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Being human Medicine Reflections on Life, Being Human, and Medicine Reflections on the Christian Life

Anchors Aweigh – Or How a Prank Taught Me About Being Human

The assignment was to write and deliver a motivational speech. 

It was a standard part of the leadership training. It seemed like kind of a hokey and contrived assignment. 

We wondered if we could make it better.

We were a group of medical students, dental students, nurses and law students. We were in our “Officer’s Indoctrination School” (OIS) for the United States Navy. This was a 6-week training course that was designed to take us from being civilians to being officers in the U.S. Navy. We learned how to march and salute. We learned how to wear our uniforms. We learned about the customs and regulations of the Navy. 

We also learned a lot about leadership. I didn’t realize it then, but it molded a lot of who I am today.

During the training I made good friends. Perhaps it was the stress of staying up all night running floor buffers to wax and polish the floors. Or prepping for the inspections using a toothbrush to scrub the cracks on the floor. Or in using Q-tips to clean the windowsills. Or choosing to not sleep in your bed because you might wrinkle the perfectly made bed with its tightly ironed hospital corners. But in any event, we had become good friends.

We were talking about the assignment together. How could we truly deliver a motivational speech? One of us came up with a silly idea. It was risky. We could get in trouble. But the more we talked about it, the more we liked it. We thought it would be worth the risk.

The class time came, and we were all ready. 

One of my friends got up to give his speech. As he got near the climax of his speech, we perfectly executed our plan. It started out with just a very low-level humming. Then it grew. 

Ever so slightly louder. 

And then a little bit louder. 

And then it was clear what was happening. 

A group of us in the class were humming, “Anchor’s Aweigh!” 

The humming got so that we were filling the room with sound and then we let it all go. We jumped to our feet and began singing at the top of our lungs, 

“Anchors Aweigh, my boys, Anchors Aweigh. Farewell to college joys, we sail at break of day-ay-ay-ay. Through our last night on shore, drink to the foam, Until we meet once more. Here’s wishing you a happy voyage home.”

It was risky.

We could have gotten in a lot of trouble.

We looked at our Lieutenant Commander instructor to see if we were going to have to pay a penalty for our little prank. 

She had tears streaming down her face. 

They were not tears of sadness. They were not tears of laughter. 

Then we understood. And the joke was on us. In that moment we all learned a lesson. 

That was the day that I became a part of the United States Navy.

Suddenly I was filled with immense pride and a sense of belonging. I understood the deep traditions of the Navy. I felt linked to the many men and women who had so bravely fought and risked everything to be a part of the Navy. In an instant I understood what it meant to be committed to something bigger than myself.I understood how hearing just a song could trigger deep emotions of pride and respect and belonging. I had tears in the corners of my eyes. And I was now an officer in the United States Navy.

I have been a member of the Navy in my heart ever since that day. I have been so proud of my uniform. Even though this incident happened in May of 1988 and I left active duty in the Navy in June of 1996, I am still Navy. My uniforms are still hung in my closet. I looked at them the other day and I had no intention of moving them. 

It distressed me a couple of years ago when I realized I was likely too old to ever go back on active duty again. In the back of my head had always been this little thought that if ever I got “tired of it all” I might go back in the Navy. But time has marched on and that no longer seems possible. But I am still Navy. 

I heard them singing the “Navy Hymn” for Bush 41’s funeral this fall. It got me a little bit choked up and nostalgic again. That is the song of “my Navy”. I got to serve in the same Navy in which George Bush risked his life in World War II and which molded him into who he was.

What does all of this matter to you?

For those of you who were in the military I suspect it rings true. There is such a strong sense of identity that never seems to leave. There is a link to the generations of men and women who committed themselves to something greater than themselves. The link is to many who have died in the service. There is a link to many who experienced things that I never want to experience. There is a link to tradition and honor and leadership.

For those of you who have never served in the military, the lesson is clear.

There is great value in committing yourself to something bigger than yourself. 

If all you ever do in life is to think about and to live for yourself, you have not achieved very much. You are but one life and your concerns and desires are a small thing. But we were meant to and we were designed to be a part of things bigger than ourselves. 

That is another part of what it means to be human. 

We are not just living a life here of survival on this earth. We are not just going to go through our days surviving and then die. We were meant to build and create and grow. And by working together we can do so much more than we ever could alone.

We were meant to dream big and to build big. What is there that you care about? Is there something that you are willing to invest yourself in? Is there something that is more important than just your own needs and desires? What is there that is worth living for?

Maya Angelou said, “My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor, and some style.”

We were meant to create. We were meant to build. We were meant to stand up against injustice and evil. We were meant to band together for what is good and right. And in doing that we find purpose and meaning and honor and joy. 

Thatis something that can make a silly old song trigger tears from a place deep down inside. It can make you cry in a way that is not sad and not laughing but of profound purpose and meaning.

