USC Dana and David Dornsife College of Letters, Arts & Sciences

by Otana Jakpor

We set off at eight in the morning—which, to a college student, is basically the crack of dawn—and in the minibus, most of us promptly fell asleep. But I eventually did wake up, and as we rode from Oxford to London to the tune of an oldies radio station, I felt my excitement building despite sleep deprivation. The day was planned to be packed full of special museums and exhibits, and I could hardly wait for our whirlwind overview of the history of medicine.

Volumes containing the entire human genome in font size 5. From the Wellcome Collection, London. Photo by Otana Jakpor.

Our first stop was the Wellcome Collection, a fascinating place that calls itself “a free destination for the incurably curious.” I am not sure exactly what I was expecting, but I was simultaneously startled and delighted to see that their exhibits boldly explore the intersection of science and art. Some examples are a map made of mosquitoes to illustrate the worldwide scourge of malaria; a karyogram composed of the artist’s socks; and an elegant glass container of genetically modified soybeans that could represent a trophy… or a time bomb. One of my favorites was a tall shelf of enormous books that contained the entire human genome printed in nearly illegible letters. I definitely appreciated the Wellcome Collection’s willingness to blur the line between art and medicine, because in my opinion, few things are more artistic than the intricacies and paradoxes of the human body.

Next we walked to the British Museum and headed to the third floor, where museum curator Ralph Jackson showed us around and spoke to us about medicine in ancient Rome. I have always loved learning about the ancient Romans, so this was a highlight for me. Despite all that they did not know about the human anatomy, let alone microscopic agents of disease, they were amazingly sophisticated physicians. For example, we learned that they were able to successfully remove cataracts, as well as to drill holes in patient’s skulls in the medical procedure known as trepanation. Plus, Ralph Jackson provided us with a vivid example of the way textual and archeological evidence is pieced together to understand history. I only wish we had been able to spend more time at the British Museum, but considering its enormous scope, it would probably have taken me at least the entire day to be satisfied!

We stopped briefly at the John Snow Pub, which is named after the physician who identified contaminated water as the cause of cholera after a massive outbreak in the area nearby. After lunch, we explored the Hunterian Museum at the Royal College of Surgeons. I was fascinated despite myself by the rows upon rows of organs in jars and bones behind glass. As I wandered the maze of displays, I found myself wishing that I was already in medical school so that I could know exactly what I looking at, without having to read the caption below each specimen. Just before leaving, a group of us watched a video of brain surgery. It was so much fun to see the excitement in everyone’s faces, and to think that one day, we will be the ones performing surgery and caring for patients.

Collection of historic amputation instruments. From the Wellcome Collection, London. Photo by Otana Jakpor.

Throughout the day, in multiple exhibits, we saw a myriad of surgical tools ranging from lancets to Liston knives. Many of the devices we saw were extremely impressive and painstakingly fashioned, but they still bore little resemblance to the pristine, antiseptic image of surgical instrumentation to which I am accustomed. Certain displays resembled rows of torture devices: menacing knives, needles, and saws of all shapes and sizes. Though some objects were strikingly familiar, like the collection of obstetrical forceps from throughout the years, I was at times overwhelmed by how different it all seemed from modern medicine. Limited knowledge of the human anatomy? I can hardly imagine attempting to heal the body without really understanding its inner workings. Inadequate anesthesia? Taking a knife to someone’s flesh is much more daunting when you know they might be able to feel it. And though the ancient Romans successfully managed it, trepanation in the days before modern medicine seems a gruesome prospect. Looking at the anatomical preservations of bodies robbed from graves, I wondered if I would have been able to stomach the practice of medicine a few hundred years ago. But then I remembered the first thing we were shown at the British Museum—and for me, the most poignant thing.

It was a marble tombstone from the second century AD, with the sculpted image of a doctor examining a patient. In the image, the patient is looking straight into the doctor’s eyes, and though this is a small detail I found it striking. There are some things that never change, and one of those things is the human element of medicine. Who knows? One day we may discover a way to fix injuries with the flick of a switch and solve disease with the touch of a button (stranger things have happened). But no matter how technologically advanced we become, I do not think we can ever get rid of the vital connection between doctor and patient—the trust that the patient puts in the doctor, and the responsibility of the doctor towards the patient, as someone who is able to help.

In the broader arena of global health, although the players are different, the principle remains the same. After all, the most basic principle is that we are all human. There are, of course, self-interested reasons to care about global health—since the spread of disease is facilitated by the ease of rapid transportation, protecting health in distant lands equates with protecting yourself. But at the root of it all, global health is not just about economics or politics or international relations, though these things are inextricably connected and vitally important. Global health matters because as human beings, we all have the right to health, which, to quote the WHO, is “a state of complete physical, mental, and social well-being and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity.” And until that end is reached, the human element of medicine compels us to keep fighting on for global health.

Otana Jakpor is a sophomore majoring in global health from Riverside, Calif.