Namo Buddha - My New Home

This is such a special place. The Thrangu Tashi Yangste Monastery, above Namo Buddha, sits about 2,000 meters on a peak in the southern highlands of Nepal just east of the Kathmandu Valley. The hills are pock-marked with small villages, tall trees, vagrant leopards, and muddy roads. The weather is much cooler than the valley and I spend countless moments sitting on the roof of the health clinic experiencing being swallowed by vast, rolling clouds.

After lunch on July 01, I loaded my bags into a waiting taxi, exchanged heartfelt good-byes with my partners and took off down the rainy road to my new adventure. My knowledge of Namo Buddha and was limited to its location, distance from Chapagaon, and the length of my stay there as a therapist. The two-hour cab ride turned into almost four hours. That was my first sign that this would be, at the very least, an interesting experience and a memorable adventure. About half way up the muddy road, the cab got stuck. The deep trenches proved to be much too treacherous for the small car. Each time it lunged forward the wheels dug in deeper and large rocks scraped the bottom of the vehicle.

After several attempts the driver pulled over, shook his head, and in broken English declared, “no way.” To his credit, he didn’t throw me out. We were still about 6km away from the top and there was no way that I could carry my load alone up the hill in knee deep mud. We both got out of the cab and he lit a cigarette while, what seemed like, getting instructions from three boys fascinated by a cab and a white guy stuck half-way up a mountain. He pulled out his cell and made a phone call. I’m slowly learning that it’s customary for Nepali men to raise their voice when frustrated – not so much in anger as much as a need for the other party to clearly understand a situation. He shook his head and handed the phone to me. It was my friend from Chapagaon, Prajwal. Ahhhh, finally a friendly voice. His instructions were simple: call the monastery, tell them to send help because the driver can’t make it up, and then call him back. BLAHHHHHHHH!!!! Thanks for the advice Prajwal. What else could I do, but make the call.

A week before I had the fore-sight to purchase a Nepal cell phone. My thought was that it would make for a great way to stay in touch with my Nepali friends and if the occasion arose, emergencies. I called the monastery and spoke briefly sharing my predicament with a couple monks, before they told me to pass the phone to the driver. He spoke with them at length before handing the phone back to me – no one was on the other end and I couldn’t talk with the driver. My limited vocabulary of four Nepali words proves to be a bit lacking. So, we stood there looking at each other while he kept mumbling, “no way.” Ahhh, I guess this is how the universe speaks to me.

Some tense moments passed before I heard the telling jingle ringing from my hand. It was my phone – they called back. Good news, “Hello, this is Lama Yonten. Our van is in Kathmandu, so we can’t pick you up. Soon (an hour or two) a bus will come your way. Take the bus up to the top of the hill and call us; we’ll meet you. Whatever you do, don’t let the driver leave until the bus arrives. Good-bye. Now let me talk to the driver.” What else was there to do, but accept this situation as just another character-building event in Nepal.

I sat down on a rock overlooking the valley and tried to make myself comfortable. This may be a long wait. The urge to laugh became overwhelming and I broke out into a goofy chuckle. It must have been that laughter that scared the driver into his car. The engine turned over, he put it in gear, I turned around and saw him drive off. I’m not sure if it was fear, dinner, sense of responsibility, personal challenge, or just annoyance, but he flew through the mud. When he reached a small crest, the cab stopped and waving hand out the window invited me to run up to him. Once again we were on the move. This time it was with the determination to not let the muddy road get the better of us.

Finally we reached a little hamlet at a crossroad. An old wooden sign with the destination Namo Buddha carved into it on a post pointed down a little hill to the right. Ahhhh, that must be it. Finally, I’m home. We drove the couple hundred meters through the muddy town until we reached a barrier. An ornate gateway with a concrete step told us that this is it. I jumped out of the cab and called the contact number that I had, “We’re here. I’m standing near the stupa.” The voice at the other end told me to wait right where I am and he’ll come down to greet me. I unloaded my bags, paid and thanked the driver, and waited. And waited, and waited, and waited.

