced by Andrew Taylor Still, MD, in 1874. His
teachings include the Principles (Tenets) of Osteopathic
Medicine:
1. The human body is a unit.
2. The body has an inherent capacity to maintain its own
health and to heal itself.
3. Structure and function are interrelated.
4. Rational treatment is based upon integration of the
first three principles.
The osteopathic principles and practices permeate our
approach to patient care and include the five models of
osteopathic care:
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
Biomechanical model
Respiratory/Circulatory model
Neurologic model
Metabolic/Energetic expenditure model
Behavioral/Biopsychosocial model
They guide the osteopathic physician as he/she engages
their patient on the multiple levels that make up the
“whole” person, inclusive of the physical, emotional,
spiritual, environmental and socioeconomic aspects of life.
The osteopathic philosophy allows the physician to see the
most impactful aspects of patient care, going beyond the
limits of Western medicine’s conventional approach.
The training I received at the College of Osteopathic
Medicine of the Pacific (COMP) ingrained in me the
humanistic tradition and the discipline to use my
biomedical knowledge in a professional and compassionate
way to deliver patient-centered health care, as well as the
courage to deliver it with the distinctive osteopathic
philosophy. Part of my training at COMP included the
understanding that I was part of a health care team, and
that other members of the team can have an important
impact on the delivery of patient care. I witnessed this firsthand at Rancho Los Amigos Medical Center, which is a
well-renowned rehabilitation hospital. Here you will see
teams of physicians, nurses, physical therapists,
HUMANISM
IN THE
occupational therapists and social workers collaborate to
deliver the best possible care.
I spoke to the social worker, explaining the patient’s
situation and the information that the family shared about
how the patient cared deeply for his wife. The social
worker was in charge of all the patient cases in the ward
and was willing to meet and talk with the family. After an
informative discussion, we learned that it would be
possible to file a temporary visa that would allow her to
visit her husband in the hospital. The family was pleased
about the possibility of the patient reuniting with his wife.
The next day on rounds, we were at the bedside of Mr.
Ceja and reviewed his chart. It was noted that not much
had changed with his status. I shared with him that the
social worker was working on his case. Again, the
attending said he thought the patient would not last
through the night. It was Wednesday, and I could not help
but wonder if he was right. To my surprise, rounds on
Thursday and Friday were much of the same with regard
to Mr. Ceja’s case. I would not be rounding that weekend,
but I heard from the family that Mr. Ceja’s wife was in
Texas and was making her way toward Los Angeles.
I returned to the hepatology service Monday morning and
discovered that Mr. Ceja had passed on Sunday evening.
During morning rounds, the social worker ran into us and
shared the story of how Mr. Ceja passed. His wife had
arrived on Saturday and was brought by the family to the
hospital, where she stayed overnight. The family spent the
evening sharing stories about the patient and remembering
positive events in their lives. The social worker then related
to us that she was on call that weekend and that she
witnessed that Mr. Ceja became transiently lucid, and
aware of his wife’s presence. They spoke for a short time
and professed their love for one another. Within an hour of
that exchange, Mr. Ceja passed on peacefully.
I cannot comment on what transpired, or explain why a
terminal patient was able to have one last interaction with a
loved one. All I can say is that, despite the limitations of
Western medicine and its inability to cure his liver disease, I
sought to provide the best possible care for the patient.
Sometimes, it is not the tests we order, the procedures we
do or the medications we prescribe that provide the best
care. Sometimes, it is the ability to relate to and understand
the human condition and all of its frailties. In the end, it
seems that this patient needed to feel loved and appreciated,
and held out for that which mattered most to him. It was
an honor to have been a part of his health care team.
photo courtesy of shutterstock.com
33
The Sonoran Blues
By Zachariah John Kamla, DO ’16, COMP-Northwest
With the sweltering Sonoran wind whistling through the
dilapidated kivas and wrecked corridors, I thanked my
Uncle Tim for making this place accessible. New Mexico’s
Chaco Canyon ruins—stone behemoths that served as trade
centers for the Anasazi tribe, who dominated the entire
Southwest a thousand years ago—seethed with strange
energy. The excavated buildings, with their vast plazas,
subterranean shrines, and winding halls, echoed the clamor
and vitality of annual gatherings from bygone days. Local
tribes believe that spirits still inhabit the ruins. No doubt the
place is haunted, either by actual ghosts or the terrible awe
inspired by the remnants of a marvelous culture now
reclaimed by nature. Similarly, Tim — literally or
figuratively, plagued by demons — walked with grace.
His spirit of choice in youth had been whiskey. During one
of his visits home to Montana, when I was just a little boy,
he agreed to take me to the mini-golf course. Penniless, he
borrowed $20 from me, some of which he used to buy
himself his elixir (an eight-year-old doesn’t question an
adult, even when they visit the liquor store). But the rest he
spent on putting over hills and dales with me, telling stories
about his life in New Mexico, and taking the time to listen
to my frivolous thoughts with gentle patience. He repaid me
before he left, but had I been an adult, I would never have
seen that money again. Growing up on the harsh high plains
of Montana, where my parents worked long hours to make
ends meet, having a grown-up spend an entire afternoon
with me made me feel like the most important kid ever. I
couldn’t wait to visit him in New Mexico.
34
Tim had moved to a sleepy town that pulsed with life during
tribal festivals that drew in the tribes like a timely rain
rousing otherwise clandestine Sonoran fauna. Tim’s
generous spirit proved his greatest asset in teaching special
education in this rural community. His students loved him,
and he always brought cheer to his coworkers. One day, he
encountered a colleague, Natalie Smith, fueling her car at a
man-made oasis, and struck up a conversation. Noticing her
wedding ring’s conspicuous absence he said, “You know,
I’ve always wanted to date you.” Natalie Smith soon
became Natalie Kamla, and our families immediately
embraced each other.
Charismatic and friendly, Tim nevertheless struggled to
explain what he was doing when I caught him emptying his
ever-present Coke can and filling it with whiskey. Natalie
helped him cast that demon into the desert, but he soon
began abusing prescription painkillers, as if his disease
returned to his cleaned house with “seven spirits more
wicked than itself” (Matthew 12:45).
Aunt Natalie loved Tim dearly, and when Tim suddenly fell
ill, she didn’t know what to do. My dad went to New
Mexico, where doctors informed him that Tim had
pancreatic cancer invading all nearby tissue and
metastasizing to his bones. The tumors bulged from his
emaciated arms and abdomen like some unholy affliction
from Revelations. The drugs had masked early pain, and
thus closed the window for any meaningful treatment.
Partially soothed by a morphine drip, Tim passed away in
the next few days. “On to the afterlife,” Natalie assured me.
His loss hurt like hell when I visited Natalie the
Thanksgiving after his passing. The prophet Jeremiah
observed that the dead care not for tears shed over their
quietus, but that we the living should weep for ourselves
and the raw gash in our lives and souls. The freezing wind
cascading down the Rockies makes Montana a hard place,
and a hard place requires adamantine spirits with no room
for self-pity. Coping with my pain as stoically as a Montana
man ought, and consoling Natalie, I fumbled with a portrait
I jocundly purchased for Uncle Tim. It was an unlikely
chimera of Buffalo Bill and Jesus that bore an uncanny
resemblance to him. Though Natalie returned it to me as a
memento, I didn’t need a painting:
“He used to sit there and watch the History Channel with
me,” she said with bittersweet remembrance, pointing to his
empty rocking chair, “and sometimes I can still feel him.”
We watched a movie together until dark. About the time we
began to contemplate retiring for the night, the cats
suddenly froze and fixated on the chair, which had begun to
rock. “Probably just the wind,” I said in the draftless room.
“Probably just the wind,” Natalie repeated. We smiled at
each other knowingly. Even with my quiet skepticism, I
couldn’t deny a presence in that New Mexico home.
New Mexico’s Sonoran Desert exudes the bizarre: stories of
a graveyard where remorseful ghouls bemoan their tombs; a
box canyon beset by malevolent glowing orbs at night;
armed Zunis wholeheartedly guarding the recently deceased
from skinwalkers; animal demons morphed by the gods into
tiny stones used for protection; and scattered ruins of
Anasazi and early Pueblo tribes. Whether actual
supernatural entities exist or the subtle but omnipresent
remnants of once-pervading civilizations unsettle the
presently pervading, the Sonoran is haunted in one way or
another.
