St. Elizabeth Pendleton County

Bridget Rizik, Summer 2013

My preceptor reminds me almost daily that things run a little differently out here. That is, they don’t particularly “run” at all. Life in Pendleton is all at a leisurely stroll, a meander, an amble, a casual summer saunter without a worry in the world. Patients arrive when they please, stop by for a spell, and proceed through their day blissfully unfazed by their stays here.

Fortunately or unfortunately, the rest of the world does not operate on the same timetable. Today’s planet spins at a dizzying pace, a pace that makes Pendleton’s look especially like a crawl. Similarly, certain parts of our patients’ lives out here refuse to cooperate with their unhurried strides; some things out here move far too fast. Examples include the following: hypertension, high cholesterol, and a remarkable epidemic of diabetes; under-education, poverty, neglect, and an overwhelming rampage of drug abuse. These concerns do not obey the peaceful pace of Pendleton. These crises sweep through the community indifferent to the havoc they wreak. These problems threaten both Pendleton’s pace and the very population itself.

Such rapidly spreading phenomena demand equally rapid response. The community here is not equipped, is not prepared to handle destructive plagues like this. Rather, the responsibility falls to those of us who can. And that’s where UHP, and that’s where I come in.

We’ve lived in the racing world for years now: timed tests, due dates, this whole years-long medical education contest really. We’re used to this whirlwind and accustomed to operating in it, comfortable with living at warp speed paces.

When I am here then, the temptation is to speed the pace up — to show them how to install the internet and printers, to show them the newest ways to control diabetes, to drop high tech devices and lingo and the most up-to-date medical care on the market. But I’m learning that this isn’t the way to help Pendleton. Though natural and enticing to me, bringing the community “up to speed” is not the solution. Rather than forcing them to fit into a too-fast world, it is my job to slow their disease processes down; to allow them to live as they always have, as they love, in peace.

It’s a tough adjustment. Like I said before, we’re used to fast food, faster cars, and 15-minute-on-the-dot appointments. Here, there is one “fast food” restaurant — and it’s anything but fast. There are tractors, horses, and miles in between. And 15-minute appointments — in my two weeks of being here — have yet to happen. When patients do not fit into your cookie-cutter schedule, it is not your job to change them, but to change yourself.

And so, I am learning to attack their medical crises with haste, but endurance. I am learning to choose my words with care, precision, and a willingness to explain. I am learning patience. I must keep learning patience.

The Pendleton community is allowed to live as leisurely as they please. While the rest of the world spins on, Pendleton must be permitted to rest, to wander, to live peacefully and healthily at their own preferred pace. What I learned here is, I think, one of the most important things we all must come to discover as we pursue our medical degrees, our right and responsibility to care for other human beings: we are here to be what they are not, to be what they need the most. We are here — simply, solely, plainly and purely — for others.