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Being human Reflections on Life, Being Human, and Medicine Updates on my health

The Crossing and Lessons Learned Along the Way, Part 1: Just Keep Going

A Lake Michigan crossing is a cool thing. It is about 70 miles at the shortest route from Holland. For this crossing we sailed from Holland, MI to Racine, WI. We did this in early October 2019. Taking into account tacking back and forth we travelled about 90 miles. In a sailboat that averages between 4-7 miles per hour it took us about 14 ½ hours. Other than going in and out of each channel, the trip was entirely powered by the wind (engine off).

We did this crossing through the night.  We left in the early evening and arrived in the morning. We did a night crossing to Chicago the previous year. On that I learned a few lessons. I applied them to this trip. 

What is it like? What are the lessons? I hope to share a little bit of it here.

Persistence or Just Keep Going

We started our crossing at around 4 in the afternoon. Early on we had an ENE wind. This meant that it was perfect for a broad reach. A broad reach is a sailing term where the wind is to one side and behind you. That is one of the smoothest points of sail. I carefully trimmed (adjusted) the sails. We settled into the boat. We had dinner. We felt good about our trip. 

As the night progressed however, things became less pleasant. We had 3-foot waves when we started. These are enough to jostle you on the boat but are not very disturbing if you enjoy sailing. The sun set. We enjoyed watching the rich colors. It started to get dark. As the sun disappeared the temperature dropped. There was a heavy cloud cover and no visible moon. It became very dark. I had the required running lights on to make us visible to other boats. You could see the reflections from our lights. The only other light was from the screen of the GPS/chart plotter.  

This meant that the waves were no longer visible. The boat would rock from one side to the other and pitch up and down, seemingly in a random and uncontrolled manner. For the first hour or two it was ok. It was interesting. After a while it became a challenge. We couldn’t just sit easily. We would get thrown back and forth in our seats. I hadn’t realized how important it was to be able to anticipate the motion. When you can see the waves, you roll with them. When you cannot see them, they happen to you. 

It seems like a lot of things in life you can roll with.  In other words, you can have experiences that you see coming and then you just push through them. Even if they are not pleasant or if they are hard, knowing that they are coming seems to help. It is a lot harder to have things just happen to you or be done to you. It reminds me of the expression, “It is ok to laugh with me, but not so nice to have you laugh at me.” As the waves of life come, it is a bit easier if you can see the, anticipate them, and then roll through them. But in the dark times of life, you can’t see them coming. You cannot fully anticipate them. And you don’t have a choice in the matter. They hit you and you have to just take the trauma of them and live on. Those are always a lot harder. With those it is entirely possible to give in to despair.

When we sailed to Chicago the year before we started out with a similar optimism. We gloried in the clear night we had on that trip. We saw the sunset and then the sky filled with stars. Alone in the middle of Lake Michigan on a clear night the stars are amazing. Far from shore and free of the lights of civilization, thousands and thousands of stars become visible. We drew slips of paper for who would be on watch for each “shift” during the night.  Sarah and I went to bed in the “v-berth.” This is the largest bed in the bow of the boat. We naively crawled into bed expecting to be soothed to sleep by the gentle rocking of the boat.  

Not so much!

The reality was quite different. As the night progressed we ended up sailing directly into 4-foot waves. With each wave the bow lifted up and then dropped. Over and over the bow crashed up and down. We were literally bouncing in the air off of the mattress.  The boat also was hiked up (leaning over) on the port (left) side. This meant that we both kept rolling onto each other toward the left side of the bed.  I tried to pretend to sleep. After a while the situation approached ridiculousness. I started laughing. I was not sleeping. There was no way that I was going to be sleeping. I got up and went outside to the cockpit at the stern of the boat. I decided to stay up the rest of the night and just sleep as much as I was able.

Planning this trip to Racine, I decided to only have 3 of us on board (5 of us sailed to Chicago). I hoped that would give us more room and our choice of beds. Perhaps somehow we could lodge ourselves into a comfortable place when it came time to sleep.