In the same way, whether Tim reprises his seat or not, he’s
with me. He’ll be there whenever I say, “I could prescribe
Fentanyl, but first let me try some manual techniques,” and
though his plight greatly influenced my decision to pursue
osteopathic rather than allopathic medicine, it’s not a
conspicuous factor. Like Tim, I am a haunted man, a trait
attributable to all those perceptive enough, sensitive enough,
and willing enough to follow the shades they see out of the
corner of their eye—a sort of clairvoyance granted to those
able to recognize the subtle movements in their lives.
Neither a blessing nor a curse, but purely what you make of
it. Like the Sonoran Desert itself.
Opposite page “Ruins,” below left, “Casa Bonita,” and below right, “Kiva” all provided by Zachariah John Kamla, DO ’16, COMP-Northwest.
Petroglyph photo courtesy of shutterstock.com
Whether actual supernatural entities exist
or the subtle but omnipresent remnants of
once-pervading civilizations unsettle the
presently pervading, the Sonoran is haunted
in one way or another.
HUMANISM
IN THE
35
The Pulse of a
U.S. Army Ranger
By Nina McCoy, Director of the Willed Body Program, Pomona Campus
O
ctober 8, 1964, was a beautiful day in San Diego. The
warm breeze blew gently off the Pacific, carrying the
smell of the salty ocean. Seagulls and pelicans danced in
the sky.
I was wearing my royal blue pleated skirt and matching
vest over a crisp white blouse — my Sunday best.
Shots rang out! One, two, three times! It was a 21-gun
salute. A trumpet played a slow, sad song as we stood with
our hands over our hearts. My heart was pounding. I was
10. My brothers were six and eight.
My daddy lay cold and still in a wooden box covered
neatly by the American flag I had saluted for the past five
years in school. He lay there silently, in his green dress
uniform, with all those ribbons on his chest.
We were now a Gold Star Family — the surviving family of
an American soldier killed in action (KIA) in Vietnam.
SFC John L. McCoy, U.S. Army, volunteered to go to
Vietnam to work with the Army of the Republic of
Vietnam (ARVN) Rangers, to establish goodwill and
understanding between the two armies. He served with the
Military Assistance Command, Vietnam (MACV) as a
military advisor. The U.S. Army Ranger Hall of Fame
states, “On 26 September 1964, after rescuing a wounded
36
company commander and carrying him to safety, Sergeant
McCoy directed counterattacks and, at times, joined the
assaulting forces to lead by his personal example.” His
name is on the first panel (1E) of the Vietnam Veterans
Memorial in Washington, D.C., also known as The Wall.
The names — more than 58,000 of them — appear on The
Wall in chronological order by date of death.
He left the day after my 10th birthday. Four-and-a-half
months later, I became a 10-year-old adult.
This was about the time I started hearing for the first time
that he had been a prisoner of the Japanese during World
War II. He was captured on Christmas Day, 1941, in Hong
Kong with the Winnipeg Grenadiers. He had been shipped
out by the Canadian Army because the U.S. Army
wouldn’t take him. He was a horse jockey, a small guy, and
he was just 16. The Americans told him to come back
when he was 18. As a prisoner of war (POW), he was
forced to build a landing strip with the other POWs.
During this work, he received a wound to his right arm
that became gangrenous. It took six men to hold him down
while the surgeon cut out the gangrene without the use of
anesthesia. He kept his arm — and his pulse of life.
After that, he and the stronger, younger POWs were put on
Japanese Hell Ships and sent to Japan. The reason they
HUMANISM
IN THE
“Sergeant First Class McCoy lived the Ranger Creed in
three wars, even before there was a Ranger Creed,
distinguishing himself by indomitable spirit and his
inspiring to fight on to the Ranger objective, while
never leaving a fallen comrade on the field of battle.”
were called Hell Ships was because the POWs were
crammed into these Japanese freighters like pencils in a jar.
They suffered from dysentery, and many starved to death.
The freighters would leave Hong Kong and sail through
the Sea of Japan. American pilots thought the freighters
were taking supplies to Japan to further the war effort, so
they bombed the ships. Dad survived, however, and ended
up in the Oeyama POW camp, where he worked in a
nickel mine. He was liberated in August 1945.
In 1952, my father went back to war in Korea. This time,
he served in the U.S. Army. He was a machine gunner
when he was wounded in a big battle to capture a nameless
hill. He was sent back to Japan to recover from his
wounds. This is when he met and married my mother.
My mother taught third-graders in southern Japan during
World War II. This contributed to my father’s continued
pulse of life.
My father, a man of Scottish descent, was raised free in
America. He believed that all people should be free. The
Korean War ended with him marrying a woman from the
country that had held him captive for 45 months during
World War II. SFC John L. McCoy later volunteered to
serve in Vietnam, and lost his life at the age of 39. He left
behind his wife, a 10-year-old daughter, and two sons, six
and eight.
HUMANISM
IN THE
My mother never did remarry, but she was a very strong
woman. She passed away in March 2012.
In 1999, Ranger John L. McCoy was inducted into the U.S.
Army Ranger Hall of Fame for what the Hall calls
“outstanding service as a Ranger throughout his career,
and for extraordinary heroism in WWII, Korea, and
Vietnam. Ranger McCoy was decorated, posthumously,
with the Silver Star and the Bronze Star for valor (2d
award) for these sequential acts of valor. Sergeant First
Class McCoy lived the Ranger Creed in three wars, even
before there was a Ranger Creed, distinguishing himself by
indomitable spirit and his inspiring to fight on to the
Ranger objective, while never leaving a fallen comrade on
the field of battle.” Four-star general Colin Powell, U.S.
Army, was inducted the following year.
My parents’ pulses continue beating in my chest, in the
chests of my brothers, and in our children and
grandchildren. This is the pulse of character, honor, and
integrity. My father came from a long line of warriors —
the Real McCoys. My mother came from a long line of
scholars. This is our pulse of life. Rangers Lead the Way!
´
´
´
´
´
37
The Final Pulse
By Mark Sah, DO ’15, COMP-Northwest
W
hy do we do what we do? Three years ago, as part
of the inaugural class at COMP-Northwest, we
were asked why we wanted to become physicians by
seemingly everyone: our professors, our families, people in
town, and by each other. Even though the responses
varied, there was a near universal component: I want to
help people.
As the years went on, I was able to observe those in health
care and those in training. I thought perhaps the response
should be refined to: I want to heal people. That is
primarily what we do. The physical therapist restores
function. The optometrist corrects vision. The nurse helps
alleviate suffering and affects recovery of optimal health.
The physician may repair a joint or diagnose a condition.
Indeed, A.T. Still once wrote, “It is the object of a
physician to find health. Anyone can find disease.”
As health care providers, we are entrusted with a
privileged, perhaps sacred, position. People allow us into
their lives as healers, and it is a responsibility we do not
take lightly. Every pulse matters, as evidenced by the fact
that we work to maximize each of our patients’ quality
and length of life.
But what about our final pulse? Some believe it represents
an ending, others a transition, and others the beginning of
eternity. Despite our personal metaphysical conclusions,
the final pulse is something many do not often discuss
with others. This is strange to me, because it is one of the
few certainties attached to life.
I am interested in hospice care, and envision it being a
part of my future practice. On the one hand, it will be
difficult because I will no longer be working to heal
people. But on the other hand, it will be rewarding
because I will be able to help people until their final pulse.
I will never tell a patient there is nothing more I can do
for them; instead, I will shift my focus from healing to
relieving suffering.
Some of us care for people during the first moments of
their lives, others their last. Most of us care for people in
between. And as we work to heal people throughout all of
the pulses of their life, we should never forget a final pulse
is coming for each patient. Although a point will come
when we can no longer heal, we can always help. ■
38
Three Decades
By Jon Martin, DO ’16
My grandfather, three decades in the grave and,
His body's soiled, it's been coming to ruins.
His words never gave my ear bones vibrations,
Our eyes never met, not once, no physical touch sensation.
But I've been learning about actions and consequences,
And how they give the unliving life extensions.
Death is not a definite line,
I try to compartmentalize but I’ve learned
Death is not a definite line.
No black and white, just gray until the fade-out’s over,
He gave a book to a woman devastated,
Who passed it along to the rising generation,
And we've been taking time to read the pages,
That say "love, love, then love some more," it's sinking in our veins and,
Now our blood’s claiming old Dr. Knight’s name and now,
“What’s life?” and “where is death?” are the questions it’s promoting because,
Death is not a definite line,
I try to compartmentalize but I’ve learned
No black and white, just gray until the fade-out’s over,
My grandfather, three decades in the grave and
A century more before his spirit’s evaporated.
