Where have the souls gone?

I can write research papers. I have the ability. I wasn't so sure of myself, say, a week ago, but putting your mind to something, reading until you dream of the topic and not eating dinner for a week out of forgetfulness can do a lot for a person.

In my psych class today, the first of the last three classes,
up sprouted an argument about cultural sensitivity and Hmong versus Western medicine.

This class has been a hayride for group therapy. It's a required course for psychology majors and it inscribes a yearning to make change. It's a good class, but we are indeed prone to arguments.

Today was vicious. Half of the class was red in the face from either shame or anger.
"It's about the placebo effect; if someone believes it will help them, then why try to stop it?"
(This was the focus of the conversation. Western medicine doesn't have all of the answers.)

"Yeah? Well, my brother died diagnosed from leukemia. They used those crystals and they didn't do jack shit."

My hand sprung up. I was grinning. Man, do I have a rebuttal. A smile had appeared on my face. I was going to win this argument.

"My sister also had cancer," I said triumphantly. "And chemotherapy didn't save her."
There was a disquietude. I was proud for a couple moments and then my pondering mind reminded me that

I had lived that. This is my life. It is not some argument point, Joel.
Come back down to Earth.