In the Spirit of Medicine from KUMD

Our kids tend to do what we do. Don't let smoking be one of them.

"In the four days following his funeral, we were told Frank's spirit would be made whole again. He has taught his lessons and now he goes to join his ancestors and loved ones free of the worldly disadvantages he had here."

I thought about our current political climate. There is no middle ground. Somewhere are the answers we need to move forward as a people and ultimately, as a planet.

All our generations exist in us and one day our ancestors will carry us home.

"One of the women at the bar told him, 'You Finlanders don't have the guts to shoot yourselves.' That was the last sentence he heard."

Did I properly honor his sacrifice?

Health matters - The Native Report on WDSE

My son sat with my wife next to Ed. Irina stood at the head of the bed next to him.

Someone in recovery gave him a vest and a bustle to wear and he started dancing as a traditional dancer at powwows. “It took me a long time to remember some of the things those old people tried to tell me and finding my traditions again saved me.” George has been a traditional dancer since then and his dance outfit was given to him over time by friends and sometimes by dancers who were too old to keep dancing and wanted their regalia to stay in the powwow circle. “When I dance, every step is a prayer for healing for all Indian people.”

Someone in recovery gave him a vest and a bustle to wear and he started dancing as a traditional dancer at powwows. “It took me a long time to remember some of the things those old people tried to tell me and finding my traditions again saved me.” George has been a traditional dancer since then and his dance outfit was given to him over time by friends and sometimes by dancers who were too old to keep dancing and wanted their regalia to stay in the powwow circle. “When I dance, every step is a prayer for healing for all Indian people.”

She took both of my hands in hers and looked straight into my eyes. I could see the strength and resolve of many hard years looking back at me. “"Young man, Dr. Vainio. You have been so kind to me and I know you just want to help, but I have everything I need. I'’m going to a better place, so don'’t you worry about me."” I had to leave the room at that point and went out to the top of the parking ramp. I looked out over the new day with the sun sparkling on the Puget Sound and the Olympic mountain range in the background. The birds were singing and the sky was a rare and brilliant blue. How could something so terrible be happening on such a perfect day? Every time I tried to turn around and go back into the hospital, I started to cry. Not silently, but sobs that wracked me so hard I had to hold myself up by leaning against a concrete pillar.

There are maybe a double handful of people I really credit with my becoming a doctor. Walt Boorsma is one of them. I first met him when I was about 18 and unemployed. He was desperately looking for someone to do some manual labor on a construction job for a few weeks and he found me in a bar. I was drunk, barefoot, disrespectful, and shooting pool, but he didn't really have any other choice on short notice. At age 18, I was looking for my way in the world, but didn't actually know I was lost.

"Dr. Vainio, I'm so glad you were there," she said. It is often during critical events in healthcare that medical students learn from their mentors.

"I deserve to die alone, Dr. Vainio. I was never any kind of father and I stopped at the bar on my way home every time I got paid. I never took him to a park or swimming or to a fair. I wasn’t any better husband than I was a father. I told my wife she was the cause of my drinking. Maybe I was wrong,” he smiled grimly, “they’ve been gone for over thirty years.”

“I don’t want you to get the impression we’re just putting you on a medicine to hide your problems. Having depression is more common than you know. Continuing to see the counselor is important. These medicines are safe and really have minimal side effects. They don’t make you look at the world through rose colored glasses and needing them is not a character flaw and taking them is not a sign of weakness.

I think back to a year ago. There was an entire household with multiple generations living together and they were too sick to come to the clinic for COVID-19 testing. Three of our nurses selflessly volunteered to go to them. They put on personal protective equipment and went in and tested everyone there. That single act of love and dedication will always define medicine for me.

He has finally been able to talk about his seizures and has talked to a group of pharmacy students and talked to a group at the college. “It’s like I finally came out of the closet and I can finally talk about my seizures without being ashamed.” He welcomes the chance to help others with seizures and knows he has a lot to offer for those needing support and first hand information about epilepsy.

She was 94 pounds and 28 years old, but you couldn’t tell her age by looking at her. She had the rotting teeth that come with using meth. But mostly, her drug of choice was heroin. Her blond hair was greasy, thin, graying and matted flat against her head. Her face was almost skeletal and she had dark circles under her eyes. Her eyes seemed big because of the loss of fat around them and they almost protruded from her eye sockets. All of her ribs were easily visible and I could actually see her heart beating against her bony chest.

There were four students working with the body we were studying and we didn’t know anything about him as a person. The medical school was very explicit that we were to carry ourselves with the utmost respect when we were in the lab with the body and we were to respect this gift that was given to us. This almost didn’t need to be said, but I’m glad it was. Very few people get the opportunity to study a body in detail and learn the anatomy as they learn the organ systems. There is no book, no video, no plastic model that can give the same experience. This is the way doctors have been learning medicine since the beginning.

