http://blogs.msf.org/StevenC/2008/06/26/34/ Sat, 04 Apr 2009 14:53:19 +0000 hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.1.1 http://blogs.msf.org/StevenC/2008/06/26/34/comment-page-1/#comment-77 Hiba Fri, 27 Jun 2008 04:42:00 +0000 http://blogs.msf.org/b/?p=34#comment-77 Walking home this evening through one of Montreal’s innumerable summer street extravaganzas, I was accosted by an incredibly handsome, young, black man who almost scared the living lights out of me for 10 seconds. I almost ran but something in his earnestness kept me, as if his choosing to talk to me was harder for him than my gut reaction. He showed me his name, and today and tomorrow’s dates, on a small square piece of paper, which he then turned over to show his pills "Zyprexa". He asked me if I knew what they were for and I said sure, psychosis. He was so excited that I knew. I asked how long he had been taking them and he explained that he was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia 10 years ago in Africa, that his parents sent him here, and that every 3 weeks he gets an injection ‘in my bum’ at the Hospital. “I don’t like the injection, but I have to”. I can guarantee that he does take his meds b/c the tardive dyskinesia as he spoke was definitely present: stiff jaw, labored articulation, maxillary rotation when not talking. No one should have those side effects in this day and age of medication choices. So, I settled in and chatted with him for a while, about his family back in Africa (for some reason he wouldn’t disclose where on the continent), and then asked him why he had wanted to talk to me. He shrugged and happily got me with “b/c you have a kind face, and you seem calm and happy tonight, and I was hoping you could help me eat”. I fished around in my wallet, only found 20's, figured - what the hell - and gave him 20$. What a riot. He was so happy, he asked my permission to hug me. He also did a little dance around me. Good thing it was a Montreal street fest: no one even took a 2nd look. We chatted for a bit more, b/c I couldn’t help doing the clinical thing and ascertaining that he had a place to sleep and it doesn't seem he'll be buying drugs with the money... he was all suited up in a polyester grey suit (buttoned jacket), white t-shirt and sneakers. Very clean and handsome and sweet. When I finally said good bye, he followed me for 2 blocks, smiling and waving every time I turned around, like an imprinted duckling. Then he dived into the Tim Horton's. I know Montreal’s good. I know he gets his medications here, and his welfare, and a supervised apartment and hopefully a decent social worker. But I couldn’t help wondering while he enthusiastically spoke of his younger sister if he would be happier back with his family in Africa, the way Youssef gets love and support from his family. Walking home this evening through one of Montreal’s innumerable summer street extravaganzas, I was accosted by an incredibly handsome, young, black man who almost scared the living lights out of me for 10 seconds. I almost ran but something in his earnestness kept me, as if his choosing to talk to me was harder for him than my gut reaction. He showed me his name, and today and tomorrow’s dates, on a small square piece of paper, which he then turned over to show his pills “Zyprexa”. He asked me if I knew what they were for and I said sure, psychosis. He was so excited that I knew. I asked how long he had been taking them and he explained that he was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia 10 years ago in Africa, that his parents sent him here, and that every 3 weeks he gets an injection ‘in my bum’ at the Hospital. “I don’t like the injection, but I have to”. I can guarantee that he does take his meds b/c the tardive dyskinesia as he spoke was definitely present: stiff jaw, labored articulation, maxillary rotation when not talking. No one should have those side effects in this day and age of medication choices. So, I settled in and chatted with him for a while, about his family back in Africa (for some reason he wouldn’t disclose where on the continent), and then asked him why he had wanted to talk to me. He shrugged and happily got me with “b/c you have a kind face, and you seem calm and happy tonight, and I was hoping you could help me eat”. I fished around in my wallet, only found 20′s, figured – what the hell – and gave him 20$. What a riot. He was so happy, he asked my permission to hug me. He also did a little dance around me. Good thing it was a Montreal street fest: no one even took a 2nd look. We chatted for a bit more, b/c I couldn’t help doing the clinical thing and ascertaining that he had a place to sleep and it doesn’t seem he’ll be buying drugs with the money… he was all suited up in a polyester grey suit (buttoned jacket), white t-shirt and sneakers. Very clean and handsome and sweet. When I finally said good bye, he followed me for 2 blocks, smiling and waving every time I turned around, like an imprinted duckling. Then he dived into the Tim Horton’s.
I know Montreal’s good. I know he gets his medications here, and his welfare, and a supervised apartment and hopefully a decent social worker. But I couldn’t help wondering while he enthusiastically spoke of his younger sister if he would be happier back with his family in Africa, the way Youssef gets love and support from his family.

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