Speech to Congress

A sample story from Vito.

“Speech to Congress”

On April 14, 2014, an award was presented to Dr. J. Brennan in a large hall in Washington D.C. to a crowd of over 700 people. The audience was composed of many factions of society including members of the Senate and the House of Representatives, influential individuals in business and members of the medical profession. The award presented is to those in the medical field who have dedicated their work to the service of others, while being an example of the core concepts of freedom, justice and equality for which the United States of America stands. Dr. Brennan was a prominent surgeon who had dedicated much of his career working for an organization that provided medical services to countries all over the world in times of natural disasters, famine, plagues and war. After a lengthily introduction with a prolonged standing ovation Dr. Brennan walked to the stage and received his medallion. He then politely waited for a second round of applause to subside before approaching the podium. The doctor brought with him no notes, no prepared written speech. For a few moments, he captured the silence of the auditorium as he scanned the audience. Then he began to speak.

I want to thank the award committee for bestowing me with this medallion an award I frankly find difficult to accept. My name is embossed on this medallion but missing are the names of the countless individuals from many different countries and occupations. Obviously, I could not have accomplished what I did without their dedication and support. Over the last few months, I thought about what to say as I received this honor. Right or wrong I decided to use this moment as an opportunity to speak to our elected officials, to all of you here and those not present tonight in hopes that at some point they will hear what I have to say. I feel certain that some will say it inappropriate for me to use this arena for my own personal soapbox. In addition, I feel certain that many may sharply disagree with what I am about to say though I believe that it is relevant to what this medallion represents.

In order to state my point of view, I will start by telling you a story, a true story. In 2002, I was sent with the entire entourage of our medical team to a war torn district in Africa. The war had been raging for over nine months with a mounting number of civilian casualties. We set up our mobile camp about 500 miles north of the fighting zone. Within days, we were operational treating civilians and nationalist soldiers with a variety of horrific war injuries that human beings have been able to inflict upon each other. As in other similar settings, once the word is out refugees began to pour into the camp requesting care for their injuries, ailments and illnesses. The daily sights and sounds within and around the camp would be difficult for the average person to bear. I am sorry to say our team had been through this before and we were at times immune so far the most part our stay and work was routine.

We were there about three months when a ruckus broke out amongst many of the locals in the camp. A rebel soldier had wandered into the camp unarmed, uninjured and asking to speak to me. You must remember that rebel soldiers had been long been accused of atrocities and were hated and feared by the civilians. I met with the soldier and an interpreter in one of our exam rooms. He started by stating that he was a messenger sent by their leader. Before he related his message, he made it clear that he was a seasoned soldier with strong allegiance to the rebel cause and that he fully expected to be kept as a prisoner and most probably executed. His leader had a sick child, a son about five years old that due to the fighting could not easily be gotten out of the country for medical assistance. His condition was reportedly serious. Knowing the reputation of our medical team and my reputation as a surgeon, the question was simply put. Would I help? Despite practical considerations and obvious political issues, I immediately said yes of course, not knowing if any part of it was possible.

The first challenge, a logistic challenge, was to obtain the child’s medical records. Once received the records indicated two tragic realities. The first was that the child’s condition was in fact serious and required surgery that had only a slim chance of success. Without the surgery, his prognosis was terminal. In addition, the physicians currently treating the child were making some drastic errors. The second centered on how the child could be brought to the camp. His presence even for a relatively short time posed several dangerous situations, which included the possible kidnapping of the child and his father as well as bringing armed combat to the camp. Another challenge that I had not immediately realized was the quality of the child’s care after surgery that was critical.

To my surprise, everything short of the after-care was arranged and put into action. The child and a team of his physicians were smuggled into the camp as well as both of his parents. This obviously upped the danger factor for all of us. I was able to have one conversation with the parents to explain the surgery and the strong possibility their son might not survive the ordeal. As I have experienced operating room deaths before, I have long felt anxiety about that prospect. With this upcoming surgery, my anxiety was reborn after my first meeting with the child’s physicians.

You should know that even though the individuals fighting the current government were called rebels, they were by no means uneducated people. The conflict was more akin to a civil war with both sides having almost equal military, communication and resource capabilities. There were however striking differences in ideology. To put things in prospective right or wrong, the rebels viewed the ideology of the United States with the same contempt as they did their existing government they were fighting.