The COVID-19 pandemic has been with us for almost a year. In that year businesses have closed and people have lost jobs. Wearing masks and keeping social distance have caused deep divisions among us. There are scare stories and myths on social media and other places about the vaccines and many people believe these myths. Fear has always been a powerful tool and has long been used to cause division. Fear is being used now and it isn't always easy to know what to believe.

nmorning@d.umn.edu (ljohnson)

The cemetery is far from city lights and is surrounded by tall pine trees. We are close to the same latitude as Finland and my grandmother would have seen the same winter constellations as a little girl in her homeland. We walk carefully so we don’t disturb the snow and we reverently place the candles on each grave.

In the Spirit of Medicine features the essays of Dr. Arne Vainio, an enrolled member of the Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe and a family practice doctor on the Fond Du Lac reservation in Cloquet. His essays on life, work, medicine and spirit are published in "News From Indian Country," and you can find the link to this story here.

She was looking down into one of the barrels and once she started talking, the words came out and it was like she couldn’t stop. She was sobbing and dipping a watering can into the barrel and she told me about all the things that were going on around the time of my father’s death and all the fears she had for him and how she never talked with him about suicide because she was afraid she would plant that idea in his head and how she blamed herself for his death. We hugged for a long time after she finished telling me and her body shook with her sobs and I could tell she had that bottled up for years and years.

Money was short and you ran out of heating fuel in the middle of winter. I expect those were some bad days. You didn’t tell me about that until after it was passed. A desperate someone looking for something to sell kicked your door in when you weren’t home and made your crumbling house lose some of that precious heat. Visiting your mother in the nursing home must have been warm. Your old television couldn’t have brought much money. Your car got repossessed.

Do the leaves remember those from last year? In the heat of summer, the bright green shimmers of forever. Then the fall. The bitter cold. They show their true colors, these elders. They remind us of the passage into the next life. The commonest of them persist And they speak to me. They tell me I am one of them.

I was almost to my hotel and a man was kneeling on the sidewalk pulling a trumpet out of its case. I was well past him and was about to cross the street when he started to play. Jazz? Blues?

You told me you didn’t feel you contributed anything to anyone anymore. My father, your brother, died when I was four years old. I have maybe three or four actual memories of him and some memories that are from stories someone else told me and I took them as my own memories. I didn’t get to see his smile except in old photographs. I didn’t get to hear his voice and I never had the chance to hear the advice he would have passed to me from his parents when he thought I needed to hear those things. I was able to see his smile in yours. I heard his voice in your voice. I was able to listen to those lessons from him through you, and only through you. You gave me my father. In the Spirit of Medicine features the essays of Dr. Arne Vainio, an enrolled member of the Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe and a family practice doctor on the Fond Du Lac reservation in Cloquet. His essays on life, work, medicine, and spirit are published in News from Indian Country and you can find the link to this story here

Skip Sandman is one of our spiritual leaders and he spoke for the pipe.

I have no doubt this sewing machine made face masks over a hundred years ago and my grandmother would have made masks. There was a huge second wave of that pandemic and entire families died in a single day. They didn’t have access to ventilators back then and this machine would have been a life saver. My grandmother saved lives as a young woman and I never knew a thing about it.

George has always told me seeing a doctor dancing would be healing for everyone and I discovered that meant me as much as anyone else.

At his 70th birthday party, he took me aside and it was like a little ceremony with just me and him in the corner. “Arne, you need to write. I know you have at least one book in you and maybe more. The only way you’re going to find out is by writing and I want to write the forward to your first book. He went on, “I’ve been writing all these years and I’m always looking for the next writer among us, Arne. Telling our stories is important and I want to pass something formally to you right now. “Believe that what you have to say is important. The commas and the punctuation will take care of themselves. You need to write.’”

Florence and her sister were forcefully taken away from her family when she was a little girl and put into a residential school. She was driven far away from her family, her braids were cut off and she was forbidden to speak her language. “I was always told before that that I was a beautiful little girl inside and once I was taken away I was told I was stupid and ugly. When I got older I fell in with the wrong lifestyle because I couldn’t go back home and I just wanted someone, anyone to accept me.” In the Spirit of Medicine features the essays of Dr. Arne Vainio, an enrolled member of the Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe and a family practice doctor on the Fond Du Lac reservation in Cloquet. His essays on life, work, medicine, and spirit are published in News from Indian Country and you can find the link to this story here.

