Help Healing Happen

Mission To Heal: Gifts from the Poor

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Fri, 24 Dec 2010 12:48:00 +0000

It was not gift wrapped, but it was surely one of the best gifts I could have received. The box held five Advance Reader Copies of Dr. Glenn Geelhoed's book: Mission To Heal: Gifts from The Poor, a chronicle of over forty years of international surgery and medicine. Dr. Geelhoed describes himself as a "hunter-gatherer," but other describe him as brilliant, adventurer, driven and called. He has impressed me as having the most intellectual breadth, curious height, and spiritual depth of any person I have ever met.

The book is due to be released in early May and Dr. Geelhoed is trying to arrange his schedule to visit Southold for a lecture and book signing. ALL proceeds from the sale of the book go to the International Medical Hall of Fame which each year recognizes persons who have made extraordinary contributions and which helps support medical missions.

The book is a great "read/" It has moments of humor, days of danger, flashes of brilliance, glimpses of resilience, glimmers of hope, and visions of what this world could be.

You can pre order it on Amazon. IF we are fortunate enough to have the opportunity to have Dr.Geelhoed visit, be sure to attend. A Geelhoed lecture is not a Broadway show, but it does bear similarities. People laugh and cry, are engaged and are amazed, and don't want the time to end. The main difference, the most critical difference, is the difference it will cause in you.

Survivors of Torture

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Sun, 31 Oct 2010 13:16:00 +0000

It's been a long time since my last post, but until this weekend, I thought I had a good enough reason. House guests occupied my time for the entire month of August and the beginning of September. Then I was sick. All illnesses were a "a long way from the heart" as the saying goes, but were enough to incapacitate me: oral surgery, allergic reaction to medications(yes, that does happen even if Charlie Sheen has given this some bad press), and a wretched bronchical cold. This is the first weekend my husband and I were going out with friends in a long time.

The Unitarian Church in Bridgehampton, Long Island, was hosting a book reading and lecture by Dr. Danielle Ofri and together with another couple, we planned to attend.Dr. Danielle Ofri is an essayist whose writings are primarily observations on her experiences as as a physician and professor at Bellevue Hospital in New York City. The hospital serves a large immigrant population, some of whom are in the Survivors of Torture Program sponsored by Bellevue. Unfortunately, we didn't make it, but again, I have a good enough reason. The Thai restaurant in Sag Harbor was crowded so we ran late. Then we couldn't find the church on the dark country roads. We just gave up and came home.

Since I missed the reading, I thought I would at least start her newest book,

Medicine in Translation

. The first essay is about a young Nigerian man who had been tortured by the "cults" while at university in Nigeria. These cults were originally fraternities founded by Nigeria's only Nobel Laureate and their purpose was to advocate for freedom. They have devolved into gangs perpetrating intimidation and torture. The young man's father was a minister who apparently converted a cousin of a local bad news governor and in retaliation, the minister's family was marked for death.

The young man was beaten, had his ear cut off, and finally had acid poured down his throat. Although he survived, he was kept hidden for many, many months so that no further violence would erupt. Eventually he made his way to America through the Survivors of Torture Program. Despite numerous skin grafts and esophogeal reconstruction, he was horribly scarred and his eye sight was severely compromised. Yet when Dr. Ofri met him, he was primarliy seeking assistance in rematricularing at a university so he could complete his studies in engineering. He was anxious to move on with his life. His scars were not going to stop him.

And yet, I thought I had a good excuse to put Help Healing Happen on pause. I was sick, after all. What a joke; what a shame.

Peconic Replication

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Mon, 16 Aug 2010 20:19:00 +0000

She must have been in the 3rd grade and some kids said something mean. Not to her, mind you, but to another little girl who then sat off by herself and cried. My daughter went to sit with her instead of going off with the other kids. When I asked her if she didn’t feel good about herself, she replied with all the candor of a child “No, I just wish that girl didn’t cry.”
That happened almost twenty five years ago in my tiny little town at Peconic Elementary School. But like the perfect number in a Pythagorean equation that replicates itself over and over again no matter how big the number becomes, so does that scene in Peconic replicate itself over and over again, no matter that the stage is bigger and the stakes are higher. It is replicated in Russian schoolyards, on Iraqui battlefields, in African villages, and in Indian cities. Someone somewhere is being hurt and hopefully, someone else is there to help. And, yes, sometimes that someone, for example ME, wishes the person being damaged could handle it and not show his pain. But once I see it, once I know it, I can’t ignore it. Humanity demands it; God commands it. Surgeons from ISMS need money to help people who are in pain. Now you know it, you can’t ignore it.
Yeah, I wish there were a sufficient infrastructure in countries like Pakistan, India, and Guatamala to support quality surgical care for the villagers in remote areas and the extreme poor in their cities. But they don’t. It is what it is. My daughter taught me that lesson twenty five years ago. I pass it along as a reminder.

Tagged!

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Wed, 11 Aug 2010 20:13:00 +0000

Karen was 36 years old and was supposed to get married next month. She died this past weekend. Unknown persons murdered her. Perhaps they were Taliban. For sure they were people with no hope. She was a daughter, a sister, and a doctor ..