Inevitably about halfway across the lake you get fed up with it.  You are tired, cold and worn down by being thrown about by the unseen and unpredictable waves. You don’t have a choice. One way or the other you have to keep going. You have got to get to one shore or the other to make it all stop. Alone on watch, in the dark, wedged into my seat behind the helm, with all my coats on, in my life-vest and tethered to the boat for safety my mind starting searching for ways to cope with the ongoing journey. I thought of an experience from years before. 

It was 1987. I was in medical school. I decided to start jogging again. When I did I had a problem. Every time I would go running I would “hit a wall.” I would start out with great intentions but after a fairly short distance I would tire. I would end up turning back. I kept trying. I got further as I kept pushing. But there was a steep hill on the route I was running. It was just enough incentive to make me quit and turn around. Each day I would get to the hill and decide I couldn’t make it. I would turn around.

One day I decided that I had to conquer the hill. I had to keep going. I resolved to overcome it. My body told me to stop. It tempted and cajoled me to turn around. But I would just put one foot in front of the other. Step by step I pushed myself up the hill. When I reached the top, it was a wonderful relief to be on the level again. More than that it was an amazing feeling to have conquered the hill. Oddly, from that point on – I was able to go up the hill every time. It turns out the hill was more of a psychological barrier than a physical one.

I thought of the hill as I sat strapped in behind the helm. The boat crashed and rolled back and forth through the waves. I was tired but couldn’t sleep. I decided to pretend in my mind that it was like running the big hill in Ann Arbor. One foot in front of the other I would keep going. I knew that I could keep going. I didn’t have to complete everything at once. I just needed to take the next step, or endure the next moment.

How are you to endure an uncomfortable situation when you do not have control or a choice? Does this sound familiar? I have felt this way with the COVID 19 pandemic and with all the social distancing and restrictions. I have also felt this way with my cancer journey during times of uncertainty when there is nothing more for me to do but wait and endure.  More recently I have felt this in the midst of struggles with a resurgence of adrenal insufficiency. It doesn’t seem to end. I just want to be back to normal. 

What do you do? 

In the middle of the night when it is dark and you can’t see the waves and you are just being tossed around by the boat, what do you do? What is there to do? You need to just keep going. While the waves, the cold air, and the fatigue are being done to you, what are you to do? As much as you want to turn it all off or have a different situation, you have no choice.

It is possible to despair. “This is awful. I am cold and I am tired, and I am stuck on this boat! I just want it to stop!” Everyone has moments like this.

You can despair.

Or you can endure. 

I can remember the hill in Ann Arbor and my struggle to run up it. The hill was a psychological barrier more than a physical barrier. One foot down, then the next. Over and over again. I couldn’t think about the whole hill all at once. I just thought about putting my next foot down. Then I put the other foot down. I just kept going.  Doing that, I made it to the top.

The choice is mine. I can choose to let myself be a victim. I can despair and be miserable. 

Or not. 

Life is an adventure. Not all of it is nice or pleasant. In the middle of the night I can decide if I am going to be an adventurer or a victim. I sailed through the dark of night with crashing waves to Chicago along with Sarah, JJ, Jeannette, and Jim. I sailed through even stronger waves and confused seas to Racine with Jim and Joel. Not all of it was pleasant. But both trips were a wonderful adventure.

I think that is a great lesson and something I need to remember more and more.

That is part one of the lessons from the crossing. I hope to share more next week.

This picture was taken early in the morning after we were safely in port in Racine, WI. Our boat “Mes Trois Filles” is the closest one you can see in the picture.
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Being human Medicine Reflections on Life, Being Human, and Medicine

The Preflight Inspection and How to Make Decisions in the Era of COVID 19

We walked out to do the preflight on our aircraft. The mission was to fly from Naval Air Station Norfolk VA to Camp Lejeune NC and back. It was 1994.  I was the flight surgeon for Marine Medium Helicopter Squadron 774 (HMM 774). We had just finished a preflight briefing in the ready room. I was to be the copilot for the mission. The pilot walked with me to guide me through the inspection.