‘Cause death is not a definite line.
Jason John Wei, DO ’17 | “Amber” Gydina, Poland
39
Gram
By Elizabeth Pines, DO ’16
In 1949, Gram burst into this world,
But to a mom who was just not ready.
Came a wonderful pastor and his bride, into their arms she was curled.
They moved this way and that, until she was ready.
Had one husband and then two,
And four children who moved this way and that, until they were ready.
One thing was always the same, Gram was the glue.
Holidays were her specialty, big and sometimes heady.
Then one solemn day in 1997, the doc had bad news to give.
Some news that made us all quite unsteady.
At age 48, Gram had six months to live.
News like this, none of us were ready.
Treatments and surgeries had begun.
Two whole years, Gram was going steady.
Her vibrant self had not been undone.
None of her vitals were close to thready.
Sick of the hospitals, needles, and docs,
She wrote a poem to display her disgust.
Up on her door it went for all to gawk.
Needless to say the nurses had their distrust.
Catch Me if you Can
By Linda Schumacher, grandmother of Elizabeth Pines
Let them chase me down the hall,
I don’t wanna be here at all.
I had a little med, just an hour ago
And it put me right to bed.
You can keep your hose and tubes
And your tasteless, saltless foods.
Cause I gotta Big Mac, here in my pack
And a tootsie roll or two.
I told ya I was goin’ for a smoke,
But here’s really the joke,
You can scream and shout,
But I’m headin’ out
Just show me the way to go home.
You will always be missed. In memory of Linda Schumacher, 1949-2000
40
Patricia Gomez, Coordinator of
Affiliated Patient Care Services,
Eye Care Center
“Hummingbird”
Vincent Duong, PharmD ’15
Left: “Life Away From Home”
Above: “Smell of Life”
41
Dog Days of Depression
By Phoebe Kemp, DVM ’15
“Her name is Bella,” said a young, blue-eyed child as she
handed me a six-week-old, black-and-white terrier mutt.
When her mother explained to her that I would probably
pick a new name, I assured the little girl that the name
suited the puppy. I would call her Bella.
I volunteered to foster Bella through a rescue agency that
reached out to WesternU. I was six months into my new
life as a veterinary student in Pomona, California, 500
miles from home. It was a town where I knew no one
outside of school, and lived with my two senior
Chihuahuas, Chewy and Burrito. I had gone through a
tough breakup, and was having a difficult time adjusting. I
sank into depression, and got what help I could by going to
therapy and taking antidepressants as I tried to get my life
back on track. I didn’t know if taking on the responsibility
of a puppy was a good idea, but I figured that I had
nothing to lose and could always give her back. I was, after
all, only fostering her.
42
On the ride home in her new kennel, Bella cried. I talked to
her so she would know that she wasn’t alone and was
going to be OK. I brought the kennel inside and set it on
the floor. Chewy and Burrito were quick to huddle around,
sniffing and wagging their tails. I reached in and pulled
Bella out. She was so tiny that she fit in the palm of my
hand. The boys couldn’t stop licking her. Once everyone
was calm, I set her down. I wanted to take my first picture
of her, but as I got the camera ready she promptly walked
away and relieved herself on the carpet. I knew then she
felt at home.
As a foster parent, I had rules to follow. First, I was not to
leave her alone with the other dogs. This one was easy,
because I didn’t want her going to the bathroom in the
house, so I left her in a large kennel when I was gone. The
second rule was not to hold her too often or let her lick my
face. Easier said than done. The final and most important
rule was not to let her sleep in my bed. Let’s just say some
HUMANISM
IN THE
rules are made to be broken. I fostered Bella for a weekend
before my heart decided that she was part of my family.
Bella was a different dog than I was used to. My
Chihuahuas loved me, but usually only demonstrated it
when it was convenient for them, like when I got home or
fed them. Most of their time was spent in solitude, usually
sleeping. In contrast, Bella’s companionship and love was
never-ending. She was always on my lap or following me
around, and was eagerly learning how to please me. I was
slowly coming out from under the dark cloud that had
been hovering over me.
Bella was constantly getting the boys to play with her. The
activity level inside my house went from almost dead to
something you would see on “WWE Raw!” Her attentionseeking behavior started to rub off on the boys. Soon they
were spending more time with me and appreciating me
more. The best example of this was when I woke up in the
morning. Bella likes to wake, stretch and snuggle. The boys
would usually ignore me when I woke, and most days, they
would stay under the covers until it was time to go outside
or get breakfast, after which they would quickly go back to
bed. This had changed. Now, I had three dogs all bidding
for my attention and licking my face. Things were starting
to look up.
Soon I was able to wean myself off of my medication and
therapy, and I was doing better in school. Depression is a
HUMANISM
IN THE
serious medical condition, and it wasn’t the first time I had
battled it. Getting through something like that is really
difficult, especially when you feel alone with no family or
close friends around. Bella never left my side or judged me
for what was going on in my head. A lot of people didn’t
know what I was going through, as I hid it quite well, and
others who knew didn’t know what to do for me because
of our distance or because they didn’t understand
depression. I don’t believe I would have made it through
without Bella and her unconditional love.
Research has shown that people who have bonds with
animals live longer, healthier lives, can better overcome
illnesses, and do better on exams. As a veterinary student, I
have learned a lot about how the body works normally and
in disease. Having overcome depression myself, I can’t see
how it is not considered a disease. I had no control over it
happening, but I sought help and was eventually cured.
Society has stigmatized mental disorders for too long. We
don’t listen when people cry out for help, and often when
they act out, they are thrown in jail, only to be released
without any sort of treatment. What if they’d received
treatment in the form of therapy, medication, or an
emotional support animal?
What I do know is that I would not be where I am today if
it weren’t for Bella. ■
43
44
Opposite page: “Tropical Rush”
Top left: “Pink Blossom”
Bottom left: “Red Mountain”
45
Inspiring Moments in
Guatemala 2013
By Jeffrey Y. Tsai, DO ’16
In summer 2013, with the support of the American
Osteopathic Foundation (AOF) and MAP
International, WesternU COMP alumnus Dr. Paul
McHugh, DO, and I led a group of multispecialized health care providers at the Guatemala
Medical Mission. Our expedition represented
DOCARE International. We successfully cared for
1,530 patients in five villages.
T
he most inspiring moment was during our visit at
Nuevo Mundo, Guatemala. Due to an intense
thunderstorm and the isolated locations of the villages
scattered in local forests where we were working, our buses
sank halfway into one of the four rivers we had to cross.
The panic we collectively experienced was beyond words.
We were petrified that the delicate string connecting life
and death was about to be torn, and physicians and nurses
were so terrified that they no longer knew how to comfort
the students and volunteers. The bus drivers were
attempting to cross the first three rivers amidst the bus
wreck in the river. We were all wondering, “Is this medical
mission worth risking our lives for?” Fortunately, the local
tour guides arrived quickly during the heavy thunderstorm
and helped everyone safely cross the rivers.
Upon arrival at the village, we had to unload all of our
medical supplies and set up triage tables at a tent-covered
basketball court in an elementary school. The rain drew
lots of insects into our tent, along with the rotten smells of
scattered animal corpses. Nevertheless, nothing stopped us
46
from caring for our 300 patients that day. Dr. McHugh
allowed me to be the medical student leader in a triage
station. After setting up our equipment, I addressed my
team of first-year medical students and four pre-med
volunteers, “With the osteopathic philosophy we’ve all
learned, I would like to work with you all on problembased learning. I was taught the concept of
interprofessional education, which states that everyone has
his or her potential in individual career development, and
we can all learn from each other. I only have few more
years of clinical experience than all of you do, but I still
need your inspiration in order to grow and scrutinize
everyone’s potential. Let’s enjoy this moment together.”
Inspiring bonding within my team was galvanizing, and the
problem-solving paradigm I created was nothing less than
a round of multi-specialty medical rotations. The result
was an exhausting but efficient and successful day.
Finally, after eight hours of providing care to the
underserved, my team was finishing up and cleaning out
our station when mother RG and her son PG appeared at
the corner, having just arrived at our clinic. RG asked if it
was too late to be treated, and begged us to make an
exception for her son. She was concerned about his chest
palpitations due to coffee addiction at McDonald’s since
childhood. Dr. McHugh agreed to look at PG. Fortunately,
PG felt better after a chapman’s point treatment. After PG’s
exam, RG opened up about her problems of chronic
dermatitis on the back of her both hands and urinary
burning sensation. We conducted a urinalysis and
confirmed that she had urinary tract infection (UTI). Dr.