When I heard the news Sunday morning, I couldn’t help but think of my daughter. Jill is 31 years old and in her last year of medical school. She has an MBA in Global Health and wants to work on delivery of health care to those in developing and third world countries.

Facebook sent me a notice the same day that Jill was “tagged.” It was a photo of her taken in Paraguay in September, 2009 when she was there on a health mission. She’s smiling the sort of smile you only see when there is hope. I wonder, but am not sure if I hope so, or hope not, whether Karen’s loved ones will get photos of her from one year ago.

I get really scared when I think of my daughter being in places like Afghanistan, or Rwanda or Old Fangak. But then I also know that in the smiles of the Karen's and the Jills, there's hope and and with hope there’s creation and healing, not death and cruelty. Karen had hope, Jill has hope, and I have hope.

I hope that everyone, especially those I have met face to face at some point in my life, will donate to ISMS, doctors who believe in HOPE.

Share on the Playground

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Mon, 26 Jul 2010 18:25:00 +0000

It was one of universal laws of childhood: You don’t bring candy onto the playground unless you have enough for everyone. Milky Way bars were for private feasts. Those little dots of candy on paper strips were good playground fare. The same rule applied to chewing gum. Chicklets were hard to share, but Wrigley’s peppermint could be torn into three, and even four bits in an emergency.

I remember a sort of mass hysteria when candy was brought out. All the other kids would run to the kid with the loot. Hey, Terry’s got candy! What’s he got? Can I have some? Where’d he get it? How come he got it? Terry, or Valerie, or Henry, or me, would be the star attraction for a few minutes. It felt sort of good to be the dispenser of such largesse.

Maybe it’s because none of us had a lot of money in the neighborhoods I grew up in, but that “rule” was as present in Rego Park, Queens and Mineola,Long Island, as it was in East Patterson, NJ and campgrounds in Pennsylvania. Kids just shared what they had or stayed home and gorged alone. You shared with everyone there, even with the cousin who called you four eyes, and the girl whose hair was ratty, and the boy who cheated in t-ball.

How did it happen that those kids, we kids, are now all grown up, even senior citizens, and so many of us go out onto life’s playground every day and don’t share?

You are my staff; help me please

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Sat, 17 Jul 2010 13:03:00 +0000

If I had an office I could call everyone together for a meeting and get input. But I dont have the office and I don't have the "everyone." You out there are my board, my employees, my co-workers, my facebook friends, my social contacts, my e-mail list. Help me! Somehow I need to convince all east enders to donate to International Surgical Mission. I could tell horror stories of need. Should I? I could lambast people for their stinginess. Should I? I can beg. Should I?

This is not just a little project. Lives are at stake. There are children losing vision, women dieing in child birth, men unable to provide for their families because of broken limbs, grandmothers unable to breathe because of goiters. We can't fail! We should not fail. The people of the East End will never deny such a small amount for such a great need.

Ten dollars here doesn't buy us much. Ten dollars in Kenya or Burma is a fortune.

Tell me how I can make people understand, Please.

Spiritual Venture Capitalism

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Wed, 07 Jul 2010 15:08:00 +0000

Venture capitalism provides seed funding to early-stage, high-potential, growth companies. Very often those companies are at a crossroads:they need to grow or they will fail. When they don't have the money to implement the necessary changes, the venture capitalist (VC) enters the picture. Usually the company has already demonstrated its ability to succeed, has proven revenue, and may even have a customer list and pending product orders. When the VC brings money and perhaps additional skill sets to the company, he hopes to generate a return through an eventual realization event such as an IPO or trade sale of the company. In other words, he takes the risk, invests the money and skills, and hopefully he makes money with his stake.

Help Healing Happen is engaging in a bit of spiritual venture capitalism. We see a group whose potential for growth is tremendous and we are bringing in some necessary skills to help this organization, International Surgical Mission Support, Inc. It has already proven its ability to succeed as it has conducted medical mission trips each year since its foundingin 1996. It certainly has demonstrated the value of its product. Ask any of the people they operated on in Haiti, Peru, India or Egypt. For sure they have a customer list and pending orders. So many people are in need of help, are suffering right this moment, and could be helped by surgical intervention. The one thing they really need is money. Enter Help Healing Happen as a spiritual venture capitalist.

The only real thing we are contributing is the ability to reach out to not only potential supporters, but proven supporters. The East End is home to people who have proven over and over again how much they believe in helping their neighbors and friends when they ask for help. Now they can help their own doctors and nurses from their own hometown hospitals. ISMS needs money to continue their surgical missions to people who will otherwise not get the help they need. Help Healing Happen is making no profit (all donations go directly to ISMS), but we do have a stake in it. It's a stake in the well being of the world and that's a pretty good investment.

Greek Word for Sin: Missed the Mark

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Tue, 06 Jul 2010 13:23:00 +0000

First Presbyterian Church of Southold runs a Vacation Bible School each year and it is an amazingly creative endeavor directed by Kathy, a talented, smart and deeply spiritual young woman. The theme this year is On the High Seas and it uses stories from the Acts of the Apostles, a Bible book that reads partly like an adventure story. Having seen what past Vacation Bible Schools did, I did not want to miss out on the fun this year so I volunteered to help.