Our aircraft for the day was a marine CH-46 Sea Knight helicopter. This aircraft was affectionately known as the “Phrog”. It was an unusual aircraft. It was a tandem rotor helicopter. This meant it had two main rotors rather than the usual main rotor for lift and tail rotor for control. This made it look a little bit like a frog, plus it had a tendency to bounce when you taxied it down the runway. Most of them were put into service in the 1960’s.  This last fall, Margaret took us to the Udvar-Hazy Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum facility. I was pleasantly surprised to see a Phrog on display. Amazingly the aircraft there is from my squadron (HMM-774.)  For all I know, the helicopter on display could have been the exact helicopter that I flew that day.

We got to where our helicopter was positioned on the tarmac. The pilot pulled out his flashlight from his safety vest. We carefully pulled and prodded and looked as we did the preflight inspection. He pointed out areas where the control cables could chafe and potentially wear through. He pointed to key areas on the aircraft that had been known to fail or break. 

“If this breaks, we will lose power to that rotor. We would have no control of the helicopter. We would likely do a loop and then crash and die. I know someone who had that happen.”

“If this cable breaks then we would lose control of this part of the helicopter. It is not clear that we would survive that. I know someone who had that happen.”

“This aircraft may actually be older than you. I don’t say that to scare you. I just want to explain why we have to be so careful. It is old and worn.”

The preflight went on and on with similar dire stories of his colleagues and friends who had suffered catastrophic failures and losses. Some had survived. Some had died. 

We finished the preflight inspection and climbed into the cockpit. By the time I strapped in I wondered about what I was doing. Had I told my wife that morning that I loved her? Should I slip out of the cockpit and run inside for one last phone call? Was I crazy to be flying that day?

I did a rapid calculation in my mind.  

On one side of the equation were the risks: I could crash and die. I would leave my wife a widow. I would leave my infant daughter without a father. The tangible risk of that fortunately was small. I had a very experienced marine aviator as the primary pilot. We had a good and well-trained flight crew. They all knew that particular aircraft in and out. We had scoured over the aircraft looking for any potential point of failure.  It looked good.

On the other side of the equation were the benefits: It was going to be a really fun flight. I would get to be at the controls for part of the flight. I also could better understand the operations of my squadron and the flight crews that I was responsible for.

I finished the calculation silently in my mind. I was staying. I focused again on the flight. 

It was indeed amazing. I got a lot of time in control of the aircraft. The pilot even let me taxi the Phrog around Camp LeJeune and fly it most of the way back to Norfolk. It was one of the most enjoyable flights I ever had in the military. It was really worth it.

Risk vs. Benefit. That is the term that describes what we do all the time in life, often without realizing it. 

That equation is one that has followed me and one I use continually in life. It is a key part of what we do in cardiology. We do risk vs benefit calculations with almost every patient interaction. How likely is it that their symptoms or test findings could cause a serious problem for them? Should we do a cardiac catheterization? Can we manage with medicines alone? Are the patient’s symptoms suggestive of a potential for a fatal event? Or are they going to be ok? Can we just reassure them? There is a cartoon of a doctor flipping a coin. “Heads you get quadruple bypass. Tails you just take a daily aspirin!” These are the extremes in the decisions we make on a regular basis. 

How do we make those decisions?  We carefully calculate the risk vs benefit.

For example, for a procedure:

  • High risk: Must be a high benefit.
  • Low risk: Not as much of a benefit is needed.
  • High benefit: Willing to accept a lot of risk.
  • Low benefit: Very little risk is acceptable.

Severe coronary artery disease (blocked arteries) especially in a diabetic patient? The benefit from coronary artery bypass surgery is very strong. It justifies the risk of having the surgery.

Stenting an artery in a stable asymptomatic patient with normal heart function? The risk is low. The benefit however is low. There is good data that they will do just as well with treatment with medicines. 