Hmmm, that was another lesson that I learned that day: Namo Buddha, the town, is different from Namo Buddha the monastery. After a while of standing in the mud with my bags being amused by the antics of roosters chasing each other, I saw two monks walking towards me. “Doctor Joe?” OK, Im not a doctor, but that never stops me from being amused and feeling warm and fuzzy. I’m not really a doctor, but I play one in Nepal. We grabbed my bags and walked through the gate to a little café next to the stupa. Karma, the monk that greeted me and the young man who will become my Nepali and Tibetan voice while I stay here, asked if it would be OK if he does a kora around the stupa a couple of times before we go up. “Of course, I’ll sit here.”

“OK, let’s go.” Karma instructed me after he returned to my side.

“Are we going to the clinic? How far is it?” I asked like an impatient five year old at the end of a long family road trip.

“From here, just six minutes.”

Hahaha…it was six minutes (more like twenty with my bags) up a steep concrete road. The three of us managed the bags pretty well until we reached the top and I got my first glance at the beautiful monastery. I’m still amazed by the site even after seeing it so many times. We entered the first building on the left – the clinic and my new home.

FACING THE TRUTH

Four Noble Truths

1.       Suffering Exists

2.       The Cause of Suffering Can Be Realized

3.       Cessation of Suffering Can Be Achieved

4.       Following The Path Ends Suffering

This is the foundation of the Dharma. Regardless of which school or teaching of Buddhism one follows: Theravada, Mahayana, Vajrayana, etc. the path is paved by the same stones – The Four Noble Truths.

While in Nepal I have had several different teachers and many different lessons. Some of the teachers, as the lessons, have been kind and compassionate while others have been harsh and blunt. Either way, it has been hard not to allow these teachers and my lessons to have a profound impact upon my personal, professional, and spiritual lives.

Last Saturday I travelled to the White Gompa in Boudha to hear a public teaching given by Chӧkyi Nyima Rinpoche. The Dharma he shared, entitled Common Sense, was presented in an insightful and personally relevant manner. During his teaching Rinpoche focused on the common sense of how attachment brings about suffering (suffering also includes discontent). The more we have, the more we possess, the more we cling - the more we suffer. The more I have, the more I think, the more I cling – ahhh, the more I suffer.

This poignant ninety minute teaching encouraged me to re-evaluate. While sitting there listening to him speak, my brain started to take stock of the suffering that I've been experiencing and its connection to attachment. Much of my quiet time recently has been spent contemplating the many ways that the loss of the objects of my attachment has led to and will bring about suffering, pain, and discontent. According to Rinpoche, we often fall into the trap of attachment: people, relationships, money, status, brands, food, drugs, alcohol, and even life.

While working at Vajra Varahi Clinic I've encountered attachment in many different forms. Too often I find that my patients are attached to their pain. It takes large leaps of faith to allow a foreigner to place his hands on you to take something away that you have learned to live with for so long; even something as unwanted as physical pain can become an object of personal identity and attachment.  I'm learning that in order to help my patients I must first view each one as a person rather than a case of muscular dysfunction or a patient. Only when I see them as people can I try to treat them with compassion and understanding. Only when a person feels that my intentions are rooted in compassion and that my ego is not driving my methodology will they trust me and try to let go.

My attachment to "I" has been a constant struggle. The pain of letting go of my personal and professional relationships to come here was difficult, but it was a sacrifice I needed to make. It was also made with the understanding, at that time, that in a few short months I will return and pick-up where I left off. Since coming here I've learned that life does not wait for anyone. There is no pause button – change is constant. It was my attachment to ego that made me feel that things don’t change unless you want them to. Life and the universe, however, constantly change. My belief that I can avoid change is as big of a mistake as a belief that this experience has not changed my life.

The suffering that I've been facing lately has been a little different. Since my arrival I've made strong connections and friendships with the people  whith whom I have lived and worked. In the past recent weeks Joel, Lee, Mac, Dayna, and Marcela have left the clinic to pursue their careers, studies, and lives. Each one of them has had a profound impact upon my professional or personal life; quickly growing attached to their compassionate and giving hearts. The terrible thing about those attachments is waking up in the morning and facing the reality that these beautiful people are gone. The suffering I feel, however, is not a result of the relationships, but rather a result of my attachment to those relationships. My hope that those relationships would not end is the source of that pain. It would be easy for me to avoid that pain by not opening myself to new relationships and experiences, but then we all would miss out on the wonderful exchange of each others talents and graces.