Kathy asked me if I could figure out a way to incorporate pirates into the finales for each day’s lessons. In the finales, all the “crews” i.e. age groups, come together to sum up the lesson learned that day, sing some songs, and have some fun together. She gave me the lesson plans and I worked my way quickly through the first three days which deal with exciting stories of ship wrecks, and snake bites, and prison escapes. The fourth day got really serious though and I was stopped dead in my tracks. It was about the death and resurrection of Christ and spoke of sin. I have a real issue with this. I was scared to death as a child over the concept of sin and I didn’t want to do the same to any kids now. I appreciated that it was important that the kids get the lesson of Christ dying for our sins, but still, it terrified me. I saw no way to bring pirates, the crucifixion and resurrection and fun times at Bible school together. Oh, me of little faith.

For Southold’s 4th of July Parade, Kathy drove the truck pulling the Pirate Ship owned by Maritime Pirates, a street drama group that conducts shows and summer camps. They had offered to do a cameo performance for our Vacation Bible School and were loaning us costumes and training us a bit in pirate lore and behavior. When their truck broke down, Kathy offered to reciprocate their generosity by helping them in the parade. While driving in the truck with her, I shared my concern about Lesson 4. Later that night, she wrote to me and here is what she said?

The greek word for "sin" means "missed the mark." What is the mark? The mark is LOVE. If X marks the spot (LOVE) whenever we miss the mark, that is sin. And we miss the mark often! God knows that! God has made the way for us to keep moving ahead toward the mark, toward the treasure.....LOVE! Unfortunately, many of us were brought up to think of sin as a great evil -- the word alone makes us feel like murderers or something. I'd love to change that image. We missed the mark, that's all.

So, there it is. Lesson 4: A treasure map with a X marking the spot. We pirates will try to hit the mark and if we don’t. it’s ok. We can just keep trying!

I am in awe of her message and so I have to pass it on to all of you who perhaps have not yet hit the mark when it comes to Help Healing Happen. All that is asked is that you love a bit more and help our doctors help others. It’s not a sin if you don’t, but it’s found treasure if you do.

Addiction Countdown

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 13:20:00 +0000

I figured if I am going to ask everyone to Help Healing Happen, I ought to start by healing myself, or at least helping to improve my health. . I quit smoking about two months ago but that wasn’t my only addiction. Another is (was) Diet Coke in a can. I bought it by the case for home and I know which gas station marts in a twenty five mile radius carry it. When I visited a new city, one of the first things I did was find a place that sold itI have not had a can in two weeks. It’s not as hard to give up as smoking, but it’s not easy either. Especially now in this hot weather, a cold icy can would mean as much to me as an icy cold beer might to a highway worker

That’s two addictions down. I’m working on my third: carbohydrates. My nutritionist tells me soon I won’t miss them. I can’t imagine not longing for a bagel. Oh, did I mention that I am working with a nutritionist now? He has me eating kale and berries. I also bought a wok this weekend.

As if I didn't place enough stress on myself, I decided to get those medical tests recommended for “people of my age” but which I have avoided for years. In another week, they will all be over. Just about everything in my body will have been checked into (no pun intended) and hopefully checked off as being ok.

Isn’t it amazing what the hope of healing others can do? I think it’s going to make me healthy!

I should have said

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Wed, 09 Jun 2010 15:51:00 +0000

Someone said:

If I were going to get involved in any cause, it would be for cancer. It’s disgusting that our country can’t cure that disease yet.

What I should have said was

We already have a cure for malaria, measles, diarrhea and tuberculosis, but people are still dieing from them because they can’t afford the meds. Imagine knowing the only thing preventing your child's cure is a few dollars. And by the way, what are you doing to help find the cure for cancer? I’d like to help.

Someone said:

I believe in helping American kids first. I’m sick of America taking care of the world.

What I should have said was:

Great, tell me what you’re doing to help American kids? I’d like to help. I don’t think the two are mutually exclusive. And by the way, America gives less than 1% of its GNP in foreign aid and we are way down on the list of donor countries for developing and third world nations. One more thing: It doesn’t really matter what nationality a child is if he is suffering and we can help. He is a child of God, not a nation.

Someone said:

I know your daughter is in global health and that’s what got you involved, but truthfully, it’s not my thing.

What I should have said is:

Yes, I’ve learned a lot from my children. It’s sort of how I keep up with the world. I feel bad that we’ve given it to them in such a mess so I want to help as long as I can. BTW, what exactly is “your thing?”