Yesterday I had this discussion with a patient. Should he have a defibrillator implanted? “Doc, just tell me what to do,” he said.  

I know that feeling. That is the attitude that most of us would like to take. None of us like having to make risk vs. benefit decisions. There are uncertainties. We would like to think that are always absolute and clear answers. If there are not, we generally want to just have others make the decisions for us. But to live responsibly we need to look at the facts and balance out the risks and benefits.

I needed for my patient to go further than that. I talked with him about why we would put a defibrillator in along with the tangible risks of doing it and not doing it. I reviewed the accepted standards of care along with what evidence was available to guide our decisions. In the end we made a decision together. The truth was that there were risks on both sides. Fortunately for this patient those risks were low regardless of which decision we made. Oddly the low risk vs low benefit decisions are often the hardest. But we needed to go through the calculation to make the decision.

That brings us to now. 

People are asking the question about whether certain activities are safe or not. 

That is wrong question. 

Nothing is completely safe. There is always risk to everything we do, now more than ever. 

Should I drive to work? I could be in car accident and die. But I also need to get to work. I choose to drive my car to work. I take precautions so that I can do so as safely as possible. But I do so.  Should we go sailing on Lake Michigan? One of us could fall overboard and drown. I could hit something and have the boat sink. The likelihood of both of those things are low. I think about the tangible risks, how I can control those risks along with the benefits (enjoyment, relaxation, etc…) and decide to go.

Is it safe? Is it 100% safe to open up and have church services? Answer: No.  Is it 100% safe to go back to work? Answer: No.  Is it 100% safe to go for a walk outside? Well – you could trip and fall and break a leg. You could have a freak storm come up and be struck by lightning. You could get attacked by a rabid squirrel.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” you are saying to me.  

That is the point I am making. If you are asking if any activity is “safe”, the answer is that no activity is 100% safe. There is always a risk. But we need to be realistic and understand what the extent of the risk is.  We will be ridiculous if we are trying to avoid all risk. That is not the question. 

Is the risk worth it? That is where you need to start looking at the benefit.  If the benefit is low – then no risk is warranted. If the benefit is high then a lot of risk is warranted.

The flight crews in World War II intentionally flew into cities with antiaircraft guns shooting at them.  There were people on the ground with big guns shooting with the very intention of blasting them out of the air and killing them. The flight crews still flew right into that. That is crazy. But the benefit (bombing munitions factories and thereby shortening the war) was so strong, that the degree of risk was warranted.

The soldier jumps out of the foxhole and charges the enemy line despite people shooting at him. But again, the benefit of winning the battle, rather than sitting and waiting to die in a stalemate, is worth the immense risk of charging the line.

There is a process that you go through to calculate the risk vs benefit.

  1. What is the risk? How strong is the risk? This is not an emotional question – this is one that you ask realistically. 
  2. What is the benefit? Again – this is a question that you need to ask in a mature and calm manner. What will happen if you do or do not do something?  What are the implications of your decision either way?
  3. Are there ways to reduce or mitigate the risks? Do they change the equation enough to change your decision?

How does that apply to today?

Should you go to the grocery store?  Is it safe?  Answer: No, it is not safe.  You could run into someone shedding the SARS-CoV-2 virus and get COVID 19 and then get very ill and die. What is the risk? The tangible risk of going to the grocery store, while observing careful social distancing and washing your hands afterwards is very low. What is the benefit? You need to have food. The benefit is pretty high. Can you reduce the risks? Yes – you could send one person into the store, you can wear a mask, you can wipe down the grocery cart with a disinfectant wipe, you can stay 6+ feet away from everyone else, you can plan your trip to minimize your time and exposure in the store, etc… Should you go? That is a personal decision based on the calculation you make about the risk vs. the benefit.

