I was given the choice of doing a rural family medicine rotation anywhere in the world. In the end, I decided to go to a Cree community in Northern Quebec. "What do you see ?" My friends and family ask. Let me tell you.
I see a community. A community of loving caring people with a beautiful set of traditions that I can only aspire to. I see an obesity epidemic caused not by laziness, nor by lack of self control but by poverty and an environment that does not make the right lifestyle choices an easy option.
I see nature; the great river, the towering tall trees in the distance that seem unwavered by the change in season. I hear the musical songs and chirps of birds, some of which are very familiar and others that I am hearing for the very first time. I see dogs that look like people's pets that have no home and roam these gravel streets alone.
I see broken glass and bottle caps and candy bar wrappers - the litter of self-medication against trauma and injustice. I see the concerned look from a mother to her child, who lies there feverishly half asleep and coughing. I see a another pregnant woman for her 28 week visit. It is her 5th child, she's only 20. I see the elderly man, whose lips are blackened with the charcoal that saved his life from bottles of pills ingested in yet another suicide attempt to block the pain and loss.
I see smiles, I see laughter. I see families whizzing by on 4x4s and pick up trucks, honking loudly in celebration of weddings and hockey games. I see children playing in the streets, riding their bikes in groups. They own the place. Some young girls run up to me, curious to know where I'm from and what I am doing here. They proudly show me their blisters from a long day of playing and they ask for band-aids. I come back a few minutes later with band-aids and the group of children has doubled. They wear their band-aids like badges and excitedly show me the slime that they bought at the corner store.
For the first time in my life, I'm a minority. Everyone around me looks different from me, speaks a different language. I can feel myself being watched everywhere I go. And yet I feel safe, except at night. I'm not supposed to go out walking alone at night, a driver is to bring me home.
No matter how much I've been taught in textbooks and in lectures, being here brings everything to life. I have so much to learn in a few short weeks and so little time to soak it in.
(View from the plane)
I see a community. A community of loving caring people with a beautiful set of traditions that I can only aspire to. I see an obesity epidemic caused not by laziness, nor by lack of self control but by poverty and an environment that does not make the right lifestyle choices an easy option.
I see nature; the great river, the towering tall trees in the distance that seem unwavered by the change in season. I hear the musical songs and chirps of birds, some of which are very familiar and others that I am hearing for the very first time. I see dogs that look like people's pets that have no home and roam these gravel streets alone.
I see broken glass and bottle caps and candy bar wrappers - the litter of self-medication against trauma and injustice. I see the concerned look from a mother to her child, who lies there feverishly half asleep and coughing. I see a another pregnant woman for her 28 week visit. It is her 5th child, she's only 20. I see the elderly man, whose lips are blackened with the charcoal that saved his life from bottles of pills ingested in yet another suicide attempt to block the pain and loss.
I see smiles, I see laughter. I see families whizzing by on 4x4s and pick up trucks, honking loudly in celebration of weddings and hockey games. I see children playing in the streets, riding their bikes in groups. They own the place. Some young girls run up to me, curious to know where I'm from and what I am doing here. They proudly show me their blisters from a long day of playing and they ask for band-aids. I come back a few minutes later with band-aids and the group of children has doubled. They wear their band-aids like badges and excitedly show me the slime that they bought at the corner store.
For the first time in my life, I'm a minority. Everyone around me looks different from me, speaks a different language. I can feel myself being watched everywhere I go. And yet I feel safe, except at night. I'm not supposed to go out walking alone at night, a driver is to bring me home.
No matter how much I've been taught in textbooks and in lectures, being here brings everything to life. I have so much to learn in a few short weeks and so little time to soak it in.