Gushing

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Tue, 01 Jun 2010 13:16:00 +0000

There’s no way I can write about Dr. Glenn Geelhoed without gushing. I joked once with him that the last time I was so taken with someone I was twelve years old and in love with Ricky Nelson. Well, I’m in love with my husband, but as one person put it, I recognize genius when I see it.
In addition to being a medical doctor, Glenn Geelhoed is an anthropologist, a zoologist, a hunter, a marathon runner, a horse back rider, a mountain climber, and a philosopher. He has granted me permission to write some of his stories on this blog, and it is my sincere hope that I can convey to you not only his brilliant mind but also his brilliant goodness.
Dr. Geelhoed keeps journals on his medical mission trips, takes lots of pictures and since he graciously added me to his e-mail list, I get them totally unedited, straight from Tanzania, or Old Fangak or whatever other corner of the world he is in. I await them with the same anticipation as Londoners might have waited for the latest Sherlock Holmes series. What strikes me is that Sir Arthur’s stories were fantastically untrue, but so believable while Dr. Geelhoed’s stories are so fantastically unbelievable, but so true.
I have printed out all his journals and they fill a huge expandable folder that I keep on the floor by my desk. The pages are replete with yellow highlights. I’ve re read each at least five times and probably could even quote from them if pressed. I believe that the University of Toledo’s Medical Hall of Fame may serve as a library resource for all his annotated notes. I hope that is true, but I also hope someone is editing them and putting them into a book. Meanwhile, you will be hearing a lot about Dr. Geelhoed on this blog. He’s a practical man with a vision.
“Surgery is the platform on which we gain trust,” he explained to a group of medical students recently. “If we fix a guy’s goiter, he may listen to us when we tell him he has to take medicine and maybe he’ll let us vaccinate his kids. That’s a lot of bang for one routine surgery.”
Am I gushing??

Humanitarian Hubris

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Fri, 28 May 2010 16:51:00 +0000

Shortly after the earthquake in Haiti, an editorial appeared in Lancet, a medical journal of Britain, lamenting that it took a seismic shift in tectonic plates for Haiti to earn its place in the international spotlight. In fact, it called it scandalous. Something else it said may be shocking also: It may seem unpalatable to scrutinise and criticise the motives and activities of humanitarian organizations… {but}.. humanitarianism is no longer the ethos for many organisations within the aid industry.

Well, now, we don’t want the most desperate of the world to have to count on earthquakes to get our attention, do we? And if humanitarianism is not necessarily the ethos of humanitarian aid organizations (arguably now termed humanitarian aid industry,) what can we count on as motivation? Here’s what may be to shocking statement. Perhaps we can count on faith.

Do a Google search for aid in the fight against tuberculosis and malaria, the alleviation of poverty, relief from famine, help with contaminated water, or any other of the scourges that plague so many of our people in the world, and the one thing you will always come up with is a faith based group trying to make a difference.

All faiths share one wonderful commonality, and that is the belief that it is our duty to help others. No one can deny that much damage has been done in the name of religion. But it is equally true that much good is done in the name of God. Certainly, it appears that faith in Him is a powerful and constant motivator in humanitarian efforts. There’s just no getting around that, and after all, why should I try?

Pain Dispersants

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Wed, 26 May 2010 12:28:00 +0000

Could it be that BP continues to use the chemical dispersant despite fears raised by Louisiana residents, because it is hoping to camouflage the depth of the disaster by hiding it in the depths? The dispersant breaks the oil slicks up into little bubbles which then swirl beneath the surface. W can’t see it. Only the fish and divers can. Of course, the fish have to swim and eat there, but if they die as a result, they will fall to the bottom of the gulf, not wash up on shore where everyone would see them.

Maybe BP thinks that the less we see it, the easier it will be for us to forget it. Wherever could they get such an idea??

My website is almost ready to go live. I just have to pick the images to post.

One friend said “When I get those pictures of kids with cleft palates, I just throw them out. I don’t like things shoved in my face, playing the pity card.” Another friend said “Be sure to have some before and after pictures from the surgeries. They do that with the cleft palates and it’s really motivational.” Which is right?

I’m going to follow the advice of my friend, Chrissy, a local gal if there ever was one. I’m going to trust the intelligence, the compassion, and generosity of my friends and neighbors on the East End. They are smart enough to know that just because you don’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not happening. They’re compassionate enough to feel the pain of others and they’re generous enough to help.

The images on the website, HelpHealingHappen.org will show the people, not their pain.

Trust Me

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Sat, 22 May 2010 13:01:00 +0000

You never finish learning from friends. Earlier this week I posted a blog about being in NYC with my friend, Noel. Although she moved out of NY over twenty years ago and we don’t see one another very much, somehow it was not surprising for us to discover that we were dressed almost identically for our rainy day in the city. We both wore white sneakers, black slacks, and a blue print cardigan. When we took our rain jackets off, we looked at each other and burst out laughing. A pair of sixty three year old Bobsey Twins!

Yesterday I was with another dear friend of mine. She was wearing white knit pants with a strip of glittery beads down the side, a white tank over an aqua blue bra, a purple cape like shrug, silver flip flops and a new diamond ring. We were on her deck that overlooks a green lawn sloping down to the water Between bites of my sandwich, I was explaining all the reasons I thought people should give to Help Healing Happen and International Surgical Medical Support, Inc. Chrissy was silent as I chattered on and on quoting the economists I had been studying. I was thinking I must have really engaged her for her to be so quiet. WRONG!

“What are you afraid of, Marguerite? That people aren’t going to give?” She has a way of tilting her head a bit down and to the side so that she looks at you up through her lashes, but when she squints slightly at the same time, you know you are in for it.