Should you go to the doctor?  What is the risk? At the current time, with all the precautions we have in place, the risk is very low.  What is the benefit? Presumably there is a reason that you have the appointment. Failure to pay attention and to treat your health condition could cause a much greater risk than going to that doctor’s office visit.  Can you reduce the risks? We have eliminated shared waiting rooms, screen both patients and staff for symptoms, insist on frequent handwashing and everyone wears a mask.  Should you go? We have opened our offices up again because we think under the right circumstances that it is.

Should you go to church if and when they reopen?  What is the risk? This is widely variable depending on how the church structures things and how people behave as they go to the service.  The risk could be enormous. A “normal” pre-COVID 19 church service could easily become a “super-spreader” event. One asymptomatic or pre-symptomatic person shedding the virus in close proximity to hundreds of people and singing for 20 minutes could infect dozens of people. On the other hand, an intentionally socially distanced and cautious church service has a lower risk. The risk is not “zero”. The risk is lower. No one really knows that the true risk is.  What is the benefit? That also is variable depending on the person. Some are able to effectively worship from home over the internet. Others cannot. They need the physical presence of others – even from a distance – to be encouraged and strengthened to live their lives.  What can you do to reduce the risks? There are lots of things similar to what I have already described. Should you go? The math is so dramatically individual that I cannot answer that. It is not an easy decision. It is one that each person and family will need to calculate. The answer also may shift and change as the pandemic spreads or wanes in each community. It might also change as we watch what happens in society.

The list of questions goes on.

In a risk vs. benefit approach it will create different risk tolerance depending on the benefit. You might choose in some circumstances to accept fairly high risks (like a soldier charging into battle). In other situations the benefit is so low that you should just choose to stay home and have zero risk. In other words, opening society doesn’t mean that you engage in the same level of risk acceptance all the time. It is completely dependent on whether it is worth the risk.

Should I have gone on that flight that day in 1994?  Even now some of you who are reading this might say that I should not have gone. I had a wife and a small daughter at home. I had invested years in college and medical school to become a doctor. For the thrill of flying a helicopter maybe I should not have exposed myself to the risk of crashing and dying.

My answer: Yes. Absolutely it was the right thing to do. I have never regretted taking that flight that day. It was an amazing experience. It helped me perform my job better. It was also really fun.  I also took great care to reduce the risks. I flew with an experienced pilot. We all had been through extensive safety training. We briefed before the flight. We inspected the aircraft thoroughly before the flight. We planned our course. One of us closely watched the charts for obstacles on the way. We maintained constant vigilance for other aircraft and for problems with our aircraft with attention to safety. I flew several times with them after that flight. Each time I did it I understood the risks. I also understood that it was worth it to me.

What is the right answer to all of the questions about opening up our society again?  Is it safe? Well, no, nothing is 100% safe. But does the benefit warrant the risk? If the benefit is low, then you shouldn’t accept any risk. But if the risk is low, then some things could be done again as long as there is a benefit.  

Will I go into a hospital room and examine a patient with COVID 19? The risk is high. The answer however is: Yes, I will (and I have) as long as there is a real and tangible benefit from me doing so. If I don’t have to go in the room I do not do so. But if it is needed, if there is a real benefit to the patient, I will do so. I will also take precautions to reduce the risk. 

I don’t have all the answers for everything as politicians and leaders consider opening up parts of our society.  The decisions are not easy. They are not straightforward. If, however, all we are asking is whether it is safe, we are deceiving ourselves. As we reopen people will get COVID 19. Some will get really ill. Some will die. What is the degree of the risk for each activity? What is the benefit? Is the benefit enough to justify the risk? 

Someday we will get beyond this and will no longer have to make as many of these hard decisions. Each week and each month we gain more knowledge. That knowledge hopefully will make these decisions easier. Hopefully we will be able to make better and better decisions as time goes on. But for now, we do the best we can. That means we are obligated to measure both risk and benefit to make the best decisions we can for ourselves and our families.

Ok. Our preflight brief is finished. We have done the inspection. We are strapped in. Let’s go flying.