— Laurence Galian
I needed areminder of a skeleton in my closet and a blind spot in my way of thinking.
Fact is, we all kneel to some authority—I just didn’t realize in my case it was my own pride—I’m embarrassed to admit it, but in the end, things turned out all right.
An animal ironically guided me back to the right path.
It all started innocently enough when I sat in on a case conference involving a forty-year old female named Aileen Monaghan.
Aileen’s depression was growing worse—she was near catatonic and Anton Sehr, one of the hospital psychiatrists, was contemplating the use of electroconvulsive therapy.
“Nothing else is working and her condition seems to be worsening.”
I nodded gravely, well aware that some cases of severe depression don’t always respond to pharmacotherapy.
“Have you obtained consent?” I asked.
“We haven’t been able to contact the husband—they live on the reservation, but so far we’ve had no luck in finding him. She’s formed, so we can go ahead on the basis of informed consent.”
“Wait a minute—you said they live on the reservation?”
Anton nodded. The room went silent.
Generally, in these cases the legal basis is that the will of the patient is supreme. It implies the patient has the right to refuse a treatment such as ECT.
I was wondering why Aileen’s rights were disregarded—then, it hit me—she was a native American.
There was an elephant in the room—an obvious race issue that was either being deliberately ignored or not addressed.
Anton Sehr cleared his throat and said quietly, “Since you are Chief of Psychiatry, Dr. Blaine, we are willing to defer to your opinion in this matter.”
I stood up, “I will take this under advisement and let you know what I decide.”
I spent the next hour looking over Aileen’s file. She was a full-blooded Mohawk whose Indian name was Aylen Mahigan.
My first tendency was to treat her myself, confident I could do so without intrusive measures as ECT.
I could begin a regimen of anti-depressives—suddenly, I caught myself and mentally screeched to a halt.
How was I being any less biased than Anton Sehr and his paternalistic approach?
He was convinced that modern medicine and white man’s culture was best—that Aileen had to be managed because she was poor and native American.
My pride in my professional competency and psychiatric skill set was my own personal elephant in the room—and I didn’t even see it.
I was reluctant to admit the obvious—I had no idea how to approach treating a native American and automatically defaulted to my own cultural superiority.
I was ashamed to admit it, but like Anton Sehr, I also wore blinders. I devalued the native people’s culture and heritage.
I had a plan, however, and it would involve swallowing my pride and taking a risk—but I decided in this case, it was worth it.
The next day I drove out to the Six Nations Reserve. I was going to meet Jim Crow, a local medicine man and a trapper.
Jim’s reputation as a shaman and healer was well established in the area and if anyone could reach Aileen, it was him.
I found him chopping wood in back of his house. I felt a little foolish calling to consult a fiftyish Cherokee with gray-streaked hair tied back in a ponytail.
He was dressed in a blue plaid lumberjack shirt and jeans and broke into a broad smile when he saw me.
“Hey Doc, I was expecting you.”
“You were?” I looked to see if he were joking. I hadn’t informed him I was coming.
“My spirit guides told me to expect a white man visitor—a medicine man like me.”
I eyed him skeptically, but had learned to trust his almost mystical way of knowing.
“What can I do for you Doc?”
I told him what I knew of Aileen Monaghan and her situation.
“What’s her Indian name?”
“Aylen Mahigan,” I replied.
He gave me a crinkly grin. “Aylen means beautiful and mahigan means wolf. That’s a real help.”
“Will you help her?” I asked.
He put down his axe and picked up his leather jacket. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go.”
On the ride back to the hospital he asked me questions about Aileen, none of which I could answer. I felt very despondent.
“Ah, don’t worry Doc—I’ll consult my guides—they’ll tell me what to do.”
“Don’t you go lighting any fires or beating drums in her room,” I quipped.
He shook his head, a big grin plastered on his face. “I have my own personal totems—no need for fires or rituals, Doc.”
I was glad he was amused. His confidence was reassuring though.
When we arrived at the hospital, we went directly to Aileen’s room. She was propped up in bed staring blankly out the window.
Jim approached her, passed a hand across her eyes, and made a soft whuffling sound, like an animal call. She blinked and turned her head to look at him.
He spoke to her in Indian and she answered him. I was flabbergasted. She had been virtually catatonic.
I watched while he spoke softly with her—it was all so gentle and intimate I felt I was intruding. I left and went back to my office letting the duty nurse know where I was.
A half hour later, Jim appeared.
“What did you find out?” I asked.
He sat down opposite me. It was turning dark outside and I stood to turn on the lights, but he waved me off.
“The lighting in here’s bad, Doc—besides, it’s too harsh—scares away my guides.”
“Sorry.” I sat back down.
“Her husband’s been unfaithful—seduced by a woman—a newcomer to the tribe.”
“I see.”
“The woman’s name is Njolon Wakanda. Interesting—her name means mistress.”
I shook my head, “Ironic.”
“The woman’s a sorceress, an enchantress—she possesses magical power and she’s cunning like a fox.”
“Oh great—just what we need.”
“Naw—that’s no problem—Aylen’s spirit guide is a wolf—wolves overcome foxes.”
“Oh well, then the problem’s solved.”
I admit I was a bit tetchy—but I’m not into zoolatry—the glorification of animals.
Jim was unperturbed.
“Don’t doubt our kinship with animals, Doc. A great Indian leader, Chief Seattle said, what is a man without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, men would die from great loneliness of spirit, for whatever happens to the beasts also happens to man.”
“Okay, Jim—I was being cavalier—but explain to me how these animal spirits will help Aileen.”
“The wolf is a teacher and pathfinder. He comes when we need guidance in our lives. Aylen is at a crossroads in her life. The wolf will appear and be by her side as a journey animal to guide her through this crisis.”
“So, you’re confident that telling her this will help her get out of her depression?”
He smiled as if explaining a truth to a child.
“The Great Spirit always provides. We have a saying—there’s a way out of every dark mist—over a rainbow trail. Aylen now has her traveling companion. She’ll be all right.”
I drove Jim back to the reservation and handed him a check for five hundred dollars—an honorarium. He folded it and put it in his shirt pocket.
“I’ll use this Doc, to pay for courses so our young people can learn our language.”
“Don’t they teach that in the reservation schools?”
He just laughed as if a dimwit asked a dumb question.
I drove back on country roads, back past dark fields, dimly illumined by a ghostly Moon. I felt a strange frisson.
I’m not a mystic and permitting Jim to help Aileen, pushed the limits of my tolerance to the extreme.
When I got back to the hospital, it was after midnight and I decided to look in on Aileen and make sure she was all right.
I stood in the doorway listening to her gentle breathing.
The room was bathed in an ethereal peacefulness.
My breath caught.
In the dim moonlight, I could discern a shape.
There, beside her in the bed, asleep, was a huge grey wolf.
I gently closed the door.