"I try to teach many things to my patients. I try to be a partner in their health decisions every day.  But I hope that I never forget that some of life's most important lessons I learned from them."

Carolle Jean-Murat, M.D., F.A.C.O.G.

Today's Miracle:

Overcoming Obstacles

A new page was turning in my life. I had just been accepted to the Autonomous University of Guadalajara Medical School, in Mexico.

My heart was heavy when I thought about the uncertainty ahead. At age 20, I left Haiti after finishing College in 1970. I had spent two long years in New York, where I learned a lot and cried a lot. I was supposed to have stayed in New York for only a few months, but ended up staying for two precious years. Now, I would again need to learn about a different world, a new culture, and another language.

At the time, I spoke Haitian and French, the official language of Haiti. I needed to improve my Spanish skills. Since my goal was to be accepted into a post-graduate program in the United States, this also meant that I would also have to buy medical books written in English. My friend Nicole, also from Haiti, also had dreams of becoming a doctor.

Together we went to Mexico. We were lucky to meet Pierre Rousseau, a fourth-semester medical student, also from Haiti; he was a big help and showed us where things were. We went to ICB, Instituto the Ciencias Basicas, where we spent the first two years of medical school. Since Nicole and I would take the bus, Pierre showed us how to get to classes without wasting time.

On the way, we saw an enclosed area from which smoke was billowing. Pierre made a sinister face, "Now is the time to boil the old cadavers in large pots, after they have been cut into pieces and placed in large barrels with water and calcium powder. The cadavers are boiled so the flesh can be detached from the bones. Those bones then dry in the sun, ready for the batch of new students to study with."

I was ready to throw up. "By the way," Pierre continued, "all the cadavers are kept in large underground tanks full of formaldehyde. They are identified with a tag on their right ear. In the morning, one of the keepers throws a hook to catch the cadavers, which are pulled up and placed in their cubicles."

That night, and for many more to come, I had nightmares about swimming in a large pool. It was dark, and every time I tried to come to the surface I was unable to get through the floating dead bodies.

But many more challenges awaited me. The first semester curriculum in medical school included anatomy. The school had a large amphitheater and three small rooms with special ventilation, called cubiculos. I was lucky to be assigned to one of the cubicles. The cadaver that I shared with several other students was a middle age male. The ID plate on his ear had the numbers 2-8-0. For this reason, we called him "Dos Ochenta, " or "Number 280."

The first day I saw Dos Ochenta, with no hair, his parted lips revealed mostly broken, blackened teeth, I ran home and did not go back. I started to have nightmares again. I had no problems working with a skeleton or my anatomy books, I could not overcome my fear of dead bodies.

Our first practical exam consisted of forty dead bodies in the amphitheater, each with a little string attached to the part of the body to be identified. There were forty students taking the exam. We were allowed one minute in front of each cadaver, then had to move on to the next one. I had never seen an open body, and there seemed to me to be no correlation between the nice pictures in the anatomy books and the real-life cadavers.

I had never been around so many cadavers at once. I panicked, and, of course, I flunked. My grades were so bad that I was given an ultimatum: either I worked extra hours under supervision to make up for the lost time or I would have to quit medical school. Special arrangements were made for me to work on Dos Ochenta by myself, in addition to the time that I had to spend working as a team with the other students.

My challenge was to overcome my fear of cadavers or quit medical school. I knew that I had come far, but I had to go deep within myself to find the strength to get up early in the morning and face Dos Ochenta.

That night, I prayed to God to give me her strength, and I cried myself to sleep. When I awoke the next morning, I knew that I had to face Dos Ochenta. When I entered the cubiculo, to my horror, there lay the body of a woman. Dos Ochenta was not in any of the other cubiculos. Dos Ochenta had been mistakenly placed in the amphitheater with thirty-seven other cadavers.

There I was, ready to pass out, all by myself in a room full of plastic-wrapped cadavers. I had to unwrap each cadaver and then carefully re-wrap them the way I found them, looking for Dos Ochenta. I had five more cadavers to unwrap when I finally found him. It was such a relief. I laid awake for many nights with the lights on because every time I closed my eyes, I would see the faces of the cadavers coming to life and jumping up from the gurney, trying to grab me.

I spent the required time each day with Dos Ochenta. One day, alone in the cubiculo, I was seated on a stool with my back to Dos Ochenta.

Suddenly, his left hand, which seemed like it weighed a ton, fell on my back. I took his hand and said: "Dos Ochenta, you'd better be quiet or you'll get in trouble." I stood up, put my book down on the stool, and started dancing around, screaming and crying, because I knew I had finally overcome my fear of cadavers.

I was going to make it! When it was finally time to say good-bye to Dos Ochenta, all cut up, still grinning with his bad teeth, it felt like I was leaving behind a good friend. I had always wondered who he was. Why, in a culture where everyone honored their dead, had there been no one to claim his body? I know that I will always be grateful to Dos Ochenta.