Some of you will be coming back home to our people. Some of you will never come back. Those who stay need to make sure they teach those who come back to us. You need to leave prison life in prison. Do not bring the way of life that got you into prison back home to our children.

I know you’re worried about hurting me and I want you to feel this deep inside. I’m an old woman and I don’t have anything left to pass on to anyone. My opportunity to leave something permanent is gone. I want to know the first time you ever recognized cancer was here. You’re going to feel this again and you’re going to have to tell someone what it is. You need to know what this feels like so you catch it earlier than they did with me. If you’re going to be a doctor, you can’t be afraid. In the

Alvina died with her family at her side. No tubes. No ventilator. No machines keeping her alive. She died with dignity and in peace, just the way she wanted to. 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. By Dr. Arne Vainio I

While I was at the hospital, my pager kept going off and I had to return multiple calls to patients, call in prescriptions, …and didn'’t get done with that until almost 11:30 PM. I had to get up at 4:30 to catch my flight, go through security and check my luggage. The connecting flight in Minneapolis was delayed and it looked like I wasn'’t going to make it to Los Angeles on time. At the last minute the flight was able to leave and I was on my way to Los Angeles. Once the plane landed, I got my

Jim Northrup was a good friend and we used to visit him when he was finishing maple syrup in late winter.We would sit under a shelter around a big cast iron kettle. The kettle was hanging from a tripod encircled by chairs. There was a pit under the kettle for the base of the fire and firewood was leaning against the kettle all the way around. We sat there and Jim told stories and then he told more stories. Once in a while the boiling sap would rise and try to overflow the kettle. A single piece

I was sitting deeper in the barn and Jacob and Frank were silhouetted in the door with the rain falling hard beyond them.

It seemed to me she was always old. She had long white hair and she tied it in a bun on the top of her head. I remember her baking bread in her old black cast iron cook stove. My grandfather carried that stove on cow trails on his back and it took him four trips from Chisholm, which was seventeen miles away. Her wood fired cook stove was going every day, even on the hottest July days. The only time she didn’t use it was every couple of years when my aunt Bertha came to visit from California.

"Lowell would never say this, but deep in his heart he kept a lesson we all learn in childhood, but most of us forget. In order to find true love, you have to be true love. He was all of that to Joyce and he's ready to do it again." In the Spirit of Medicine features the essays 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

We live in a competitive world, but traditionally we are not a competitive people. Our heritage is to share our wealth. Our heritage is humility. Our ancestors shared their belongings and food when times were good and knew they could depend on others when times were bad. Having a “giveaway” and sharing your wealth is not uncommon with Native American people who have been honored in some way. But there is a difference between humility and hurt. I remember being called an “apple” when I went on to