Next week I'll be leaving the Kathmandu Valley and this wonderful clinic to continue my work in Namobuddha. By moving on I'll be leaving behind not only many regular patients, but also the interpreters and monks who I count as my friends and teachers. Satyamohan, Prajwal, Ritesh, Tsering, and Manisha have taught me so much while working with them. We have always been quick to remind each other to let go of our own egos; almost always with a smile and a laugh. The past few weeks I've also been working with a brilliant young monk, Ratna Mangalam. Together we've work on his English writing and in return he has given me friendship and shared tons of knowledge about the Three Jewels. There have been many other monks that have graciously accepted me as a friend and have shared their lives with me. My friends Dudhul and Sangay have been a daily source of joy and laughter. These wonderful young men and women have given me much to cherish and many reasons for attachment.

Ahhh, there's the rub – exactly what Rinpoche was talking about. Next week I'll be living in my fifth “home” within a year. My homes and possessions I rarely think about, but the people with whom I've grown attached I miss terribly. Those attachments are the source of my suffering. Each person that has been my friend, my teacher, my family member, my partner has affected me in a way that has taught me to seek out and practice compassion and loving-kindness within my work and my life. So, how can that possibly bring suffering? It’s the attachment. Through attachment I have neglected one powerful law of the universe, impermanence; everything must someday end - hmm, even me.

This has been a difficult lesson for me to learn, but one that continues to slap me harshly in the face. All that I experience now may be gone tomorrow. Every relationship, regardless of how insignificant or profound, sooner or later will end. All that I have will eventually disappear. These have been humbling realities for my ego to face, but ones that I’m glad that I must resolve. Rather than fostering nihilistic feelings of what’s the point, they've made my life and practice all the more special. Armed with the knowledge that tomorrow will be different, what choice do I have but to live today with love, compassion, and kindness? Knowing that the person with whom I build a relationship today may be gone tomorrow, what choice do I have but to love that person honestly and genuinely while cherishing and growing every minute? Knowing that I am leaving in a week, what choice do I have but to treat each patient that comes to me with all the knowledge I’ve been entrusted and all the metta within my heart?

I’m far far away from renouncing all forms of attachment. This will be a life-long lesson that'll be marked by daily struggles with discontent, pain, and suffering. My experiences and relationships since I have been here have shown me that the love I can give and receive today, the compassion that has been shared with me and I share today, and the kindness that has been shown to me and that I express today are much more powerful and meaningful if today I let go and live with an open and free heart.

NAMASTE!!!

ARE YOU ALRIGHT!?!?!

I shake the shoulder of a young monk on the ground and ask, “Are you alright? Are you OK?”

Shoot, his eyes are closed. My right hand gently pushes down on his forehead while I use my left forefinger and thumb to lift his chin as the side of my face almost touches his nose and lips – no breath on my cheek, no sound from his mouth, no rise in his chest.

“Marcela, he’s not breathing. Run across the road and get a doctor. He’s not breathing. RUN!!!!”

Marcela jumps out of her chair and runs out the door.

With intertwined fingers and locked elbows, my body rocks rhythmically – a steady machine delivering firm compressions down into his young chest as I count out loud at a pace of two thrusts a second.

“One, two, three, four, five…twenty-nine, thirty.”

My knees slide up alongside his head, again I tilt his head back and open his mouth.

“Nothing inside.”

Bending down, the fingers of my left hand pinch his nose and I form a tight seal around his mouth. Two hard exhales into his mouth cause his chest to rise.

“Nothing.”

Start again, “One, two, three, four, five…”

“Damn, where is Marcela? Where is the doctor?”

Feelings of anger, desperation, worry, concern, and compassion begin to flow through me. I can’t get lost in those thoughts. I have to keep counting.

“Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…”A small crowd starts to gather around us. Even our two cats stop playing to watch with interest at this strange play between a “sleeping” monk and a sweating white guy in the Saturday afternoon Nepali sun.

“Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.”

Back to his head. I barely get one breath to pass from my lungs to his when I feel his tightness and he gasps for air. A smile.

Marcela, Ben, and Dayna try to hold back, but they fail not to laugh with the group of twelve monks sitting on the benches watching me and the monk on the ground.

…

A couple weeks ago we met with Phakchok Rinpoche to discuss healthcare, our views, and the needs of the clinic. We suggested a first-aid class for some of the monks who live in the gompa, monastery, next door.

Whenever there is a need for medical attention, the monks cross the yard, enter the clinic, come find one of us, and we provide immediate care for them. Anything beyond our scope, we take across the street to the health facility where more detailed care can be given or they can use their ambulance to transport to a hospital in case of emergencies. This system has been working well, but there are gaps that need to be filled.

The other night we were all at Lela’s having dinner when a monk came to tell us that he needs help. We dropped our card game and ran over to the clinic (just a few meters away). One of the younger boys, 8-10 years old, slipped and hit his face on a step. His lower lip was swollen around a large open wound. Definitely he needed stiches. The young boy, another older monk, Marcela, Dayna, Lee, Ben, Satyamohan and I walked across the road to the healthcare facility and sat and waited. Ben and Dayna comforted the young monk while he was being stitched, Marcela and Satyamohan took care of the paperwork/payment, and Lee and I entertained two dogs while we waited. The tough young guy is going to be alright and he’ll have an interesting story to tell.

Rinpoche really liked the idea of the first aid class, but also wanted us to add a disaster component. With all the recent occurrences in the world, Rinpoche feels strongly that it is important that the boys and men in the monastery are prepared in the event of an earthquake.

The best time for this training is on Saturday and Sunday afternoon. The monks have about two hours of free time on those days – after lunch and before the afternoon/evening puja, prayer. We set out to prepare a rudimentary session that included resuscitation, choking, cuts, burns, shock, concussion, broken bones, heat injury, animal bites, and earthquake preparedness. The more we researched and prepared the earthquake component, the more we realized that we needed help. We reached out to the Nepali Red Cross for more information and guidance, but in the meantime would give what information we could.

The sessions went very well on the terrace of the clinic. Discussions and trainings are always best when held outdoors. On Saturday there were about twelve monks and Marcela, Dayna, Ben, and I had just enough time to demonstrate and explain resuscitation, choking, and shock. Today we had a smaller crowd. Sundays are often spent with visiting family. We were able to cover the remaining material and discuss the actions that need to be taken in the event of an earthquake.

The two afternoons went splendidly. I was out of my element, but the information we shared was important enough to forget about comfort. Thankfully, we all worked as a team and each member proved to be invaluable. Because of that a group of young men are better prepared and much more comfortable dealing with an emergency. I can’t be grateful enough for the opportunity to help them get there.

NAMASTE!!!

Ustai Ustai Tara Farak – Same Same but Different

Sitting on the roof of the clinic watching the sun set-

yellow-orange streaks of light wash the hazed sky

through dark gray clouds rising from behind

ancient Asian green hills loafing,

forming a soft wall to the west of our plateau.

the colors of red and brown clay bricks

shelter people with an uneasy contentment

sitting, casting shadows in their one-room homes

Buddhist and Tibetan flags wave

in a sea of steady warm breezes from the sub-continent.

the certain but soft notes of a distant trumpet player

waft through the valley

complementing the occasional hum of motor-bikes,

the warning song of large black crows,

and the laughter of monks chasing a floating frisbee.

I close my eyes and feel the comfort of home –

wherever it is, whenever it is…

I am here now and nowhere else.

a soft drop of cool rain on my thin warm pants

returns me from my slumber

to watch the tops of trees dance with their waving leaves

open hands grasping each wet gift from the heavens.

a soccer ball being dribbled in the dirt alley below

catches my wandering gaze:

a young boy entices his even younger brother

to guard a make-shift and imaginary goal

as a pack of vagrant dogs choose the victor

with guttural groans and uneasy dancing

a black and red bird sings to 

harmonize with distant packs of homeless dogs

and the melodic tone of an approaching micro.

a cat lazily approaches and joins me on the roof

as the sounds of the Puja rise from the Gompa next door

the horns, drums, and chanting bring me back to the roof

reminding me of tomorrow –

more people to treat, more lessons to teach

and more importantly…

Greater lessons to learn of compassion, kindness, patience

and Love.