McHugh prescribed Bactrim for her UTI. Next, with Dr.
McHugh’s supervision, I performed Compression of the
HUMANISM
IN THE
4th Ventricle Techniques (CV4) on both of them to relax
their body tension by reaching homeostasis of the whole
body. According to Dr. Harold Ives Magoun in
“Osteopathy in the Cranial Field,” CV4 manipulation is
defined as tempering the fluctuation of cerebrospinal fluid,
and it is possible to induce a balanced interchange of all
fluids in the body. In the end, RG confided in Dr. McHugh
that she and her son walked 50 miles to receive care from
us that day. She had seen him during last year’s mission
and she was incredibly relieved that the osteopathic
manipulation relaxed her for days afterwards. I admire
Dr. McHugh for unconditionally dedicating his time to
bringing desperately needed medical care to Guatemala.
That was our very last day of the medical mission. As most
people slept on the way back to our local housing, I was
awake. The seemingly eternal rain and thunder sliced
through the darkness. Our buses were the only sources of
light on the sinuous mountain roads. Active volcanoes
roared with ash that saturated the air. It seemed that nature
was begging us to stay and care for more people. Our
presence was like a lighthouse in a darkness of illness
where people were suffering without a cure. The rain was
like the tears of the neglected communities, which we could
not ever help enough.
I will be back, and when I return, I will be a more
competent osteopathic physician, able to utilize a holistic
approach because osteopathic medicine emphasizes
HUMANISM
IN THE
humane medical care, wherein structure and function are
integrally related. I promise I will soon return to
Guatemala.
Never have I hesitated to immerse myself in helping diverse
populations of people, especially the underserved. I reached
out to underserved communities before entering medical
school, as a member of the Hurricane Katrina relief team
in New Orleans and as a patient advocate at a refugee free
clinic in China. These experiences have never once felt like
sacrifices to me; instead, they have cultivated in me a desire
to serve the best way I know how. Along with
Dr. McHugh, I am sincerely grateful for the support from
American Osteopathic Foundation, MAP International,
and the country of Guatemala.
Most important, as my lifelong mentor, Dr. McHugh is my
greatest inspiration for developing unique DO care. For all
of these diverse experiences, and for the immense support
of the previously noted foundations — and one human
being who relentlessly pursues healing the less fortunate —
I am compelled to become the most competent physician I
can possibly be. ■
Photos top, left to right: Dr. Paul McHugh and Jeffery Tsai after an eight-hour
medical clinic in Nuevo Mundo, Guatemala; scenes of flooded roads; team of
first-year medical students and pre-med volunteers unload and organize medical
supplies.
Below, left to right: Guatemalan newspaper story about the clinic; Dr. Paul
McHugh and the city mayor; Jeffery Tsai being recognized by the city mayor.
47
Life Lessons
By Joshua Geeming Lee, DO ’15
As pedestrians hurried along the busy Chinese street, shouting
Mandarin into iPhones and dodging honking taxis, the man waited
patiently for his wheelchair to be adjusted. Mr. Li appeared to be
about the size of a small child, yet his mature face revealed a man in
his forties. As a curious medical student, I was eager to interact with
this man who had osteogenesis imperfecta, a disease frequently taught
in textbooks but rarely seen in real life. I approached Mr. Li to learn
about his disease, but instead he taught me a more important lesson:
character.
The first thing I noticed about Mr. Li was his smile. He never seemed
to stop smiling, despite the many difficulties he must have endured as
a man with disabilities in a society not known as disability-friendly. I
began to speak to him in my broken Mandarin. I found out he enjoyed
watching movies, liked eating meat, and was planning to take a trip to
the United States. He never complained about his condition, which is
characterized by the absence of a radius and a femur, chronically
contorted arms and legs, and an inability to walk.
Mr. Li’s patience and joy were an example of how to persevere
through hardship. These were life lessons that could not be learned by
cramming for multiple-choice exams. Yet what I learned from Mr. Li
48
(top) Dr. Zhang, center, with our team; (inset) me and Mr. Li.
HUMANISM
IN THE
may be just as important for medical training as learning
the side effects of ACE inhibitors or memorizing the
coagulation cascade.
I met Mr. Li while on a Wheels for the World trip to China,
during which volunteers travel internationally to pass out
wheelchairs. The other volunteers on my team consisted of
physical and occupational therapists and amateur
wheelchair mechanics. I learned just as much from my
fellow team members as I did from wheelchair recipients
such as Mr. Li.
The therapists and mechanics inspired me with their
passion to serve and their generosity in helping others
whom they had never met and will never see again. My
team members embodied care and compassion, vital
aspects in the education of a WesternU student.
orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Zhang suffered a diving accident
that left him a quadriplegic. But instead of falling into
despair, Dr. Zhang found hope through faith in God, and
dedicated his life to helping others with disabilities. He
founded an organization that now provides home visits,
medical care, and rehabilitation therapy for people with
disabilities. His clinic also provides teachers for children
with disabilities; many of these kids are not accepted at
public schools, and otherwise would not have received an
education.
The goal of College of Osteopathic Medicine of the Pacific
is to train osteopathic physicians who are caring,
compassionate, and lifelong learners. Though not a part of
WesternU’s faculty, my friends in China provided an
education in care and compassion, an education that will
continue for a lifetime. ■
However, the man who made the biggest impact on me
during the trip was our local partner, Dr. Zhang. A former
How Meaningful
Life Connections
Brought Me
to WesternU
By Sandra Khanian, PharmD ’16
In a tone reserved for rude teenagers, I once asked my
grandmother, “Why do you take so many pills?” She
looked me straight in the eye and simply said, “These pills
are the reason I am able to wake up in the morning.” As
she said that, I felt a shiver run down my spine. I did not
realize it at the moment, but it was that statement that built
the foundation for my choice to pursue a career in
pharmacy. It had never occurred to me what great
importance the implications of pharmaceuticals could be
not only to society as a whole, but to my personal world.
As the years went by, my interest in medicine only grew.
Coming from a family that told me that I could become
either a doctor or lawyer, I chose the latter. I graduated
from UCLA with a BA in history. During my time there, I
had the opportunity to sample many courses, including
“The History of Medicine: Foundations of Modern
Medicine.” This course allowed me to explore the ideas
that shaped modern thought and practice concerning
health, illness, and disease. Needless to say, this course
HUMANISM
IN THE
ended up being one of my favorites. I found myself
pondering further questions, which in turn led me to crave
more knowledge about the medical field.
With my interest in medicine only continuing to grow, I
needed to put my newfound knowledge into practice. After
searching for months, I was finally able to land a volunteer
position at a compounding pharmacy. At first, volunteering
was filled with a rush of excitement. I was able to shadow the
head pharmacist while she worked on compounding
medications under the hood. I was astonished to see the
formation of a solution customized for the specific needs of
one patient. The idea that with knowledge, formulas could be
manipulated to the individual’s needs, was amazing. To
witness such a thing was more than just stimulating. It was
inspiring. To further quench this thirst for knowledge, I
sought out seminars and volunteered at multiple pharmacies,
including one in the Veterans Affairs of Greater Los Angeles.
However, my good fortune soon darkened. My uncle passed
due to a prescription drug overdose. Years before, he was
diagnosed with ankylosing spondylitis, a long-term disease
characterized by inflammation of the joints in the spine and
the sacroiliac joint in the pelvis. Simply put, it caused him
serious back pain, which led to various visits to different
doctors who gave him pain medication that escalated from
Darvocet, to Tylenol with codeine, to Vicodin, to Percocet,
to morphine. Soon enough he was taking 18 different drugs
a day, prescribed for migraines, intestinal problems, blood
pressure, diabetes, and depression. His medication was no
longer a helpful tool, but an addiction that eventually led to
his deterioration. His death left many devastated. My aunt
49
could not seem to understand why this happened, if it could
have been prevented. I remember her words clearly. “Those
stupid pills killed him. Them, and those doctors who hand
out prescriptions like candy.” Suddenly, everything was not
so clear. The world of pharmaceuticals was not black and
white, good or bad; rather, it was a question mark. Could
his pharmacist possibly have predicted a harmful drug
interaction had she paid closer attention? Were all of his
medications completely necessary? Was there anything that
could have been done different? These questions raced
through my mind as I sat in quiet angst, mourning at my
uncle’s funeral. After what had happened, I decided to take
some time to think. I questioned where I fit in this equation,
compounding my values, motives, and future with
pharmaceuticals.