When I first met the child’s medical team those ideology differences showed in their faces behind a mask of cold indifference and a silent hatred. I explained the surgery to them and the post surgery requirements. They listened quietly with stern looks on their faces, asked no questions only stating at the end they felt confident caring for the child and believed their medical knowledge was more than adequate. I did not believe it appropriate at that moment to discuss my concerns about their past attempts to accurately diagnose and treat the child. The whole event was done quickly under a cloak of secrecy with as few people in the camp as possible aware of who the child was. Those who did know were asked to make a solemn promise to not only keep the event secret throughout the child’s stay in the camp but also never to publicize the event after the fact. I can only tell you that the outcome of the war made that secrecy unimportant.

We proceeded with the surgery on a day filled with lightning, thunder and heavy rains that I was later told brought an unscheduled nature driven cease-fire to the war. Our technology, our medical science, my teams many years of experience together with the child’s courage resulted in a successful operation. Meeting with a family after surgery is common practice for physicians. Families want to thank you and hear details of the procedure, a type of cathartic penance for not being present during an important family event. Physicians take the opportunity to make certain after-care instructions are clearly understood. Therefore, I assumed that would be the course of the meeting as I walked down the hall towards the small consult room but I was wrong. When I walked into the room, five people were standing in what can be best described as a royal procession. The small regal company was comprised of the parents, a spokesman and two physicians. No smiling faces, no gestures of gratitude greeted me only eyes absent of everything except perhaps a cold determination. The spokesman took a step forward to introduce himself, speaking in a deliberate and obviously practiced tone that discounted your very existence. He wanted to be clear that the few people involved and myself understood the importance of our promise of secrecy. Despite our neutral position as physicians, collaborating with us even for such a drastic cause could be interpreted as a weakness. That stated, my audience with them concluded, the five of them moved towards the door.

With an anxious voice, I asked them to stop a moment; I wanted to make certain the two physicians were aware of the after-care plan for the young boy and the vital importance of following a tight medication and monitoring schedule. As earlier, the physicians would only state that they believed they were competent to handle the situation. Not being near satisfied, I pushed my point by inquiring as to whether they could acquire the medications and equipment to monitor the young boy’s condition. My efforts were met with a cold silence and stiff glances among the five of them. The ongoing silence became oppressive and to amplify the mood, I moved towards the door blocking it as an obvious gesture of my frustration and desire to get a satisfactory answer. The father eventually broke the silence. He stated quite emphatically that my recommendations could not be followed, as it would mean a continued collaboration with me and my team that needed to be kept a secret. The after-care plan involved too many details and too many people. Most importantly, he pointed out as if I should have known that if people found out how and where the surgery was performed it could undermine their movement. Such collaboration would be viewed as a betrayal and more than likely squelch the necessary passion needed for their success.

As I stood there, dumb-founded, anger welled up inside of me. I could not believe he would sacrifice his own son in this manner. Just before I was ready to let out a cacophony of words pour through my mouth, I saw the boy’s mother. She appeared to be holding back with all her might a tremendous grief and flooding of tears. I stood silent for a moment then walked away from the door. The five of them slowly exited the room with the sounds of their shoes clicking like a funeral dirge spinning in my head. Five days later, we received word that the young boy had died. I was deeply saddened by this news.
It is important for all of you in this audience to know something about the rebel leader and what was behind his decision that led to his son’s death. What I am about to tell you I have discussed with others. People who have been through such ordeals as well as people who have an understanding of different cultural ideas. One of the responses I received is that the father could not have killed his son since he did not give his son an illness, which in the end was the true culprit. Another was that leaders have often sent thousands of their country’s sons to their death in just wars or wars they believe to be just. To them I have responded that although those examples are true this situation was different at least different from my point of view.
It had taken the rebel leader almost a decade to build the fervor of emotions in his people necessary to bring them to the point of wanting violent conflict. He did so by instilling hatred, a hatred built on lies, a hatred purposely built on a footing void of facts, a hatred based on false concepts whose true purpose was the self-preservation of an elite power. This hatred was sustained and funded by a deceit, a deceit carefully orchestrated by a handful of individuals. This was a small group of people who saw the rebel leader as their personal puppet. The other difference was that for their overall plan to be successful it required a large group of people to be emotionally drained and eventually annihilated. This large group was painted as their country’s main problem, a problem that was undermining the continued well-being of the country. This large group of people had to be and was demonized. The only sin this large group of people had was they historically had always posed a threat to the very small group’s effort to maintain their power. These two differences were the ingredients that created an overwhelming hysteria within the country. A hysteria that could only be sustained in the presence of a darkness. The light of reason, the beauty of imagination, and the caress of compassion had to be held in the darkness. At the time of that young boy’s death, that country was deep in that darkness.

