Happiness in this World

My wife and I vividly remember the anesthesiologist’s statement: “You may feel a little pressure.” She spoke the word gently, as if to imply that’s how it would feel, and we believed her.  Epidural blocks, she explained, don’t numb the sacral nerve roots that deliver sensation from the pelvic floor so my wife would likely feel something as she entered the last stage of labor and our son began passing through her birth canal.  But we were both reassured. A mild bit of pressure seemed no threat to our hope of having the same experience my sister-in-law had with her first child: she’d had to be told when to push at the final moments because she couldn’t feel anything at all. Continue reading…

Most people who come to see me complaining of fatigue are worried something is wrong with them physically but turn out only to be sleep deprived.  Sleep seems to be something we all wish we did more, making us for the most part a chronically and persistently sleep-deprived society.  Though studies suggest large differences exist in how much sleep different people need to function normally, the range varying from less than 6 to more than 9 hours, and that short sleepers and long sleepers run in families (suggesting a genetic component for people operating on the extremes of the sleep curve), other studies suggest as many as 33% of us don’t get enough sleep to satisfy our basal sleep need (the amount of sleep needed on a nightly basis to perform optimally). Continue reading…

When I was in grammar school learning about World War II, I remember thinking how grateful I was that society had finally matured to the point in the intervening years that war no longer ever broke out.   Today I can hardly remember what bizarre thought process led me to conclude that people had actually become less barbaric with time.  I do remember I also believed racial prejudice had died out decades ago and that the pronouncement of guilt or innocence by our justice system reflected actual guilt or innocence. Continue reading…

I love what I do.  Being a doctor challenges me every day to think critically and creatively, to learn new things, and to make the vast machine that is the American medical system run smoothly.  The relationships I’ve formed provide me great power to do good:  my patients trust me like no one else in their lives, which gives me enormous influence over their decisions (which, of course, also provides equal opportunity to do harm).  Continue reading…

Clark (not his real name) came to see me complaining of substernal chest pain.  At first, he said, it had come on only with exertion, but in the last two weeks it had begun to bother him at rest.  It radiated to his jaw and was associated with some mild nausea and sweating.  He’d been a pack-a-day smoker for 35 years, had hypertension and diabetes, and a family history of premature heart disease. Continue reading…

In the book Siddhartha by Herman Hesse, the main character, Siddhartha, tells Kamala, a beautiful courtesan:  “From the moment I made [the resolution to learn about love from the most beautiful woman] I also knew that I would execute it…when you throw a stone into the water, it finds the quickest way to the bottom of the water.  It is the same when Siddhartha has an aim, a goal.  Siddhartha does nothing; he waits, he thinks, he fasts, but he goes through the affairs of the world like the stone through the water, without doing anything, without bestirring himself; he is drawn and lets himself fall.  He is drawn by his goal because he does not allow anything to enter his mind which opposes his goal…everyone can reach his goal, if he can think, wait and fast.” Continue reading…

My student’s voice trembled as she answered my question.  “How do you think you’ve done so far?” I’d asked her.  We’d been together on the general medicine inpatient ward for two weeks—the midpoint of the rotation—and as was my usual custom I was giving her feedback on her performance by first asking her to rate her performance herself. Continue reading…

The Japanese have a term, kenzoku, which translated literally means “family.”  The connotation suggests a bond between people who’ve made a similar commitment and who possibly therefore share a similar destiny.  It implies the presence of the deepest connection of friendship, of lives lived as comrades from the distant past. Continue reading…

The other day I found myself thinking about what would happen if as an adult I encountered some of the children who terrorized me when I was in 7th grade (an experience I wrote about in an earlier post, Breaking Free Of The Past), wondering if I’d be able to forgive them for what they did to me.  I’d like to think I would, but the truth is I’m not sure.  As a result, I found myself thinking about the nature of forgiveness and of the power and value of being able to forgive. Continue reading…

When my wife and I were first learning to ballroom dance (much fun!) I was amazed at how effortlessly our teacher was able to lead her when demonstrating a technique to me.  She always seemed to know where he wanted her to go and how he wanted her to move, despite being as inexperienced as I.  When I danced with her, she mostly found herself confused about what I wanted her to do.  “That’s because you’re confused yourself,” our teacher explained to me.  “Don’t move her with your arms.  Move her with your torso, your dance frame.  Don’t worry about where you want her to go.  Worry about where you want to go yourself.” Continue reading…