As easy as it would be to turn my eyes away and pursue
another career, pharmacy had me in its grip. I had seen
many of the positive aspects of pharmaceuticals with every
step my grandmother took. Furthermore, as a history
major, I was taught that we must take the knowledge from
our past to build toward a better future. Many of the
problems associated with medication interactions and
overdoses may be preventable with more knowledge and
personal attention. I know that by becoming a pharmacist, I
can work every day to prevent such errors, and have my
attitude of helpfulness spread to those around me. Whether
that means monitoring incoming prescriptions, or sitting
down and counseling a patient, I am in it for the long run. I
am the future of pharmacy. ■
Waves of the sea
Ripples on sand
Wings of a bird
The stride of a man
The pulse of life.
James , MS, PhD, Professor,
College of Dental Medicine |
untitled photo and poem
50
HUMANISM
IN THE
Maintaining
Life’s Pulse
I believe that our lives depend on balance; a balance of
external and internal factors that combine to make us
thrive. When that balance is shaken, our individual
growth falters, and our life’s pulse is upset.
By Paula Nuguid, DPM ’15
“Life’s pulse” can mean different things to different people.
The word “pulse” itself also has different meanings,
ranging from a rhythmic throb to a single, instantaneous
flash of energy. The word’s most colloquial connotation,
both inside and outside of the medical community, is that a
pulse is a sign of life. Each of us has our own – the calm,
steady pulse we feel in a moment of peace, and the rapid,
thumping one we feel in moments of stress, are both
barometers of our life. I believe that our lives depend on
balance; a balance of external and internal factors that
combine to make us thrive. When that balance is shaken,
our individual growth falters, and our life’s pulse is upset.
It is here that I find one of the most valuable aspects of the
health care profession: As physicians and health care
providers, we remedy the wounds and injuries of our
patients in hope of restoring their life’s balance and,
therefore, their pulse.
Prior to my first year of study at WesternU, a dear friend of
mine, J.J., suffered a devastating lower extremity injury: a
ruptured Achilles tendon. The rupture was complete, and
surgery was required to fix the destroyed tendon. J.J.’s road
to recovery was lengthy, arduous, and tedious, and it was
nearly a year until he was completely back on his feet.
Though the physical pain of the ordeal was clearly intense,
he repeatedly told me that the psychological and mental
strain was infinitely worse. An athletic and vibrant young
man, the injury prevented him from engaging in the
activities he had always loved, activities that he depended on
to bring balance to his life. His life’s pulse was thrown off of
its rhythm, and regaining that rhythm was vital. Witnessing
the human effect of a significant injury and the subsequent
surgical treatment just as I was beginning my study of
podiatry gave me a more complete perspective of my future
profession, one that I will carry throughout my career.
As a student of podiatry, I am exposed to a diverse array of
medical issues, some relatively minor, some lifethreatening. Having experienced diagnoses from both ends
of the severity spectrum, I have come to realize that
treatment of even the most routine of cases has immense
benefit for my patients. While the consequences of major
trauma are undoubtedly devastating and obvious, the
humanist view of medicine reveals a deeper and more
complex perspective involving the entire range of human
afflictions. A human requires nourishment in all phases of
life in order to thrive, and physical or mental damage in
HUMANISM
IN THE
any capacity threatens that nourishment. For example, a
ruptured Achilles tendon that prevents an individual from
engaging in his favorite activities causes significant
disruption to his quality of life. From the humanist
standpoint, well-being isn’t just about being alive. It is
about having a complete and harmonious state of being.
From the humanist perspective, what greater tragedy could
there be than losing one’s passion, one’s love, or one’s
escape from the pressures of life?
Connecting with our patients on a personal and thorough
level allows our professional humanism to flourish, and
gives us the capacity to clearly see the effect that our care
has on them. Treating our patients goes well beyond what
occurs in the operation or exam rooms. Complete
treatment seeks to repair the patient’s physical damage as
part of the greater goal of restoring their happiness. Any
physician can, and must, treat their patient’s medical
afflictions, because that is part of the job description. It
takes a truly devoted and caring physician, however, to
search beyond the diagnosis and discover the extent of a
patient’s suffering. Even if we are not in a position to help
them beyond medical treatment, the human connection
that is formed through genuine care and interest bestows
vast reward on both the physician and patient.
By bonding with our patients on a deeper, more human,
and less scientific level, we are able to touch and feel the
pulses of their lives. We are able to realize the total impact
of our treatment on their existence, beyond the procedure
or prescription that we impart to them. This realization has
enriched my humanity personally and professionally. Along
the tiresome path to becoming a physician, remembering
that the countless hours of painstaking study gives us the
ability to influence other human lives so significantly serves
as a source of inspiration for me. The physician that
repaired J.J.’s tendon didn’t just fix his foot; he gave him
back the ability to live fully. He allowed balance back into
his world, and as a result J.J.’s life’s pulse was restored.
This has always served as a reminder to me; that no matter
how significant or minor a procedure may be, the goal is
always to improve our patients’ lives. Though the scars left
by our treatment will always exist, they can serve as
reminders to our patients of the dedication and
commitment we showed them, and to us of the impact we
had on the pulses of their lives. ■
51
The Pulse of Life
Approximately 22 days after a human egg is fertilized, the
embryonic heart begins to beat. Days later, it is already
circulating blood in the tiny mass of cells that will become
a human being. Parents-to-be are always thrilled when they
first hear their child’s heartbeat, because a beating heart
indicates that there is life. From the first trimester of
embryonic development until, hopefully, eight or nine
decades later, the human
heartbeat continues to serve as
the pulse of life.
The pulse of life involves more
than the rhythmic beating of
the muscle we know as the
human heart. In between each
beat, life moves and flows. We
grow, transform, suffer loss
and experience joy. All are
part of the pulse of life. Life
contracts and relaxes, much
like the heart, and the beat
goes on and on and on.
By Brenda Campbell, MA, University Advancement
smaller and weaker than our parents or older siblings. So
the message of “not enough,” begins to penetrate our
psyche at a very early age. Dysfunctional families of origin,
cultural stereotypes and norms, as well as the power of the
media reinforce that original “not enough” message. We
are not thin enough, pretty enough, sexy enough, strong
enough, rich enough, successful enough, popular enough…
the list goes on and on and on
— the beat of not-enoughness.
We are constantly measuring
our value and worth by our
not-enoughness.
The experience of shame
The experience of shame has
huge implications for health
care providers. If patients are
shamed into silence, they are
more likely to hide symptoms,
and avoid important followup appointments or treatment
altogether. The whole process
of accessing health care is full
of potential shame landmines.
What patient has not feared
the dreaded weigh-in, or
undressing for a physical
exam? Why is that? In a
culture fascinated by
airbrushed perfection, we are
taught to be ashamed of our
body, and our weight is often
the measuring stick by which
society and sometimes the
medical profession judges our
value. So we hide and avoid
and stay away rather than enter fully into partnership with
our health care provider.
has huge implications for
health care providers. If
patients are shamed into
silence, they are more likely
Sometimes life breaks and falls
apart, and we are “heart”
broken. At other times, life
fills us up with joy and we say
that our “heart” is full and
overflowing. The metaphor of
the human heart as the seat of
all emotion points to the
notion that the pulse of life is
reflected in varied emotional
states. As humans, we
experience a full spectrum of
emotions. One of the most
debilitating emotions we experience is that of shame.
to hide symptoms,
avoid important follow-up
appointments, or
treatment altogether.
Shame is that intensely felt emotion that says I am not
enough. While guilt says, “I made a mistake,” shame
screams, “I am a mistake.” Guilt is a failure of doing, but
shame is a failure of being. Guilt motivates us to change our
behavior or attitude, while shame causes us to shrink
inward and withdraw. Shame creates disconnections and
causes us to hide from ourselves and from others. Shame is
the antithesis to the pulse of life; it does not foster growth
and authenticity, but instead isolates and deadens its victims.