I didn’t really answer.

“Because frankly, I found all you’ve been saying insulting.”

Insulting?? Almost everything I just told you has been said by leading economists and humanitarians of the world! These are the things I learned from their books and websites over the past year. They’re specialists on global issues,” I said.

“Yeah, well,” she drawled as she sipped her wine,” I’m not global; I’m local.”

Now it was her turn to talk. That was a good thing as something, maybe my sandwich, was causing a lump in my throat and sort of choking me.

“Listen, don’t go into all that "psychology of giving" crap. We don’t need it. We're asking them to support their own doctors and nurses. They're locals; we're locals. Of course people are going to give. Trust them. Trust your cause. And shut up about the rest of the stuff.”

We weren’t dressed alike, and we haven’t been friends since I was 12 years old. But wow, am I glad Chrissy is my friend; she’s brilliant. Trust me on that.

Noel in New York City in the Rain

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Wed, 19 May 2010 13:19:00 +0000

My friend, Noel, moved to Florida about twenty years ago. We have been friends since we were both twelve years old so I felt her move bitterly. We have seen each other, of course, throughout the years, but it was always with our spouses. She and her husband are up here on LI for two weeks and came to dinner last Sunday. On the spur of the moment, I asked her if she would like to take the Hampton Jitney into NYC with me on Tuesday. She hadn’t been to the city in years and she said yes.
It poured the entire day. It rained so hard my umbrella barely shielded me and it was so constant my rubberized rain slicker leaked at the seams. Often I could barely see for the water on my glasses. We shopped a bit and met some really rude salespeople and some really nice ones. We had lunch in a hotel restaurant that overlooks Central Park and visited the Museum of Modern Design at Columbus Circle where one piece of “art” turned out to be a pile of a thousand or more mouse skeletons!
I had the best day. I was just so comfortable, so in my element, as it were. There were no pretenses, no urgency, no need for approval, no need to be entertaining. We were both quite naturally on the same page. We ordered the same things at lunch, we giggled and grimaced at the same “art” pieces, and we helped each other see the biggest puddles to avoid.
The day before I had worked for hours on my website for Help Healing Happen. I couldn’t seem to find the words to be persuasive, convey the urgency, or insure that people would continue to read, nonetheless donate. I went to bed that night exhausted and frustrated.
Today I am going to revisit that project and I’m going to treat it like a day in the city in the rain with an old friend. I am going to assume that the site visitor and I are on the same spiritual page and that if everything is not as perfect as it could be, we can maneuver around the puddles and find our way to our common goal. Maybe if I quit trying so hard, trying too hard, a spirit of companionship rooted in common values will take over the way it did yesterday in the city, in the rain, with my dear friend, Noel.

Not so admirable admiration

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Thu, 13 May 2010 13:29:00 +0000

Admiration for character and achievement doesn’t necessarily breed improvement in the admirer. It is sometimes used as a cop out, as in “Wow, I admire that, but I could never do that.” I said it myself after I read Greg Mortenson’s book “Three Cups of Tea.” Of course I could never go to Pakistan, climb mountains, drink rancid goat milk, and open schools! I just didn’t have the youth, the stamina, the courage, the unselfishness. The list went on an on. I just accepted I was not in that league and rather unconsciously, I think now, thought that just my awe of the man put me a notch higher on the scale of “goodness.” I never sent him one slim dime. After all, I gave at church.

Paul Farmer, the founder of Partners In Health, is besieged by admirers. Before Haiti was hurled into the world’s consciousness with the earthquake, he was there in the poorest nation of the western hemisphere. Before he even attended medical school at Harvard, he was there helping the poor and sick. In the years since, he has tackled poverty, HIV/Aids, tuberculosis, and natal health. He has challenged organizations and governments to do more and has dealt gently with small children in Peru and prisoners in Russia

How does Farmer respond to this admiration? This is what he says.

“I didn’t say you should do what I do; I just said these things should be done.” It’s a challenge cloaked in kindness.

Mea Culpa

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Tue, 11 May 2010 12:05:00 +0000

Back when the Catholic mass was said in Latin, one phrase that even the most casual churchgoer understood was Mea culpa, Mea maxima culpa. My sin, my grievous sin or, to soften it a bit, perhaps my fault, my most serious fault. With bowed head, one would even lightly beat his heart with clenched right fist. Today,the word "sin" isn't used much. We are more likely to hear words like error or misguided and expressions like not condoned, but understandable. Perhaps we take refuge in such explanations. Rudolf Virchow, considered by many to be the principal architect of scientific medicine, wrote "It is the curse of humanity that it learns to tolerate even the most horrible situations by habituation."

Twenty four hour news showing the aftermath of the earthquakes in Haiti, unrelenting mail solicitation in full color from charities, and consistent bombardment of commercials to save a child, support a hospital, donate NOW, have all conspired to become our habituation and hence our toleration of horrible situations.

For sure, the child with the cleft palate doesn't get in the habit of being isolated by other children for his appearance, and the woman with a fistula doesn't grow to tolerate her filth. Neither can I.