Namaste!!!

NO THANK YOU’S – NO APOLOGIES

This morning Joel, Mac, and I were sitting at our dining table in the communal room each doing our own thing. Joel was diligently pouring over international emails and directing the building of the Buddhist shrine, Mac was pounding through an old bi-lingual Kathmandu cookbook she found stashed in the kitchen that was written by the wives of international delegates, and I was staring at the clouds roll over the not so distant mountains after reading the transcript of a recent teaching by Chokyi Nyima Rinpoche. Ben was up on the roof running through his daily yoga practice and Lee was giving Marcela a ride to visit the new location of a satellite clinic. This was kind of a typical Sunday morning. Saturdays we usually spend doing laundry and running around while Sundays are typically dedicated to gathering our minds and bodies, resting our souls, strengthening, and preparing for a new week of treatment, instruction, and fortifying our beds against the merciless nightly attacks of the Kathmandu mosquitoes.

We all have adopted Joel as our cool uncle and good friend. As a Thai-American who has spent the last thirteen years in Nepal, his knowledge and experience is invaluable. Whether it be Buddhism, Nepali culture, or life advice, Joel always stops what he’s doing to listen and share – always with a smile and a laugh. This morning was no different.

Mac and I were sitting across from each other while she was explaining to me the characteristics of ghee and the benefits of cooking with it. We shared a good joke a hearty laugh and changed the subject to culture.

“Hey Joel, how do you say I’m sorry in Nepali.”

Mac and I knew that when Joel closed his laptop to address us, this was going to be a good lesson.  Ahhh, time for class to begin.

As a Westerner, I was raised to always say thank you as a beneficiary of kindness and benevolence. I’m sorry always followed any perceived or actual slight, mistake, and/or offence that I caused. So far I’ve been blessed in my life with countless opportunities and reasons to utter thank you. Unfortunately, I also have had countless reasons to sadly mutter I’m sorry. These two phrases have proven to lose some of their weight and value in my overabundance of their use.

My perceived problem with these two phrases is that, much like the Nepali Rupee, they have become over-inflated. Words, when not backed-up with sincere action, are cheap and cheaply used. A thank you without the sincerest meaning and without the desire or earnest attempt at reciprocation has the danger of becoming another cliché.

The same can be said of I’m sorry. I generally mumble this apology with a lowered head and shrugged shoulders when my speech or action has caused harm or made life even a little more difficult and uncomfortable for another. I’m sorry is always supposed to be followed with an earnest attempt to modify one’s life to ensure that the apology will never again be needed for the same reason. I’d love to say that my thank you’s and I’m sorry’s always meet these standards…hmm, I’d love to say it.

So, now we come to Nepal. Aphsos I’m sorry and Dhanyabaad thank you are rarely uttered.

Do something nice for someone and often you won’t receive a thank you. After a month of dhanyabaads and receiving in return strange looks and even giggles, I started to get a little self-conscious over my pleasant manners. Was this an inside Nepali joke of which I’m not aware? I don’t care…I’m going to force my Western values down their throats until they accept my niceness and courtesy.

“So Joel, how do you say I’m sorry in Nepali? I’d love to know for those occasions that I hit a tender point in the middle of someone’s back a little too aggressively.” After Joel’s quick lesson on the nuances of Nepali culture, I learned that the best way to say I’m sorry is to not have a reason to say it.  

For a month I’ve been focusing my attention in the wrong place – being nice. The most important word in Nepal and one that I hear and exchange constantly is NAMASTE the divine in me greets the divine in you. Namaste is much more powerful than I’m sorry and thank you could ever be. By truly recognizing the divinity and the holiness in each person I meet and greet, there is no need for those overused phrases.

The lesson I learned on a sunny Sunday morning while sitting at a table in Chapagoan and listening to two wise people is that if I truly treat each person as if he/she is a vessel for divinity then there is no need to trouble myself with Thank You and I’m Sorry.