She had a Singer treadle sewing machine and I was fascinated by the steady “click-click-click” of the needle going up and down. I watched her rock her foot to thread the bobbin, then slide back the cover to load the bobbin into the shuttle. I was always amazed when the sewing machine picked up the thread and could never figure out how it could get thread to link together on both sides of the fabric. In the Spirit of Medicine features the essays of Dr. Arne Vainio, an enrolled member of the Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe and a family practice doctor on the Fond Du Lac reservation in Cloquet. You can read the transcript of this story below. My grandmother’s sewing machine Dr. Arne Vainio My grandfather emigrated from Finland in 1903 and settled in Sturgeon, Minnesota. He built his sauna first, as all Finnish immigrants did. My grandmother traveled alone on a ship from Finland in 1909 when she was nineteen. She worked in New York City for a while, then answered an ad to be a housekeeper for my

In the Spirit of Medicine features the essays of Dr. Arne Vainio, an enrolled member of the Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe and a family practice doctor on the Fond Du Lac reservation in Cloquet. This episode was originally aired May 28, 2018.

Death has always been patient. For some it comes after a long and full life with boats and vacations and mortgages and big weddings and handshakes and Christmas cards from bankers. It comes with friendly nods and gentle warnings for driving a few miles above the speed limit. For others it comes randomly with agony and pain and humiliation for a twenty dollar mistake. In the Spirit of Medicine features the essays of Dr. Arne Vainio, an enrolled member of the Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe and a family practice doctor on the Fond Du Lac reservation in Cloquet.

nmorning@d.umn.edu (ljohnson)

Zoongide’iwin is the Ojibwe word for courage and this is one of our grandfather teachings. Zoongide’iwin means to do what is right when the consequences are unpleasant, to do what is right even when you’re afraid. This is the time for courage. This is the time to stay strong. The virus is depending on you to bring it to others and we cannot let that happen if we can help it. Protect our elders and those most vulnerable. Protect our essential workers. Help slow the spread of this virus and give us time to care for as many as we can. We go to work for you. Please, stay home for us. In the Spirit of Medicine features the essays of Dr. Arne Vainio, an enrolled member of the Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe and a family practice doctor on the Fond Du Lac reservation in Cloquet. His essays on life, work, medicine, and spirit are published on Indianz.com and you can find the link to this story here.

“A great sickness has been visited upon us as human beings. This happened to us as Native people a long time ago and it devastated us and killed us by the millions. It took our elders and our babies alike and there was nothing we could do. “This new sickness affects all people from all over the world. It takes our elders and those most vulnerable. It takes people with cancer and heart disease, it takes people with diabetes and other chronic diseases. It spreads quickly and easily between people. It spreads at funerals and birthday parties and all public places and it can be spread by someone with no symptoms at all. It spreads at the places we should feel the safest, at our ceremonies and in our churches. Gathering together should be our strength, but with this sickness it is our downfall." In the Spirit of Medicine features the essays of Dr. Arne Vainio, an enrolled member of the Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe and a family practice doctor on the Fond Du Lac reservation in Cloquet. His

It was a beautiful spring day and I was on call. I was able to spend some time on this Saturday morning with Ivy and Jacob and we walked along the sidewalks as the melting snow ran in rivers down the streets. The sun was bright and the sky was a blue that promised nothing but warm days to come. In the Spirit of Medicine features the essays of Dr. Arne Vainio, an enrolled member of the Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe and a family practice doctor on the Fond Du Lac reservation in Cloquet. His essays on life, work, medicine, and spirit are published in News from Indian Country and you can find the link to this story here.

If I had told her she had lung cancer on that Thursday, the diagnosis of “pneumonia” never would have been in quotes. She would have continued to see me as part of her medical team. My education and my abilities never would have come into question. But she would have gone into her Easter weekend with a death sentence hanging over her head and nowhere to turn for answers. She didn’t have many days left, and those few days with her family were important. Knowing her diagnosis two days earlier did not change her outcome. In the Spirit of Medicine features the essays of Dr. Arne Vainio, an enrolled member of the Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe and a family practice doctor on the Fond Du Lac reservation in Cloquet. His essays on life, work, medicine, and spirit are published in News from Indian Country and you can find the link to this story here.

Ojibwe author Jim Northrup took me aside at his seventieth birthday party a couple of years ago and told me it was time for me to write a book.

These young doctors spent their entire lives aiming for the stars and have worked tirelessly to fill those seats in the classroom. They have self-selected to be those who want to practice in small communities and on reservations. They have inside them the will and the strength to work within these constraints and overcome the barriers placed in front of them. They are the ones who will care about our homeless, those less fortunate, our unemployed and our veterans. These will be our doctors. In the Spirit of Medicine features the essays of Dr. Arne Vainio, an enrolled member of the Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe and a family practice doctor on the Fond Du Lac reservation in Cloquet. His essays on life, work, medicine, and spirit are published in News from Indian Country and you can find the link to this story here.