I just ordered 20 collection/donation boxes that should arrive some time next week. We still have to decide where to start placing them. I am praying that people will be receptive to taking them and encourage others to donate by giving up one small thing in their own lives and giving its cost to International Surgical Mission Support, the group of East End doctors we are supporting.

It is my sin, my most grievous fault if I know a child is suffering and refuse to help. I don't want to beat my chest, but I am willing to beat the drums. Actually, the repetitive motion sort of helps keep my mind off cigarettes! Still not smoking and yes, it's still miss them.

Shoulder Season

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Mon, 03 May 2010 11:39:00 +0000

It's shoulder season here on the East End, that time before the start of the "high season" from Memorial to Labor Day. This past weekend's record breaking high temperatures made the anticipation for summer acutely unbearable. After an extremely cold winter, beach lovers, gardeners, and boaters are longing for the sun. After some rough economic months, local businesses are anxious for the influx of tourist dollars. I am anxious too, anxious to get Help Healing Happen.

Last week I met with Dr. Alaam of International Surgical Mission Support in Southampton to discuss plans to help raise money and awareness on behalf of the group. This year Help Healing Happen has three goals: increase internet donations, set up collection containers throughout the town, and schedule a community wide bandage rolling event. As of this moment, a new website is being designed, social networking sites are being tapped, and you are reading our blog. We've already spoken to a number of professionals and shop keepers throughout the community who will sponsor collection containers in their offices and businesses and we've spoken to youth groups about the bandage rolling event(more on that later.) The issue now is getting a sufficient number of functional and attractive collection containers.
These containers need to standout, provide information, and motivate people.

Acrylic containers with stand up frames allowing for inserts seem like the natural solution but they are quite expensive.Help Healing Happen accepts no donations in its own name and Internation Surgical Medical Suport gives 100% of all fund received to the medical mission. It occured to me that maybe those who accept a collection in their establishments would pay for their own as their donation to the "cause." Perhaps we need various sizes too. For intance, we might need a large one at a major event, but a small one would serve a local store just fine.

I went on the internet to find out if any of the countries served by ISMS had cottage industries that could make some sort of containers. I would much prefer paying people in need than a large corporation. Potters .for Peace has responded and I am hoping to get more information from them today

This is really one area that the followers of this blog can help. Do any of you have any suggestions about the! pay for them? I really need your creative thoughts. Shoulder season is here and we need to be ready for high season. Please post!
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What is an East Ender?

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Mon, 26 Apr 2010 13:52:00 +0000

The local shops are filled with little paperback books exploring the question of what makes a person a true Hamptonite or a real North Forker. There are even bumper stickers that proclaim birth rights to the title: "North Fork Native- Born here." Occassionally I hear people complain about this. "You're not considered 'local' unless you were born here." Well, I was born in Brooklyn, but have lived on the East End for over fifty years. If I am not considered a native by some, so be it. I know for sure I am a North Fork Natural. I belong here.

I love the East End. I wait for the osprey each spring and see which farmers have plowed by St. Patrick's Day. Yes, I remember when the Lion's Strawberry Festival was just a small town event and I still look forward to strawberry season. Bicycling on Shelter Island remains an adventure and I never get used to the beauty of the Hampton beaches, the sunset view from a table at Soundview Restaurant, or the sounds of a marina at night.
Our schools may not have alot of racial or even religious diversity, but each classroom has children of doctors, fishermen, shop owners, carpenters, lawyers, and government workers. The kids grow up together and as adults we see each other in our local stores, soccer games, and parades. We support our firemen, our police, our PTA, and our churches. Sometimes we need reminding, but once we get that knock on the noggin, we help.
It's not how long you have lived out east or even if you live out east all year round. What makes a person an East Ender is the love of the East End and the spirit of community. When you love something, you cherish it, tend it, and support it any way you can.

Smoke No More, My Lady

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Mon, 26 Apr 2010 12:48:00 +0000

You know how you get a tune in your head and you just can't get rid of it? Well, today all I keep hearing is that song from the Kentucky Derby. Only instead of "weep no more, my lady, I keep singing "smoke no more, my lady. "It is now two weeks since I quit smoking. I can't congratulate myself yet as I have done this before and promised myself, my family, friends, and God that I would never start again. Yet, each time I have. (A friend of mine says she has counted 8 attempts)

On the day I quit, I went out to the garden to smoke my last butt. With each inhale, I berated myself "Well, that was worth it, right, Marguerite. So what if a child just died." A bit harsh, but I had already used up the usual motivators of better health, appearance, etc. I needed to bring out the big guns. I figured if the cost of one soft drink per day could save the life of a child, the cost of my cigaretettes could save the lives of a family, and a large one at that. It was just too shameful.

Plus, I had now committed myself to this program of Help Healing Happen. I was going to be asking people to give up something that would not alter the quality of their lives one bit: maybe soft drink or a cup of coffee, or maybe the cost of dinner out. How could I ask others to give something up as I puffed away? It is not just incompatible it is reprehensible. So here I am on attempt number 9.

