Falling

Fall has always been my favorite season. There’s just something about the colors, sounds, and smells of all those leaves that makes me feel very comfortable, and right at home no matter where I am. Something about that sensory experience allows me to travel backwards and nearly re-live every autumn I’ve ever experienced. And when I think of my life, I nearly always picture myself reliving it in the fall. When I remember growing up in DC, in my mind it’s in the fall (many would say it’s the nicest time of year down there). When I think of Maine, it’s the fall (who can resist a New England maple tree whose leaves you swear are on fire?). And even when I think of Philadelphia, I think of the fall. I just do.

And yet while this time of year is supposed to be marked by leaves falling slowly to the ground, today as I look out my window I am amazed to see snow falling. Big, white flakes slowly falling from the sky. Seeing snow on the colored leaves is something I don’t think I have ever seen.

And so maybe this fall is different from every other one I’ve lived before. And it’s been wonderful, because it may actually be the start of something new. It won’t simply be another chapter in the Falls of My Life. Rather, it will bring a new twist; new memories; new love.

For this autumn, in addition to the leaves and the snow, I too am slowly falling.

In Control

The myth about a hockey goalie is that he is always simply reacting to a situation. We always hear about a goalie’s reflexes and speed – tools used for combating the aggression of the shooter. But what an experienced player learns is that it’s the shooter who is reacting to the goalie. It’s the shooter who chooses to shoot or pass based on what the goalie is doing. And a smart goalie uses this to his advantage, to force the shooter into a bad shot or maybe even no shot at all.

The same holds true for a trauma surgeon. While the situation is infinitely more complex than a hockey game, the principles hold true. The good trauma surgeon cannot simply react and rely on trained instincts. He must be proactive, and control the situation as best as he can.

I feel like in life we are often on our heels, cornered into a place where we are on the defensive, and forced to react. It’s only when we realize that we actually do have control that we can take charge and move on.

Moving On

In many ways this blog has fulfilled its purpose. Writing is much less about putting down on paper what we already know and more about putting thoughts down on paper so that we can see exactly what we know and start the process of filling in the gaps. Never in my life have I so needed a space to help me sort out my thoughts and fill in the gaps. To those of you who continually encouraged me to write, I thank you.

I thought long and hard about ending this blog for good, and keeping my thoughts to myself. But then, that seemed like a bad idea. If I can write when I’m sad, surely I can write when I’m happy.

And – I almost want to whisper when I say this – I’m finally happy. Or at least I feel like my old self again. Sure, I have my moments when I think on the past and I’m sad. In many ways I’ve been changed forever, and I’ll never get any of that back. I don’t know if I’m better or worse than I was a year ago, but I am definitely a different person. New and improved? We can only hope.

But if surgery teaches us anything – hell, if being a goalie teaches us anything – we have to move on. There’s no use in dwelling on the last patient when another victim is being wheeled into the trauma bay. And there’s no good worrying about that bad goal when another puck is already on its way. Focus, and move on.

And so I have.