I always consider being a doctor the peak of the mountain in the medical field. It makes a difference where you started from when you’re standing on that peak. Some start from the deepest of valleys and it’s those students who need the most help and the most support.

Dr. Vainio, am I going to die? Yes. And there's nothing you can do? No. I'm afraid to die. Should I be? I don't know, Agnes. I don't know. In the Spirit of Medicine features the essays of Dr. Arne Vainio, an enrolled member of the Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe and a family practice doctor on the Fond Du Lac reservation in Cloquet. His essays on life, work, medicine, and spirit are published on Indianz.com and you can read the transcript of this story below. By Arne Vainio, M.D News From Indian Country March 2011 Agnes came into my life on a Monday morning as I was finishing a weekend of call. My pager informed me my blocked schedule had been overridden as I had an extremely complicated, new patient with cancer who needed to be admitted to the hospital. She was in a wheelchair and there was a social worker with her. She had over a hundred pages of medical records. She had been hospitalized in Nevada for vaginal bleeding and had been diagnosed with cancer of the cervix in the past few months

Women are from Venus, men are from Mars. That’s true in personal interactions, but it’s also true when it comes to heart disease.

You have too much to offer to let this gift go. This gift is a blessing, but it can also be a burden and a curse. When Jake plays the piano, there’s something in there that makes me cry. Every single time. Your drawings and your artwork have that same power. When you create something, it shows others what is inside you. But more importantly, it shows them what is inside them. In the Spirit of Medicine features the essays of Dr. Arne Vainio, an enrolled member of the Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe and a family practice doctor on the Fond Du Lac reservation in Cloquet. His essays on life, work, medicine, and spirit are published on Indianz.com and you can find the transcript of this story below. My brother died this morning By Arne Vainio, M.D. January 30, 2014 Christmas was two days ago. Ivy and Jake and I made a 150 mile or so round trip to put ice candles on my Finnish grandmother’s grave. A year ago my brother Kelly met us at the cemetery as he only lives a block away from there. I was

He turned on the amplifier and I expected to hear the twangy sounds of the 1950’s. Poodle skirts and ducktail haircuts were in my mind, but what came out of the guitar was the blues. Not just any blues, but the heart-wrenching blues from a life that didn’t deliver what was expected. I could hear his anguish and the guitar moaning as he was saying goodbye to an old friend who was moving on and leaving him behind. In the Spirit of Medicine features the essays of Dr. Arne Vainio, an enrolled member of the Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe and a family practice doctor on the Fond Du Lac reservation in Cloquet. His essays on life, work, medicine, and spirit are published on Indianz.com and you can find the transcript of this story below. The Red Guitar By Arne Vainio, M.D. Our son Jacob plays piano, but has recently started to play guitar . Randy and I were best friends in high school. His older brother Mike played guitar in several bands. Randy and I used to get into bars by carrying band

I was trying to get my jack under the car without kneeling and I didn’t want to have my pants wet all day in the clinic. I finally got my jack under the car next to her jack and raised the car enough to put the old tire back on. I had two of the lug nuts halfway on when her jack buckled and collapsed and the car lurched forward. That put all the weight of the car on my jack and as the car went forward, my jack collapsed and folded and the old tire was barely on the car. It was plain to see there was no way we were going to get her tire changed. In the Spirit of Medicine features the essays of Dr. Arne Vainio, an enrolled member of the Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe and a family practice doctor on the Fond Du Lac reservation in Cloquet. His essays on life, work, medicine, and spirit are published on Indianz.com and you can find the transcript of this story below. I won't miss my opportunity next time By Arne Vainio, M.D. I missed the print deadline for my last story. Something always happens

What did he do to bring this upon himself? Likely what all babies do. He cried, he needed changing and feeding. He woke up in the middle of the night. He got sick. He asked his dad to grow up before he was ready. He cried some more. In the Spirit of Medicine features the essays of Dr. Arne Vainio, an enrolled member of the Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe and a family practice doctor on the Fond Du Lac reservation in Cloquet. His essays on life, work, medicine, and spirit are published on Indianz.com and you can find the transcript of this story below. Happy Birthday to a silent baby By Dr. Arne Vainio Early in my medical training I was on a 6 week rotation in Pediatrics. I was on a team in one of the teaching hospitals and this was a very busy service, even as a medical student. When our team was on call, we admitted all the patients that came in for that 24 hour period. This usually meant very little sleep and we still had studying to do for exams when we weren’t actually admitting patients

The hamburger steak was tough and I had the dirty fork stuck in it and I was sawing on the steak with the butter knife. As I was sawing on it, the plate moved to the edge of the table and flipped over and landed on the floor.