It helps me to actually picture in my mind a person getting surgery that was desperately needed. I imagine the person in the operating room just as the anesthesia is being administered and I sing in my head "smoke no more, my lady" It sounds like a song of life.

Maybe there is something you can give up too. You can even make up a song about it if you like. Let me know!

Housewives or Haiti

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Fri, 23 Apr 2010 11:41:00 +0000

Last month I attended the awards ceremony at the International Medical Missions Hall of Fame which was founded to recognize extraordinary contributions to international health. Among the recipients have been Paul Farmer, founder of Partners in Health, Glenn Geelhoed of Mission to Heal, and this year, Dame Aileen Coleman who has founded tubercular and women's clinics in Jordan that serve the Bedouin community.
During the day, lectures were slated from 9:30 AM until 4:00PM and not having been a student for many many years and not having any medical background, I doubted I could sit through them all. Not to worry. I literally ran to the bathroom and back as I did not want to miss a moment. They were filled with excitement and not just the sort that comes from escaping a danger such as a lion or spear wielding tribe member. The real excitement came from the enthusiasm and joy in each speaker's voice. One young man spoke of his first medical mission trip. "When we look in a mirror, we see our physical reflection, but the other kind of reflection is how we see ourselves. Some see themselves reflected back by their grades, or their income, or their social stature. I saw myself reflected in the eyes of those I helped. It was the reflection of humanity and I liked it." Wow! He was only in his mid twenties. Dame Coleman, now eighty years old, told of having to perform a C-section using a book to guide her. She was very young, and very scared, but to save the lives of mother and child, she had to do it. What courage! Many showed photos of their time in Haiti.

This week I was in Southern California and by chance my hotel was host to a seminar on plastic surgery. As I was leaving for dinner one night, two lovely looking young California type women invited me to attend "You'll get some great free gifts," they chirped. As I am not a night owl, I returned to the hotel just after 8PM, one half hour before the end of the plastic surgery presentation and decided to stop in. (Heck, maybe I would get a moisturizer that would not make my face turn bright red!). Just about every woman there had long lustrous hair, pouty lips, wrinkle free brows and a perfect body. The doctor was tall, handsome, grey haired and had a perfect smile. I had stepped into the world of the housewives of Orange County and I didn't like the feeling one bit! I'm sure part of the reason was that I imagined hearing the licking of chops. Oh, the surgeries I could use!! But really it was the contrast to the last time I was in a large seminar room that really struck me.

In Toledo, I was way out of my league. Everyone was smart, educated, and had done amazing things. In Southern California, I was also way out of my league. Everyone was gorgeous, perfect and spent hours in the gym. In Toledo I felt inspired. In California, I felt inadequate. In Toledo I was awed; in California, I just gawked.

I rather like the feeling better I had in Toledo.

Coffee Catalyst

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Sat, 17 Apr 2010 11:36:00 +0000

Since I promised an update, here it is: I screwed up the appointment date. It was not scheduled until the 20th and the doctor wasn't even in. I had to reschedule to the 27th as I am off to California this morning. Still, Help Healing Happen did have growth this week.

Yesterday I had a great conversation with the woman who is chair of our church's mission committee. Val is kind, bright, articulate, and she has a kind heart. She's been trying to come up with a way to make Mission Committee more than just a corporate group that dispenses money out according to some prescribed protocol and spreads word throughout the community of upcoming events, albeit they worthwhile.

This week she is going to suggest some really great things at the mission meeting. Primary among them is the creation of a "Mission Circle" where members and anyone else for that matter, can share their mission passions. For me, it is international health. For others it is immigration concerns or homelessness. I volunteered to head up an Awareness Program as one of the prime reasons I have undertaken Help Healing Happen is to make others see what I have just learned to see. What is that famous quote "In the land of the blind, the one eyed man is king?" I sure was blind and my one eyed king was kindness. I thought that was enough. It isn't. I have to do something. Once we see, then action follows.

Simple conversations over coffee with a friend can have tremendous consequences. I think that shared cup with Val is that sort of moment. Have you had such a moment yourself? A time you thought you were just meeting a friend for a cup of coffee or a drink and it turned out to be a catalyst for great change? If so, let me know!

No longer blind, but still a bit lame

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Mon, 12 Apr 2010 11:03:00 +0000

Help Healing Happen was now a concept. My eyes were seeing more thanks to my daughter and Dr. Geelhoed, but I was still quite lame. To tell the truth, I was worse than lame; I was paralyzed. Everything seemed beyond my limits. If the United Nations, Red Cross, and Bill Gates were having problems with the epidemic of AIDS, malaria, or tuberculosis how could I even begin to have an impact? I would be a blathering sentimentalist, a tiresome bore discoursing on the poor and suffering while delicately biting into fresh strawberries and sipping wine. Already I could see my friends' eyes beginning to glaze.

Enter Dr. Glenn Geelhoed: I laid myself bare to him. I wanted him to understand how totally uneducated I was and how very unimportant I was. No family money, no social contacts, no corporate backing here. If people, really smart people like my daughter, were spending years earning MD's and MBA's, how could I do anything? I'm just a small town lady who was a teacher forty years ago, and am now the owner of a local website about weddings and events in the fabulous Hamptons and North Fork Wine Country. His response? "If you care, you're part of the team. How can I help you"?