We first encounter shame as part of the developmental
process. We are physically, mentally, and psychologically
52
According to shame researcher Dr. Brenè Brown, shame
needs three things in order to grow exponentially in our
lives: secrecy, silence, and judgment.1 All three are often
present in the examination room. She goes on to say that
healing from toxic shame is counterintuitive; rather than
continuing to hide in isolation and fear, we reach out to
connect with others. “Shame happens between people, and
it heals between people.”2 “Shame derives its power from
being unspeakable…If we cultivate enough awareness
about shame to name it and speak to it, we’ve basically cut
it off at the knees.”3
HUMANISM
IN THE
WesternU puts an emphasis on humanism
within the health care sciences. A
humanistic health care provider seeks to
see the whole individual, rather than just
a body part or disease. The humanistic
clinician is concerned about the patient’s
environment, both internally and
externally, and seeks to see and treat the
patient in their complex totality. By
recognizing that shame is an inherent
component of that environment, the
clinician is provided an opportunity to
join with the patient in battling this
insidious toxin. By daring to name shame
— that is, recognize that shame is present
in the examination room — and by
offering empathy rather than judgment,
the clinician can help to normalize this
universal human experience. This may
encourage the patient to join the
therapeutic team so that the care provided
will effectively prolong and enhance the
pulse of life.
The human heart is capable of
experiencing a plethora of emotions. The
pain of shame, however, has the power to
stop a beating heart metaphorically, and
to restrict and impede the pulse of life. We
are born vulnerable and needy; indeed,
without human connection we would not
survive infancy. We need each other in
order to heal from our shame and to fully
engage in the wonder of life on this
planet. The purple dinosaur used to sing,
“I love you, you love me, we’re a happy
family,” and as annoying as it may be to
remember that irritating song, Barney was
right.
But more accurate lyrics might be, “I need
you, you need me, together we are a
family.” That is what the pulse of life is
really all about. Y
1
Brown, B. (2010). The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You
Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You are. Center
City, MN: Hazelden Publishing. P. 40.
2
Ibid. P. 40.
3
Brown, B. (2012). Daring Greatly: How the courage to be
Vulnerable Transforms the Way we Live, Love, Parent and Lead.
New York, NY: Gotham Books. P. 58.
Jason John Wei, DO ’17 | “1,000 Steps”
A Compassionate Space
By Priya Rao, DO ’15
Today, among the lumps and bumps,
the whoosh of blood
I am taken up
into this space.
A grey-haired man with a flame tattoo
and a cancer in his belly, now,
grimaces, clenches
his fists, punches
the wall, rattling the windows and
his Army tags.
For a minute he said nothing,
but then for an hour
he shed his motorcycle jacket and
his words.
His eyes clear as
he returns to the waiting room.
I hear his
belly laughs and see
his granddaughter’s nose wrinkle as
she smiles.
I am present in that space
today
of stories
And learning
And gratitude.
53
54
The Best Medicine
By Catherine Chang, Instructor, Physician Assistant Education
Dr. Paul Brand, a missionary surgeon who pioneered modern
leprosy treatment in India, wrote that he wished that he could give
lepers the “gift of pain” so that they could feel again, and not get
the hideous ulcers. His patients fight the enemy of numbness, and
in the process wound themselves even more. The bacteria that
causes leprosy destroys the nerves so that the patient has no
sensation in the arms and legs. These patients would burst with
delight only to feel again.
I thought about the plight of lepers as I considered how busyness
and the pace of modern life often tempt me to reduce individuals
to mere appearances, or to make quick judgments about them.
The “numbness,” or the gravitation toward succinct, pat answers,
begins to take effect. Even while living on the mission field, the
numbness could easily set in if I become absorbed in mere human
relief by providing health care. I have seen that making a lasting
impact does not begin with great skills or resources, but with great
love.
In 2009, my husband and I relocated to Yunnan, China. I worked at
a clinic providing care for the Chinese. One day, a family came with
their 3-month-old daughter, who was born without the ducts that
connect the liver to the intestines — a condition that leads to liver
failure. The family had spent a month at the Children’s Hospital
only to be discharged with a huge debt and no hope.
Amazingly, despite the likely death of their daughter, the family
did not come seeking a cure. They only asked for something to
comfort the baby. The family had undergone tremendous trials,
but they also had a great peace.
So I sat with this family and their precious baby, and we wept
together. I then tried to offer to help pay a portion of their hospital
bill, but they refused, “Our baby cannot be helped, but you can
use that money to help someone else,” they said.
Their attitude convicted me of my own attitude of often putting
my own needs above the needs of others. When I considered the
pain that this family lived with, my own issues shrank by
comparison.
In the end, we were not able to help this family medically.
However, I learned that sometimes feeling pain by weeping with
those who weep is the best medicine available.
This family impacted my priorities as a health care provider. We
are trained to quickly and succinctly diagnose and offer certain
answers, but it is often in the process of feeling grief and pain that
we provide the best treatment. ■
Photos of Yunnan, China, provided by Catherine Chang, Instructor, Physician Assistant
Education.
HUMANISM
IN THE
55
Emergency Room
By Lauren Smith, DMD ’17
Your beige walls were once white
like silent snowflakes
adorning a Christmas morning
falling breathlessly
on leaves still crunchy from last night’s frost.
Your beige walls watch
restless, hurrying animals
who resemble humans
as they rush through wafts of antiseptic
and crimson blood.
wives and husbands
frozen
as the waiting room clocks cease their relentless motion
tick tock tick tock
tick—
hope and fear suspended in the elusive silence of
waiting.
gray and black and red machines,
the jolt of electricity which attempts
to bring back life.
As if electricity could bring back life
from corridors of unknown midnight.
broken bodies lying, pleading,
at the mercy of doctors in cotton-green
who want to piece them back together—
successful sometimes
Life and Death
and me
Shadowing.
Your beige walls were once white.
56
Amelia Servin, DO ’15, COMP-Northwest
Group: “Tranquility of Rejuvenation”
Left: “Branch Frozen in February Storm”
Above: “Rushing Creek”
57
Ramni Khattar, DO ’15 | “The Essence”
58
Himani Patel DPM ’16 | Above left: “Aratrika” Above right: “Pratimurti”
Mara Rase, PharmD ’16 | “What Lies Within Us”
59
Humanism in Haiku
Set of Haikus by Vincent Kennedy, DO ’17
Learning is lifelong
Knowing how to treat patients
And then doing it
Putting patients first
Is the goal of med students
Always keep in mind
Whole person approach
Medicine with human touch
Osteopathic
Mind, body, spirit
Osteopathic healing
That's what it's about
OMM Patient
Has somatic dysfunction
Pop! HVLA
Counterstrain technique
Feel the therapeutic pulse
The pulse of life
60
Haiku
By Kathleen Gozum, PharmD ’15
A very young tree,
strong amidst the nature's rage.
Ah, a sign of life!
Christina Vo, DO ’16 | “Spring blue”
61
Day In, Day Out
Lullaby for Table Six
By Deanna Dunn, PharmD, Clinical Instructor, COP
By Laura Poindexter, DPM ’17
The sun comes up, the moon comes out
The seasons change, and creatures age
The waves crash in, lava thrashes
And amidst it all, deep inside, our veins pound
Another day draws to its close,
And so I gently tuck you in,
Covered tight from head to toes,
Safe from tempest, fire, or wind.
Sleep, awaiting day's new spark.
Sleep, and do not fear the dark.
Our heart may strain, it may sustain
It’s in our ears, through all the years
Always reminding, our breath abiding
The heart pushes, the blood races, but paces
A deadline looms, a fright consumes
Our heart pounds, the blood abounds
A calming breeze, our mind’s at ease
And deep inside us, a steady sound, “tha-thump”
We exercise, tha-thump, tha-thump
We lay to rest, tha-thump, tha-thump
We graduate, tha-thump, tha-thump
We hesitate, tha-thump, tha-thump
We fall in love, tha-thump, tha-thump
A scar is formed, tha-thump, tha-thump
A child is born, tha-thump, tha-thump
The years go by, tha-thump, tha-thump
All emotions, tha-thump, tha-thump
It quickens, it fades, tha-thump, tha-thump
It’s in us all, tha-thump, tha-thump
It still remains, the red river of our veins
Until that fateful day, we fade away, tha-…
Jason John Wei, DO ’17 | “Extinguished”
62
What of it if the night be long?
You'll arise to see the morn.
What of it if I sing no song?
Rest alone, but unforlorn.
Time will be to wake and run;
Time is now to wait the sun.
Wait in patience, wait in trust,
Never doubting its reward.
Mine to watch and gather dust,
Hope more than I may afford.
Sleep, not fearing war or strife;
Sleep, awaiting light and life.
