He was the medical director of an Ob/Gyn clinic for the indigent in a southwestern town near the Mexican border. In its heyday, eight midwives and three physicians—including a near-deaf Catholic nun whose car sported an “Ordain Women!” bumper sticker—handled thousands of patient visits a year and delivered more than 130 babies each month.
Poor folk are never a priority for the health care system, even less so if they are black, Hispanic or worse a border-jumper. Many of the patients gave the same rural mailbox number for an address, having paid the “coyotes” thousands of dollars to be smuggled into the US. I can’t say I blame them, because I’d had to deal with the consequences of poor obstetrical care some of them had gotten across the border.
I first met him in 2000 when I worked as a locum tenens physician at the clinic for seven months. At that time he was in his late 50’s, a slight man with thick brown hair and glasses whose quiet demeanor sometimes produced a wry joke that both surprised and amused. I thought he was a kind and decent man, even after I found out he was a staunch Republican and had his picture taken with George W. Bush at an inaugural ball. I’m not sure he ever acknowledged the irony of devoting his life’s work to people the Republican Party despised.
But a sadness always surrounded him as if he recognized the futility of the task while refusing to give in. The hospital expected the clinic to be profitable but funding was always a problem. Private physicians in other specialties never wanted to see the patients in consultation. Some of the hospital staff treated them as vermin. He did his best but most of the time, unlike Sisyphus, the stone never got anywhere near the top of the mountain before falling back.
As often happens, he was pushed out in favor of younger (and less expensive) physicians. He retired a little farther north where he lived before taking his own life the day after Christmas, 2012. His ashes were buried on a ranch in the western state where he’d first practiced—a fitting repose for an old hand.
“Why?” will forever remain unanswered. Was it being discarded like an old pair of shoes? Was being a physician his entire identity and, lacking that, his raison d’être had evaporated? Or had he just reached the end of his trail, tired and dispirited?
He may never have realized to how many people’s lives he brought comfort and healing, but those of us who bore witness will never forget.
Photo credit: CanStock Photo
What a sad, sad end for someone who was a dear, kind, and great man. I clearly never knew him, but he was obviously someone to be admired.
He was a dear sweet soul who I had the distinct honor and privilege to work with him for 15 years. His wry sense of humor always kept me laughing. His patients loved him many being at the clinic seeing him since he started there.
Many of his patients cried and were so saddened by his passing. I was stunned, devastated and lost for a long time. Now I keep the humor going and telling his jokes to those around me.
Few people have touched my life as he did. I will always be grateful for all that he taught me but most of all is compassion and genuine live for those we serve. God Bless him!