However, life never appears to give up on us. Life never leaves us for very long without opportunities to see our errors or the errors of others. Life never leaves us, as a whole without opportunities to move forward, never closes us off from the feel of truth. That rebel leader may not have caused his son’s death perhaps life did. You may find it foolish to think so but that boy’s illness was life giving the rebel leader an opportunity, an opportunity he chose not to take. Perhaps these types of opportunities that life gives us are the sole purpose of the gift of free will.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is only half the story. To start, I will have to take you back to the day before the surgery. One of the rebel delegates told me of a request from the young boy’s mother. It was a request that her husband would have preferred to deny her. Apparently, the request posed no threat to his movement so he agreed. In many parts of that country, spiritual healing was still very much alive. Shaman healers dressed in the traditional clothes of tribesmen centuries ago performed rituals. They practiced healings using charms, chants and a mixture of herbs that supposedly evoked their gods. So strong were these beliefs in this country that even when modern medicine was successful the healing was attributed to their magic. All of us working in that country were aware of these practices, never tried to interfere and always accepted the healers into our camps. Until that moment, there had never been a request for a healer to be present and practice their magic within the theater of the operating room. Politely and as politically correct as I could be, I tried to convince the boy’s mother that it would not be a good idea sighting the importance of everyone and everything in the operating room being sterile. If the spiritual healer would agree to not burn incense, to abandon his many trinkets, costume and headdress and sit in the operating room away from the surgery dressed only in a hospital gown sporting a surgical mask, I would allow it.

So on the morning of the surgery my team and I found ourselves in the operating room with an older African man sitting on the floor in a corner wedged between two pieces of standard equipment. To our surprise for the first forty-five minutes, we heard nothing from the native healer. Perhaps, I thought, he felt uncomfortable in such an unusual setting. Usually he would be dressed in magnificent colored robes adorned with feathers and beads and a gloriously decorated headdress. Yet here he sat in a corner wearing green scrubs made of paper, a surgical cap, surgical mask and slippers looking like the rest of us in the room. Shortly before the first hour of surgery, he started a low murmuring chant that built to a volume no louder than soft background music. He chanted an audible repetitive collection of native words. This went on for about ten minutes when he added a quiet clapping of his hands to the rhythm of his chanting. The whole process lasted about twenty minutes followed by a silent pause and then he would start again. This process resumed off and on throughout the four hours of surgery.

I admit that at first I was concerned the chanting and clapping might be a distraction but during the second round, I found myself experiencing a rather pleasant calmness. Along with the calmness, I noticed a sharpness in focus not only with the operation but also toward everyone and everything in the room. Every aspect of the operation appeared more acute and appreciated. Even though I have completed hundreds of surgeries throughout my career, I had never felt so in tune with the whole process. To be honest, I did not at first attribute this clarity with the spiritual healer but in talking later to my team I realized that each one of them had a similar experience. Most of the team described a somewhat different experience than mine. What they felt was a sense of a deeper connection with the young boy. The experiences were so noticeable for all of us that we decided as a group to talk with the spiritual healer.

Days later, we met with the spiritual healer and asked him directly what he had done to us. His answer started with a huge grin followed by his assurance that he had done nothing to us. What he said he had done was provide us with an opportunity; like a friend opening the door to their home and inviting you in for a nice cup of tea and a pleasant chat. He then described the process in what I would call mythological terms but from his explanation it was something that actually happened. He stated that the door was the entry to a part of our mind, the part that held ideas but different from the part that analyses the material world. He claimed that on the other side of the door were the ideas that we hold as true and feel strongly about. He also claimed that by their very nature these ideas keep us pitted against each other. These ideas in our mind are locked behind the door that generally remains closed and only opens to let like thoughts in to add to the whole bank of other ideas. He continued by saying that through the magic of the chant we were given the choice to open the door and allow different types of ideas to enter. Whether it was my imagination or not, I thought the spiritual healer at that point had a glassy look in his eyes. He continued saying that once the door opened we would be faced with two gods who were known as the destroyers. These gods although not flesh and blood as we are were very real. They do have symbolic representations as warriors with helmets, shields, swords and other weapons. One of them is male and the other female.