Finding Paradise in the Margins
By Priya Saxena, DO ’15
I
had spent the entire week within the boundaries of the
resort in Puerto Peñasco, where smiling staff and
sparkling pools swept us away to a faraway place. A place
well beyond the relentless reach of reality.
I was in paradise. Away from the rain and the gray of
winter back in my hometown. Away from the monotony of
pounding fact after fact into my overflowing brain, within
the confined corners of a study room. I was in a place
where no one from my world could touch me.
Paradise.
I acquainted myself with a poolside beach chair that had
constant exposure to the sun. I love the sun. It never ceases
to amaze me how its powerful and unyielding warmth can
travel such inconceivable distances. A light so potent, it can
pierce the moon. I chose to bathe in its grandeur each day.
This spot also had a clear view of the shore. Several yards
of rough sand stretched out between me and the steady
rhythm of the water. Tiny black shadows on the sand
suggested the presence of whole shells and stones that had
yet to be worn further by the unforgivable force of the tide.
The tide here seemed to sway at decibels much lower than
those back home. I love the ocean. It allows me to feel small
and, at the same time, part of something much bigger.
I frequented this particular chair throughout the week to
read or nap, or simply talk with my family. I love my
family and relish that I, and only I, share a particular bond
and history with these select individuals among the seven
billion that are saturating our planet. They have affected
the growth and development of my character in
fundamental and monumental ways. They’ve helped to
mold the lens with which I view the world.
On December 31, 2011, my last day in Mexico, I decided
to take a walk on the beach for a few hours alone. As I
began my trek along a dry, crusted segment of the sand,
recollections of previous trips to the beach with my family
emerged in my head.
Soon other memories and thoughts began to crowd in. As I
sorted through particulars of the past, and the might-be’s
of the future, my feet began to migrate toward the rippling
water. I walked along the margins of ocean and land,
stepping over the foamy ridges of the waves, careful not to
disrupt them, like my siblings and I used to do when we
were little.
We called it water jump-roping.
HUMANISM
IN THE
Thoughts of the rough year I had experienced roamed
through my mind. I studied the small volcano-like mounds
in the sand made from some little creatures that I had
imagined looked like spiders. This prompted me to step on
them, covering the tiny holes on top, only to find them
reemerging after a subsequent wave swept in. Water
spewed out of the new holes and trickled away in tiny
rivers across the dark sand.
A couple of hours after walking, I looked back to see that
the resort had blended itself into the developed coastline
along with its neighboring buildings. I turned my head
toward the vast expanse of ocean and waded far out into
the tide, until all signs of land were outside of my
peripheral vision. I imagined what it would be like to stand
in the middle of the ocean, miles from land.
I felt the cool water remain level around my knees. The
sounds of the waves breaking at the shore had become
mere static. With the water, the sun, and the sky before my
eyes, the feeling of my feet sinking into the sand and the
sun’s warmth grazing my skin, I simply stood.
My brain cleared, and I basked in the moment. I thought
of nothing except for the fact that my being there – as a
child to my parents, as an organism with senses, as the
product of millions of years of evolution and thousands of
electrical impulses firing in that very instant, on that beach,
the result of massive amounts of hydrogen and oxygen
coupling and colliding against tectonic plates encircling an
enormous floating, spinning ball of fire — was all pure
statistical coincidence, at which point I felt so
overwhelmed that I started to cry.
After some time, a single thought materialized before me,
and I was drawn back to the noise. Everyone’s probably
wondering where I am. I became aware that I was cold and
starting to feel hungry. So I turned around to head back,
parting with that moment in time forever. Thinking back to
that day, I can’t quite remember much about the walk back.
It’s crazy to think that as children, we were always
naturally mindful – living in and for each moment.
Somehow in the process of growing up, we lose that innate
ability to just be present. This is something we must
discover and rediscover every day, every moment.
I don’t know when I may feel that overpowering sense of
unknowingness again. All I do know is that I felt it and it is
my utmost wish that others do, too.
It’s paradise.
63
64
Far Left: “Ancestor”
Kunming, Yunnan, China
Left:“In Motion”
Jiangjiajie, Hunan, China
Below Left:“Mountain Stroll”
Lijang, Ynnan, China
Below Right: “Vacation”
Baltic Sea, St. Petersburg, Russia
65
The Pulse of Life is Hope Looking Forward
By Roslyn Davis, Library Assistant, Harriet K. and Philip Pumerantz Library
In the pulse of life, looking backward
is remembering the past; looking
around in the now is exploring
potential; but looking forward is an act
of hope for the future. Looking
forward mandates us to perceive the
higher calling of destiny. If we don’t
look, we can’t find; if we don’t seek,
we can’t claim; and if we don’t aim
beyond our sight, we will never experience the reward of
the end results. Whether your call of destiny is found
privately within or is an outward calling to share and build
up others, God has given us all an inherit calling. If we let
it, it will lead us forward, and help us to succeed in our
private and professional arenas. Our higher calling is not
always what people may say or think it is. It is what we
know on the inside of us.
It was over three decades ago that the founders answered
their calling, and WesternU was birthed. And so, as it was
with WesternU’s founders, so it is with us — that an
implanted embryo called “destiny” is housed within each
and every one of us, yearning for us to be inspired to
apprehend our higher calling with a sober mind. It
challenges us to not just stay safely on the shallow shores of
life, but rather to take the plunge into the deep waters of
uncertainty, because that is where great treasures are found.
In the pulse of life, looking forward requires our attention
such that many times, at the budding stages of embarking
on something new, it may very well bring us to the doors
of heart-wretch, when looking forward dictates that we
must leave behind some people or things that are blocking
the view of what lies ahead. The first key step in the
process of “Looking Forward” is to “look.” To look with a
purpose, which requires us to face a specific direction, and
be decisive, in order to reach the goals set before us. To
look with a solid plan, which requires more than just a
glance or a quick, hasty look over to succeed. To look with
a stern brow, which requires an outright stare-down, until
every opposing force loses its powers of distraction. To
look with a sympathetic posture, that allows us to look
after others with care, while looking after our visions of
the future. There is a delicate line between looking forward
and holding on to the things of the past that are necessary
in the future. We cannot mindlessly let the core value of
preserving compassion for humanity simply erode and die
in the wake of our ambitious plans and enterprising
ventures. The need for human compassion is something
that should never be left behind, for displayed compassion
is of such divine worth, that it must remain constant
66
throughout every generation, along with a reverence for
truth and an honest effort to live by these ideals
throughout our various endeavors.
In the pulse of life, the second key step in the process of
“Looking Forward” is to “move forward.” Ideas, when
well-developed, will broaden intellectual growth and
organizational, structural, and technical advancements. To
move forward with the mindset of readiness will pioneer a
pathway for others to follow and model as a road map for
new or improved lines of thought or procedure. To move
forward with the willingness to confront barriers, challenge
traditions, change approaches, alter viewpoints, and stand
firm on a mission until the fulfillment of the vision comes
to pass. To move forward with eagerness that accelerates
the momentum needed to pilot vessels of transition, and to
make a difference in every community for the better. A
forward move is the move of an attacker, fearless and
daring. This is how we must go forth.
In the pulse of life, where there is hope, looking forward is
a process of expecting change. The act of reaching and
stretching out is an attempt to touch or seize the change
hewn from the stone of progress. We have to stay the
course with patience, knowing that while on this path of
bold adventure, the discipline of the task is to stay set and
in gear, to face forward and step forward. We can’t let the
disappointments of the past overshadow the glory of the
future. Remember, there is no shame in having had
disappointments, but there is great regret in giving up short
of reaching attainable achievements.
In the pulse of life, looking forward mentally engages our
optimistic ability to set aside all negative obstacles that will
impede attaining the intended goal. In whatever sector of
medicine or life’s ventures that are chosen, looking forward
requires locking arms with that vision — that calling, that
passion — with determination, walking forward in an
upright manner not found in the lofty and high-minded,
but in the ethical and grounded. A manner not found solely
on the intellectual plain, but craftily hidden in the pure
wisdom of common sense. Overall, the central meaning of
looking forward encompasses four familiar elements;
await, expect, wait and look. Await is to stay with the
objective or vision, and tough it out. Expect is to anticipate
with excitement in mind. Wait is to remain still, but be
ready to move into action. Look is the power of vision,
both naturally and for the unseen.