NAMASTE!!!

PS: Hugs and kisses from MollyMac to all her friends and family. She’s doing splendidly and is now cooking dinner for us all.

A Pole and a Mexican Practice Thai in Nepal

This week I expanded my work at Vajra Varahi Clinic: teaching. My assignment in Nepal is not limited to providing massage to the residents of Chapagoan, but to also train the English-Nepali translators in anatomy and bodywork. The plan is that after I leave for my next assignment at Namo Buddha the translators here will be able to sustain the care I’ve been giving.

Monday and Thursday I work with my sister, Manesha; Tuesday and Wednesday my partner is Prajal; and Friday I work with my brother, Satyamohan. This past week the schedule allowed for a formal lesson from 9am to 12:30pm and then we accept patients after lunch from 1:00 to 5:00. Prajal and Satyamohan have some previous training in anatomy where Manesha is new to the world of bodywork. It has been a tough week…not because they can’t handle it, but because they are so motivated and intelligent – I have to be on my game.  I’m really happy that they are also very patient with me.

The sessions have been going splendidly. This first week we spent much of our time learning the parts of the body, the systems of anatomy, directions, and finally movement. After our marathon sessions we were able to put our knowledge to the test on actual patients. Starting this week we are going to change things up a bit to maximize our study time and patient face time. Rather than splitting the day in two, we are going to see patients all day and cover pathology, dysfunction, movement, and treatment while working with patients. My massage section of Vajra Varahi will become a sort of make-shift teaching clinic.

Interestingly, we were given an unexpected day off on Wednesday. An organization of young communists called for a national strike in Nepal. Most shops, busses/ micro’s, schools, health facilities were shut down because of it. We all were able to make the most of it. Joel, a Thai Buddhist and over-all cool guy, is the project manager of a shrine being built just behind the temple and clinic. Because of the work stoppage he had about an hour in is busy schedule to receive some Thai work from me. It was totally my humble pleasure and honor.

Later that night I cooked dinner: we have a cook that comes in and provides lunch, but we are responsible for breakfast and dinner. Breakfast is a sort of free-for-all. I get up at about 5:30 to the horns of the monastery next door and sit with a cup of coffee reading and preparing my lesson for the day. The rest of the staff (Marcela, Mac, Lee, and Ben) filter-in throughout the morning. By 8:00 we’re all usually sitting around the table sharing our experiences of dealing with the midnight barking dogs and our valiant fight against the ear-buzzing mosquitoes. We each take a turn preparing dinner on the 2-burner propane stove, usually with candle light (often there’s no power in the evening). Even though there is no refrigeration, only two burners, and using fresh vegetables locally purchased that day – every dinner we’ve had has been a glorious experience. After dinner Wednesday, I was able to once again practice Thai – this time with Marcela: hence the title of this blog – A Pole and a Mexican Practice Thai in Nepal.

With no television, night-life, or electricity we all end the evening together. Ahhhh, maybe that’s the way it should be – everywhere. We all sit around the table, usually well into the night, playing cards, and exchanging stories and experiences before retiring to our respective rooms to start the battle against the noises and annoyances of the night.

Before we all take-off for Lela’s (a local kitchen next door) to meet Satyamohan for dinner, let me share with you my Sunday. After doing some reading this morning and chatting with Ben and Ariela (an acupuncturist who came to visit from Boudha) I decided to take a little trek. At first it was just going to be a short walk in the woods that lie next door to the temple, but I found a little path. The path led straight down and opened up to an amazing view of wheat fields. Following a little foot path I continued to walk greeting farmers with Namaste and enjoying a light sprinkle of rain. An older gentleman who I caught up with started to chat with me.

I continued to walk when I came upon fields and fields of piles of bricks, brick huts, kilns, and people carrying their handmade red blocks from one location to another.  It was an amazing site to see and experience walking among the rows of huts while dodging mules carrying heavy loads of bricks. After about an hour I decided that maybe I should turn around and try to figure out my way back home. It being Sunday, getting lost was no big deal. Fortunately, there was a red-tailed dragonfly that led me most of the way home. Just in time for lunch.

