Members in the News

Dr. Olapeju Simoyan awarded the National Humanism in Medicine Medal by the Arnold P. Gold Foundation

www.gold-foundation.org/2022gala

On Thursday, June 9th, the Arnold P. Gold Foundation honored Dr. Olapeju Simoyan, the Founding Executive Director of Research at Caron Treatment Centers, along with 10 other extraordinary Gold Humanism Honor Society (GHHS) members with the National Humanism in Medicine Medal. The event took place at the at the Ziegfeld Ballroom in New York City. These GHHS members are representative of the thousands of committed leaders who have helped to make the honor society what it is today. In 2022, on its 20th anniversary, GHHS now encompasses 181 chapters around the world, nearly 45,000 members, and millions of moments of humanistic connection in the care of patients.

Olapeju Simoyan, MD, MPH, BDS,

FASAM, FAAFP, is the Founding Executive Director of Research at the Fran and Doug Tieman Center for Research at Caron Treatment Centers. She is a Professor in the Department of Psychiatry at Drexel University College of Medicine and holds an adjunct faculty position at Penn State University College of Medicine. Dr. Simoyan’s commitment to bridging the gap between the arts and sciences led her to become a strong advocate for the inclusion of the arts and humanities in medical education. She incorporates her artistic passions of music and writing into her professional work and serves as editor of the New Voices column of Pulse - Voices from the Heart of Medicine. With seed funding from the Gold Foundation, she led the establishment of a literary journal, Black Diamonds, serving as its Editor in Chief for several years. She has represented the GHHS proudly ever since her days as a student and resident. A 2006 recipient of the Leonard Tow Humanism in Medicine award, she was also a Gold Student Summer Fellow and a Gold Humanism Scholar at the Harvard Macy Institute, in addition to being a GHHS faculty advisor. A former Fulbright scholar and recipient of the Herbert Nickens Faculty Fellowship, Dr. Simoyan continues to support the ideals of the GHHS through her work as a clinician, researcher, and medical educator.

Bringing Aid and Comfort to Ukrainian Refugees in Moldova

A Mission Trip

Kirill Popovich is a pre-medical student at UNC Chapel Hill and is spending 6 weeks with the BCMS this summer as one of two future physicians selected for the Pat Sharma President’s Scholarship program.

“Hey! What’s your name?” a boy asks me in Ukrainian. “I’m Kirill. What’s your name?” I ask. “Maxim. Nice to meet you!” he says with a large grin as he stretches out his hand for a handshake. “Nice to meet you too!” I laugh as I shake his hand. Maxim is one of the many children at a Ukrainian refugee camp in the country of Moldova. He is by far the most energetic 9-yearold I know. I don’t know Maxim’s story. I don’t know what he has seen or what he has been through. All I know is that a few months ago he was living a normal life of a 9-year-old boy in Ukraine, going to school and playing with his friends. Now he and his mother are displaced and had to flee from the bombings in Ukraine. He’s not the only one, though. Thousands of families have been forced out and separated at the border of Ukraine in the past four months. Many of them still live and wait in uncertainty.

When the Russian invasion of Ukraine started, I spent a lot of time reading the news and trying to understand how and why two Slavic nations were, seemingly so similar, killing each other. I was born in Moldova but moved to the US at an early age. Growing up in the US, I never made a distinction between someone from Russia, Ukraine, Moldova, Belarus, Estonia, etc. I considered all Russianspeaking people the same. We’re all Slavs. We have the same values and similar cultures. We all come from the 15 former republics of the Soviet Union. The war opened my eyes to how divided the nations really are. What struck me the most is the fact that I could’ve easily been one of the young men on the front lines in Ukraine. If I was born in Ukraine or Russia, I very well would’ve been drafted to war. And even though I’m not from Ukraine or Russia, how can I sit in the comfort of my home and watch millions of Ukrainians flee their homes into uncertainty?

I had a desire to go to Eastern Europe but couldn’t go by myself due to the risks involved. Thankfully, I came across a group called North Carolina Baptists on Mission who were putting together teams to fly to Moldova and work with the refugees. When they found out that I spoke both English and Russian, they were very excited to have me on their team. I was the only one who spoke both languages, and so could translate for them.

The camp we visited in Moldova housed over 200 refugees. Some of them were just passing by on their way to another European country or to the US. Others were there from the start of the war and didn’t know where else to go. People were mostly from the Odesa, Mykolaiv, and Kherson regions of Ukraine, although some were from as far as the Donetsk region. Most of the refugees consisted of women and children, as most men were not allowed out of Ukraine. I remember asking some children where their fathers were. Some kept in contact with their fathers over the phone, while others couldn’t. Most people were relatively healthy. Others were elderly or disabled and needed medical attention. Once, a medical team from the US stopped by for half a day and saw patients while I helped interpret from English

to Russian, but they could only provide so much aid with a limited supply of medications and tools.

The camp area was clean and welcoming. There was plenty of delicious food thanks to generous donors. Most people helped where help was needed. The children played outside after finishing their online schoolwork. Everyone seemed fine, but something was still visibly wrong. At first, when our team from the US arrived, no one would smile or greet us. But as the weeks went on, people slowly started to trust again. People would smile and say good morning. Some would come up to us and ask questions or thank us for helping with some task. It was evident that something was changing.

War is terrible. People are dying, and their hopes and dreams for a future are destroyed. I had a brief conversation with an elderly lady who said with tears in her eyes, “When will we see our home again? There’s nothing to return to. By the time they rebuild everything, we won’t be here anymore.”

I often get asked what exactly we did at the refugee camp. “Well, you know, we helped with some of the construction, and played with the children,” I reply. “We watered the plants and helped clean the kitchen.” But when I think about it, we really tried to give people at least a glimpse of hope in a hopeless situation. When Ukrainians see people from America put their lives on pause to go to a tiny country in Eastern Europe to serve, something in their hearts changes. A simple “good morning,” a smile, or a hug can show a worried or grieving mother that she is not forgotten. A wife who left her husband and son in Ukraine can start smiling again. We still care. We still pray. We still try to share the gospel, even from the other side of the world. I sometimes have a feeling that I didn’t do enough. I could’ve made more connections. I could’ve been more outgoing and loving. But in the end, I’ll never impact everyone. The seed that we planted is left for someone else to cultivate. We plant the seeds and let God do the growing. All glory to Him.