Ultimately, the time for looking forward is now, the time
for thinking forward is now, the time for reaching forward
is now, and the time for moving forward is beckoning us to
come prepared and fully cultivated for new growth. ■
HUMANISM
IN THE
Interprofessional Collaboration Between
the College of Graduate Nursing and the
College of Dental Medicine
By Brooke Bodart, Center for Oral Health, and Jenny Tjahjono, DMD, College of Dental Medicine, Clinical Managing Partner
On Nov. 12, 2013, a select group of third-year dental
students from the College of Dental Medicine and MSN-E
nursing students from the College of Graduate Nursing
joined forces to provide oral health education, dental
screenings, and fluoride varnish to a group of children
from the Laurel Avenue Apartment complex. The children
are part of an after-school program hosted by Pamela Lynn
of Angels Who Care, a non-profit organization in Pomona
that provides mobile outreach and programs to help
improve quality of life for the homeless and for needy
families.
As a result of the great turnout at the apartment complex,
a toy drive was orchestrated for the children under the
direction of Dr. Jenny Tjahjono. With help from all of the
students and faculty involved, over 100 gifts were collected
and wrapped for the children at the Laurel Avenue
Apartments. On Dec. 11, 2013, a wrapping party was held
over the lunch hour on the WesternU campus. It was a
great time for all to share a meal, discuss holiday plans,
and wrap toys for very deserving children. The toys were
delivered to Angels Who Care and handed out to the
children on Dec. 20, 2013.
During the session, nursing and dental students worked
side by side to educate the children about the importance
of oral health, to screen for oral health needs, and to
provide preventive fluoride varnish treatments. The
children were also provided with free toothbrushes and
toothpaste. Over 30 children were reached on this date,
and there are plans to return to the apartment complex to
offer additional screening services to children who were
unable to attend.
The Graduate Nursing faculty involved in this project were
Professor Ruth Trudgeon, Dr. Patricia Shakhshir, Professor
Paula Jones, and Professor Linda Flores. The Dental
Faculty involved in this project were Dr. Jenny Tjahjono,
Dr. Yawen Peng, Dr. Bertha Alarcon, and
Dr. Effuah Harris. The Center for Oral Health Program
Manager Brooke Bodart and Outreach Specialist Martha
Perez have also been involved in the project. ■
Future collaborations between the College of Graduate
Nursing and the College of Dental Medicine will involve
working with the homeless population in Pomona, as well
as an ongoing lecture series on oral health care and dental
diseases. The graduate nursing students will also be visiting
community outreach sites with the second-year dental
students to assist with oral health screenings.
HUMANISM
IN THE
Above left: At the screening day, from left to right: Christopher Naranjo,
Mohammad Amin Khoshnevisan, Margie Chillin, Jose Soto, Harroop Ruby
Sihota, and Dr. Jenny Tjahjono.
Above right: At the wrapping party, pictured left to right (first row) Rosalyn
Phan, Alyssa Salas, Deeba Kazempoor, Stephanie Cohen, Margie Chillin, and
Erin Chambers, (second row) Arbi Aboolian, Mohammad Ashraf, Jose Soto,
Mohammad Amin Khoshnevisan, Dr. Jenny Tjahjono, Nasseem Rowther,
Alicia Elizalde, Brooke Bodart, Martha Perez, and Dr. Effuah Harris.
67
Expression Session
By Luke Rauch, Recruitment and Public
Relations Officer, COMP-Northwest
What, one asks, is the Pulse of Life?
Work, study, joy and strife
In medical school we all do live
But sometimes something else to give
Music, laughter, dance and more
Share a passion, take the floor
We know ourselves a family
What makes you smile, we’d like to see
Three times a year, in a hallway sit
Piano, drums, rhythm hit
Add some food and drink and clapping
Swing, stand-up, didgeridoo and tapping
Hunchback, underwear, bbq and whales
If you’ve been, you know the tales
The door is open for all each Session
Come one, come all and drink Expression.
68
Luke Rauch, Recruitment and Public Relations Officer, COMP-Northwest
Page: “COMP-Northwest DO 2017 Class Jumping”
Inset: “Students Celebrating Newly Fallen Snow”
69
Below: “Sundown” Bakkhali Sea Beach, West Bengal, India
Top Right: “Never Forget” New York, New York, USA
Bottom Right: “Pulse of the Sea” Bakkhali Sea Beach, West Bengal, India
70
71
Professionalism
By Albert Lee, DO ’14
“That’s silly, we wear different shoe sizes!” I replied as my
mother tried to teach me the concept of putting yourself in
others’ shoes when I was young. At the time, it was not an
easy concept for me to grasp, but through many personal
experiences since then, I eventually understood the true
meaning of that phrase. Similarly, I believe that in many
ways, being professional mirrors the concept of putting
yourself in others’ shoes; professionalism means to think,
to speak, and to act out of love and empathy for others.
Professionalism is emphasized starting with the first day of
medical school, not only because it is an important virtue,
but also because it is crucial in enabling us to successfully
care for our patients. When we empathize and value our
patients and our colleagues, we can’t help but be
courteous, respectful and considerate to our patients and
everyone we work with, which I believe are the core values
of being professional. Often suffering from multiple
diseases, our patients come to see us for relief from their
illnesses, expecting the best of care. They place their trust
in us, and it is our duty to meet, if not surpass, their
expectations. It not only requires effective, efficient
communication between different health care professionals,
but also an empathetic heart to understand the frustration
they are going through. Before I enter the room, I check
myself to not only make sure my tie is straight, but also to
make sure I leave all negative attitudes and feelings of
exhaustion at the door. Despite their difficulty hearing, we
listen to patients closely, we explain information to them
patiently, we call other health care professionals to work
out discrepancies, and we provide them with all necessary
resources. At the end of the visit, their smile often says
everything. It is true that medical knowledge is important
in the disease management of any patient; however, our
bedside manner and professionalism help make a difference
in our patient’s visit.
As students, we are often reminded that it is not
professional to mix your personal life with your
professional life. In reality, mixing the two is inevitable.
Our personal lives and practices outside of work have a
tremendous impact on our professional lives, and impact
our ability to care for our patients. Thus, it is important to
carry the same professionalism outside of the hospital and
clinic. For instance, if we don’t love and care for ourselves,
we might not be in the best condition to provide the
ultimate care for our patients while on duty. As another
example, if we are constantly late in our own personal
engagements, this habit might impact our ability to be on
time for our work meetings and schedules. Additionally, as
physicians or physicians-to-be, our actions and behavior
on- and off-duty impact how others view us, and
consequently their perception of our ability to care for
them. For instance, if a physician has multiple DUIs, how
credible is he or she when advising a patient to quit
drinking? Lastly, I believe it is our social responsibility to
help those around us, and by being professional in our
daily lives, we can make a difference in those around us.
While there are many benefits in behaving professionally,
sometimes it is not easy to learn. To me, professionalism
isn’t something you can learn by reading about it. It must
come from firsthand experience. Although I am still
learning the true value of professionalism, I believe that I
should do my best to encourage others to be professional.
Leading by example is one of the ways that I have tried to
achieve that goal. As a leader and a teaching fellow on
campus, I had many opportunities to show others what
being a professional meant. I strived to become a role
model for students in the classes below us, just as those
ahead of me did. I also tried to create opportunities, such
as hosting volunteering and other professional experiences,
to encourage and establish opportunities for students to
gain experience and practice professionalism.
While it is true that the society that we live in is not a “one
size fits all” world, our ability and our desire to be
professional will be the key to the best care for our patients.
“…I believe that in many ways, being professional
mirrors the concept of putting yourself in
others’ shoes; professionalism means to think,
to speak, and to act out of love and
empathy for others.”
Photo courtesy of Shutterstock.com
72
HUMANISM
IN THE
Jason John Wei, DO ’17 | “Journey” Helsinki, Finland
Humanism in the Health Sciences
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Photo by Luke Rauch, Recruitment and Public Relations Officer, WesternU COMP-Northwest. “Expanding the Osteopathic Concept Week and further honing the power of
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26888-5/14-D
Western University of Health Sciences is a private, non-profit institution of higher
learning that offers post-baccalaureate degrees in several health and medical fields.
More than 3,700 students study to become osteopathic physicians, physical
therapists, physician assistants, advanced practice nurses, pharmacists,
veterinarians, dentists, podiatrists, optometrists, and researchers. The University is
located in the Pomona Valley on 22 acres in the city of Pomona, Calif., 35 miles
east of downtown Los Angeles. A second campus of the College of Osteopathic
Medicine of the Pacific, known as COMP-Northwest, is located in Lebanon, OR.

pulse of life - Western University of Health Sciences

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