Blind Faith

A young mother, Spanish speaking only, brought her 7 year old son to see me, as a retina specialist, referred by her local doctor; the young woman and her son entered my office with a Spanish interpreter from our International Office. From the boy’s limited testing so far, I was pleased to see that the sharpness of vision was excellent at 20/20 in each eye, but I was concerned with the loss of peripheral vision which had shown up in the visual field testing. My examination of his ocular fundus demonstrated peripheral retinal pigmentation in bone spicule form, that along with the visual field change was diagnostic for retinitis pigmentosa, an untreatable and slowly progressive retinal degeneration that would probably, over the next thirty to forty years, slowly rob him of useful vision for him that, by family history, as translated to me, was inherited in autosomal recessive form.

I explained the slow progression, through the translator, to the mother, emphasizing that the slow progression was untreatable, but that I had every expectation that her son would otherwise develop normally and adjust to the handicap as it progressed.

Because this young mother had been hoping for a cure for her son that prompted her international trip to our hospital, this bad news for her was devastating. I recognized this in her quiet sobbing as my information was transferred to her through the interpreter.

It was clear to me that she had no way of knowing my usual depth of concern for her and for her son in transferring to her what was for her unfortunate bad news.

I did notice that she was wearing a Rosary ring, a ring that devout Catholics wear to aid with their sacred prayer, The Rosary, a ring particularly useful to keep track of the decade of Hail Marys that is part of the Rosary prayer. Through the Spanish interpreter, I let the mother know that I recognized her ring; and I acknowledged that a special day was coming the following week, a Holy Day of Obligation. In recognizing her faith, she knew then that I was part of the Catholic community and, therefore, part of her community, and had the best interest of her son in my heart. And so, “the healing” could begin.

The disease born to her son, a progressive handicap, could not be cured. The seven year old, I knew from my past experience with other children, needed no emotional “healing” at this time; but the mother certainly would appreciate help with what was for her devastating information. She was imagining future hardship for her child. And so I was able, through the interpreter, to have the full attention of the mother, through her understanding that I was part of her community and appreciative of the community that Catholics share. When I spent time with her with the interpreter explaining that the slow progression would not provide, for her son, a handicap that would prevent him from a productive life, with her loving guidance, her tears ceased and she knew, and I knew, that there was a bond of importance through the professionalism of our communication. This emotional “healing” is a great treasure of professionalism of our medical calling that can be enhanced through this spiritual compatibility.