The spiritual healer addressed me specifically before he described what happened to me in the operating room. He stated, “To be sure not everyone needs the chanting. The door can be opened in a number of ways and there are some who can open the door at will.”
He further said that I allowed the door to be unlocked and opened at which point I came face to face with the female god. The next thing he said came with such frankness that it caused my eyebrows to rise. He said, she and I engaged in sex and that I impregnated her with triplets. These three infants quickly born became my responsibility to raise. He stopped the story once again stating that this was not symbolic but what had actually occurred though in a different realm. He continued saying that each child has to be feed and sustained by specific human emotions and related actions. The part of the female god in the whole process is very limited like earthly animals that lay eggs then leave their offspring to be born and fend for themselves. In the case of the triplets, their care by humans had definite consequences both positive and negative. If these children were allowed to suffer for lack of care or perish in their realm there would be resulting negative events in our material world; negative painful events in our lives and the lives of others. What he said next was not what I thought would have followed. If the triplets were to thrive, the results would not necessarily be positive events in our world but rather just more opportunities. If the children were to thrive the human parent had to literally keep them feed on a steady diet of behaviors and thoughts of compassion, patience and forgiveness toward others. Addressing the female staff in the room, he said the same process happened to them. Of course, they were met on the other side of the door by a male god that impregnated them and they gave birth to triplets. He ended by stating that it is up to each individual how many children you give birth to and raise.

In the next few weeks, I thought a great deal, about what that healer had told us. I wondered not so much whether it was true but of its significance. Most surprising to me is that I did not doubt his story even though for most of my life I have trained myself to think scientifically and in so doing have lost touch with allowing those types of ideas to be even considered. To be honest, I thought about myself now in a quite egotistical way. Most of my career as a physician, I have dedicated myself to the poor and needy. I did not focus on wealth or even honor. I ask myself whether I have truly in my heart and in all my actions been compassionate, patient and forgiving. The truth would be no, I have not. I still often harbored negative feelings like blame and hatred. I had to admit that at times I have been selfish and ignored the feelings of others. To my shame, I had to admit that I have even thought of myself as superior to others. I had to face that those thoughts had to effect some of my choices and how I treated others. I then remembered what I was taught as a child that I have stowed away or chosen to forget. You now it. We all know it. It is the Golden Rule. We all have at times forgotten this basic rule, its simplicity and profound meaning.

Pondering these things about myself, I began to think of my wife. In all the years I have known her; I can tell you she has truly exemplified the three qualities necessary to raise those triplets described by that spiritual healer. Especially in difficult times and situations, she has always been compassionate and patient beyond what most people would consider tolerable and always with a sweet and hopeful disposition. She has been forgiving at times that has made me question whether she was seeing clearly. It was as if her forgiveness of others actually wiped their sins clean, as if those sins had never occurred. Then it dawned on me. In the years we have been married and probably before we met, my darling wife had been having sex, albeit with a male god from a different realm. She was having sex, getting pregnant and having children with someone other than me. My wife has more than likely given birth to hundreds of sets of triplets and successfully raised them all.

So, I have told you my story. Now in light of that story, I return to what I mentioned in the beginning of my speech. I wish to make a statement to all of you here that are in The Congress. I will not give you details or specifics because that would only spark debate, which I believe would not be helpful. Perhaps we have gone beyond the point of which the debate of issues will help. Perhaps the answers lay within the motives behind our individual choices and the examination of those motives. Let me say that I am very disappointed in all of you. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say most of you. The people in this country are disappointed in you. You have become like that African leader. You have built walls made of lies and deceit to protect your self-interests. You have become the puppets who have resorted to the promotion of hatred to get your way. You have created and hidden behind false ideologies that have become more important than the people you are supposed to be serving.

The doctor paused for what appeared to be minutes, the weight of his last statement heavy enough to demand silence. Continuing, he asked, “Why is it that each of you do not have dozens and dozens of triplets that you have raised? Why is it that you of all people have not given birth and raised hundreds of those children? You of all people.”