Later that afternoon, Joel suggested that since the water levels are low in the holding tanks on the roof it may be a good opportunity to clean them out. Without hesitation, Lee jumped on the project. I don’t think that Lee has ever turned down an opportunity to help us all out. He’s a marvelous chap, even though he’s from Birmingham. After sometime I decided to head up to the roof to see how Lee and Mac were doing on this new project. Lee was inside one of the tanks dredging out the silt and handing the buckets to Mac who then dumped the dirty water off the roof. I jumped up and into the other water tank and lent a hand. It turned into a friendly competition between a Brit and an American to see who could get the inside of the water tank cleaner. In the end his was cleaner, but I’m positive that mine was dirtier to start and needed much more scrubbing.

The rain is pouring, the lightning is flashing, the thunder is roaring and I’m off to dinner at Lela’s.

Peace and Love.

Namaste.

----------------------

Pictures will follow later in the week.

My Parents Must be Proud to Have a Son Who’s a Doctor

“Doctor Joe, you have another patient to see you.” I never get tired of hearing this phrase from Prajawl, the front desk attendant. Wearing my white lab coat and a smile on my face, I walk out of my treatment room to the front desk with my interpreter, Ritesh, Maneesha, or Satyamohan.

“Namaste,” with my hands clasped together I give a short bow to my new patient who returns with the same bow and “Namaste”. We escort her to a back room - before we enter she takes off her shoes as a sign of respect for my space – I prefer to think of it as our space.

The three of us sit at a small table where I first read the patient’s chart and try to get an idea of what type of physical issues my client has been troubled with and the treatments she has received.

“How is your back feeling today?”

Although I’m speaking through a translator, it’s important that I talk to my patient and maintain eye contact with her. Neither a person’s nationality nor culture change the fact that being heard and understood are prime signs of respect.

“Doctor, my back hurts.”

“Could you please show me where it hurts?” I ask.

She moves her hands to the lower right part of her back but slightly over the crest of her hip.

“I’ve had massage and acupuncture before but I’ve been working in the fields and the pain has come back. Doctor, can you please help me?”

The trust, faith, hope, and uncertainty in her eyes meet mine and I immediately feel a sense of humility. Here I am a rich foreigner from a wealthy country who has at his fingertips some of the best healthcare in the world, who has running water and 24/7 electricity, who’s notions of farming all arrive from television, books, and riding rural roads on my bike and her eyes are begging me for compassion and relief from her pain. It’s with a complete humble heart that I nod my head and tell her that I will do my best to help.

Treat the patient not the issue.

It’s so easy to get lost in the daily grind back home: massage after massage treating clients who have succumb to the stress of daily life. Here I can’t do that. Every treatment session, usually 45-60 minutes long and up to 8 per day, I have to give all my attention and dig deep to remember all that I have been taught and learned.

With a deep breath, I place my hands on her back and remember the advice of Paul Fowler, one of my Thai instructors, Love, not technique. There is no other way and no massage technique as healing and as powerful as love. I’m learning that with love, compassion, and a conscious breath comes healing. Listening with my hands I start to palpate her back through her clothes (although my patients are on a massage table-except for their feet, are completely clothed) and find a hypertonic QL.

“Dukksha?” I ask using the Nepali word for pain.

In a groan she replies, “Dukksha.”

Throughout the session of compressions, friction, and stretches I mumble “ramro, ramro” – good good, as she breathes and I feel the tissue release its stubborn tension.

Helping her to sit-up on the table, “How does your back feel?” 

“It feels much more relaxed, dhanyabaad – thank you.”

 “When should I come back?”

We go over some simple stretches and the preferred way of rising from a chair and using one’s legs rather than back when reaching for the ground.

“Give it a week and if the pain comes back, please come back to see me – dhanyabaad.”

We exchange Namaste’s and Maneesha, my interpreter for the day, escorts her to the front desk as I sit down to write my notes on her chart.

“Doctor Joe, do you have time to see a monk from the gompa?”

With a humble heart, “Of course, please send him back to see me.”

With love...

Namaste.

Note: I apologize for the slow response to emails. We only have internet access when the power is on and often the power is on while I’m working in the clinic.