My readings had taught me that the most successful fund raising programs are those that focus on attainable goals and allow the donors to see the results. Could he help me identify a particular hospital or clinic in need? He told me of many. Could he help me identify a particular low tech piece of equipment I could work towards purchasing and providing to needy communities? Absolutely. (more about that in a later blog). However, I kept coming back to my original inspiration, my daughter. And by now I was in total awe of Dr. Geelhoed. I wanted to help people like them. I couldn't provide medical help myself, maybe I could help those who can.

I discovered that there were doctors practicing right here in my own community who conducted international surgical medical trips each year. They'd been going off with nurses and medical technicians since 1996. And I had never heard of them! I only found out by chance from my periodontist.

I did some market research. I asked everyone I knew this question: "If you knew that doctors and nurses from our own community were donating their own time and money to offer surgery and health care to someone suffering in a poor country, would you help?" Everyone answered yes. The first tingle of movement began in my limbs.

This week I am meeting with Dr. Medhat Alaam, a thoracic surgeon and a founder of International Medical Surgical Support based in Southampton, NY. The doctors and nurses in this group are connected with the three hospitals serving the East End of LI: Peconic Bay Medical Center, Southampton Hospital and Eastern Long Island Hospital. He and I will go over how his group and my group can form a partnership to increase the amount of service our community can provide the global community.

My blogs may seem a little disjointed right now. The stories will criss-cross one another for a bit and may even go in circles. That's ok. That's the way it's all happened. It has not been a straight path. I had a tremendous learning curve as I knew nothing but in the end, the curve has come full circle and I have a center. It is to Help Healing Happen

By the end of this week, that tingle in my limbs is going to stimulate some movement! I'll tell you about it on Wednesday, after I meet with Dr. Alaam.

How Help Healing Happen began

noreply@blogger.com (H3) — Sat, 10 Apr 2010 12:51:00 +0000

So, what is this Help Healing Happen thing all about? It's a group designed to help healing happen! For awhile, I thought that H to the third power sounded better as it seemed to hint that the person behind it was really smart, a mathmetician, chemist, or a physicist. Even H cubed or H-Three sounded smarter to me than the alliterative title I assigned: In the end, I guess the original title is best. You can call it whatever you want. The important thing is that you do indeed, help some healing to happen.

How did this all come about? My daughter inspired it, unknowingly of course, but inspired it nonetheless. She's in her third year of medical school now and already earned an MBA from Wharton at University of Pennsylvania in Global Health. I didn't understand a lot of what she talked about so I asked her to recommend some books . The first was by Jeffrey D. Sachs and was entitled "The End of Poverty." I confess I struggled through parts of it but the message was clear. I could make a difference by giving up just one diet Coke a day. So moved was I by this book, I tried another: "The Life You Can Save" by Peter Singer. My poor daughter was beleagured with questions from me and I began to understand the sort of life she was marking out for herself. I was so proud of her and so ashamed of myself.

How could I, an intelligent woman, have been so blind? I knew that there was poverty and suffering, but I didn't really "get" it. I gave at my church, donated during Katrina and the Tsunami in Thailand, wrote a few checks during the year to the Red Cross, but I wasnt' engaged at all. It was all so far away, it didn't touch me. I never thought about the individual and I certainly never thought how this individual, me, Marguerite, could make any difference. How did my daughter, raised in my home, see what I did not?

I read even more. I learned about Paul Farmer's work in Haiti, and Jeff Mortensen's work in Afghanistan. What amazing people! But I knew that just admiring them or sending a check to their foundations wasn't enough. It was important to make a difference MYSELF, maybe not to the extent these people had, but to the extent I was capable.

I surfed the web and stumbled across a doctor who did medical missions. His name is Dr. Glenn Geelhoed and he is a world famous surgeon, professor of surgery and microbiology, and infectious disease and Lord knows what else at George Washington University in DC who has done medical missions for over 4 decades. I wrote to him and he wrote me back. That was about two years ago. If my daughter opened my eyes, Dr. Geelhoed has served as my virtual Visine. He has helped get the red out and clear my vision. .

Through my daughter's ininspiration and through Dr. Geelhoed's encouragement, I have been led to create Help Healing Happen. Our mission statement is
Help Healing Happens empowers local communities within the United States to directly impact the global community through supporting their own communities' international surgical medical teams. Support is characterized by conducting educational programs that energize and inspire and by working to fill the funding needs of the international medical surgical teams so that they can do their critical work of bringing acute medical care to the poor and suffering.

Our first project is on the East End of Long Island, including The Hamptons and North Fork Wine Country. We have a team of doctors who practice right here and who go on medical missions each year. The task is to engage the people who live her now and those who have moved to other places but have a strong connection to the East End of Long Island.

This blog page will follow my efforts to set up Help Healing Happen and launch Project East End. It wil no doubt demonstrate a lot of my ignorance and frustrations, but I hope that it will also demonstrate that the value of the program is great and that if you are an East End person, you need to be part of it.