The Beauty of Motion

I have strong ties with Italy. My wife is Italian, my mom is Italian and I spent almost all my childhood summers running between the vineyards and beaches of the Adriatic cost (the east coast). I can still remember the scorching hot sun, the blissful relief of throwing myself into the cool Mediterranean, the incredibly healthy and tasty meals my grandmother would prepare and the countless Utopian evenings spent playing with my friends in the golden light of a Mediterranean sunset.

The sun sets over the Adriatic.

As a result of this “Italian Connection” I am lucky enough to have many Italian friends and even a few orthopedic colleagues still present in Italy. In fact, with the help of one of my friends, on every year (for the last 8 years) I go over along with my family for the whole summer, and work in a local hospital. Many say that I should remain at home (in the ‘States) with the kids so that they could spend time with their friends but I prefer to give them the chance to run free in the fields and on the beach, experiencing feelings that a city child will never know.

Yet this is not what I wanted to talk about, rather I’m writing this article to describe the experience and emotions I’ve had as a grown-up Orthopedic Surgeon.

The view from the back garden!!

Firstly, what struck me the most is the trust. I might have Italian roots but I’m not Italian and it’s even more obvious when you look at me (6 foot 2 with freckles) or hear me talk Italian with a midwest accent!. None the less not even one patient has ever questioned my abilities or my qualifications. Back home I know many people who would be afraid to trust any doctor that hadn’t studied medicine in the U.S. and just as we think our schools are the best so too do the Italians yet somehow because you’re part of the hospital and a doctor they automatically entrust themselves to you no questions asked.

There is one elderly lady that always leaps into my head every time I think about going back. She came to me 4 years ago with a severe arthrosis of the hip which was causing her constant and crippling pain and restricting her lifestyle no end. She lives alone and the highlight of her week is Sunday afternoon when she goes to her daughter’s house to eat lunch with her grand-children. The problems with her hip meant that she regularly missed this Sunday appointment and even when she was able to go to her daughter’s playing with the children was out of the question. After a successful hip operation this lady got her life back and now has even gone back to getting around on a bicycle.

Let it be known that I didn’t do anything special, I just did my job without using any special techniques or products. Well, every year I go back, this lady comes to my studio for a check-up accompanied by 3 Stone of fresh fish, gallons of homemade olive oil, 3/4 Salami, freshly baked bread and all sorts of other local food. I perform a check up and we talk about how everything is going, she fills me in on the her grand children’s developments over the last year and shares a good dose of local gossip before thanking me for everything and going on her way.

The fact of the matter is that Signora Cestelli is not unique and I have many more patients just like her. On three different occasions I have been invited for dinner by the family of my patients as a way of thanking me for resolving their problems, and countless others bring me food as a way of showing their gratitude.

Basket of fruit by Caravaggio (I don’t have a photo of the one I received!)

I don’t take advantage of my position and the trust that these people give me. I’m humbled by the way they hand over their very selves into my hands and trust me totally in the conclusions that I reach to make them better. I, on the other hand, repay their trust with an atention and care that I don’t feel many patients get from their doctor.

Back home, I rarely, if ever, find this sort of feeling with my patients. I find relationships much colder and critical. Trust is at a minimun with many patients repeating articles that they’ve read on the internet to contradict what you have to say, almost if they’re afraid that you might take advantage of their position of relative “ignorance” to try out some experimental treatment.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with my U.S. patients and I totally understand why things are different with respect to, in this case, Italy. That said I can’t wait until next year. I wonder what Sig.ra Cestelli will bring me this time, in her wonderful basket of loaves and fishes.

Tags: Italy, Life

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