I recently read an article that said that one of the drivers for frequent job changes among millennials is a need for real purpose and meaning. Financial ROI (return on investment) is no longer enough to keep them satisfied and challenged in their work. They feel a strong pull toward finding something big enough to be worth their energy and passion.

What does this mean for your life?

Do not live just for yourself. Live for things bigger than yourself.It is not just the military. It is anything that has deep purpose and meaning for you. What will you treasure at the end of your life? What will you commit yourself to that is so much more than just living for you?

For me it is a bunch of things. 

I am forever proud to have been a part of the Navy. 

I am a father and together with my wife, I am committed to the growth and success of my daughters.

I am proud to have joined the ranks of healthcare professionals as a physician. This is not an isolated thing but is large club that binds us together in shared purpose and experiences. Regardless of what anyone might think, the vast majority of physicians were drawn to healthcare by a desire to use their intelligence and skills for real good.

I have committed myself to making healthcare better in my region. Within heart failure I would like to think that I am not only helping in the care of individual patients with heart failure. While that is excellent in and of itself, there is more. I also want to be a part of having improved the care in my organization. I also dream that I could improve the care beyond this. I want to improve things for an entire region. By example and energy and in whatever way I can, I want to think that patients will get better care by the time I am finished than when I started. That is a huge goal and makes me inspired just to think of it. I just wish there was a song that I could hum as I write this!

On a deeper level, as I have mentioned, I am also a man of faith. 

I believe in an Almighty Creator who has made us in His image and who allows us to be a part of His redemptive plan for His creation. The world is a fractured place. Everything is not as it is supposed to be. That is obvious. But I have a belief in a God who is executing a plan to repair it all. And I believe that He allows us to be a part of it.

That is a very deep level of belonging. 

Suddenly I belong to thousands of years of people who have lived by faith. There are people who have lived and died, many as martyrs, for standing up for what is right. They have opposed tyrants and evil throughout generations. And I am, by an incredible gift of God’s grace, even linked to the sufferings of Christ. This is a deep mystery, but I am linked even to Him. I am, by the purpose and plan of God, linked to a plan to redeem and remake the world into the place that it was meant to be. 

To be committed to such deep purposes is a big part of what it means to be truly human!

What are you living for? What is there that is greater than yourself?

“Anchors aweigh, my boys, anchors aweigh!”

And that is how a little prank flipped back on me and taught me a big lesson about what it means to be a human being.

Categories
Being human Reflections on Life, Being Human, and Medicine

Becoming Mortal

https://www.airspacemag.com/military-aviation/snakes-loaches-180964341/

Johnny served two tours in Vietnam as a helicopter pilot. I was in college and working a part time job as a dispatcher for the hospital’s helicopter service.  Johnny was one of our pilots.  He was very experienced having flown helicopters in lots of different situations. The communication center was a common place and I loved it when Johnny would come in and talk with me. To a 22 year old farm boy his stories were better than any book or television show. 

“Two tours in Vietnam? I thought that everyone just did one and then went home?” I asked him.

“I volunteered,” he replied.

I asked him back, “Why would you do that? Weren’t you scared?”

His reply struck me and has been with me ever since, “I was bullet proof and invincible.” 

He continued, “I had plenty of close calls.  I even got shot down once. I had friends killed and saw them die.  But when you are young you never think it is going to happen to you.  Every time you just shake it off and believe you are going to be fine.  You are bulletproof and invincible.”

I went through flight surgery training in the US Navy several years later.  There we learned a lot about aviation safety and the psychology of naval aviation. We were taught that most naval aviators do fine until about 1000 flight hours.  Early on they are young and filled with optimism and exuberance. Over time the grind of all the safety training and the stress of the mishaps (aviation term for accidents) that do occur has a maturing effect on them. By 1000 hours, most of them will have had at least one colleague die. Something changes. They no longer assume that they are going to be fine every time they fly. 

They are becoming mortal.

On USS John F Kennedy circa 1995 (I am the one in the green flight suit).  We were Medevac-ing a patient off of the carrier. 

I remember doing the preflight on a marine H-46 prior to a fun flight from NAS Norfolk to Camp LeJeune. The senior pilot pointed out a key area that he inspects as he pointed his flashlight way up inside. “This aircraft is about as old as you are. If these break we lose that rotor. That means that we do a flip. That is something that we probably wouldn’t survive. I had a buddy that had that happen to him.”

As we finished the preflight inspection, did the preflight brief, and then climbed into the cockpit I questioned whether I was doing the right thing going on the flight that day. My wife and infant daughter were at home. Should I be risking leaving them alone? I don’t even know for sure if my wife knows I am taking this flight today. But I reassured myself. “Naah.  I am going to be fine. This is going to be a great flight!”  And honestly – it was a great flight.  I had a lot of time at the controls and it was I think one of my favorite days as a flight surgeon.  It was so cool just maneuvering myself at tree level over the countryside. I would do it again in a heartbeat!

But in class they taught us about the 1000-hour naval aviator.  At this point they are forced to make a decision. They are no longer immortal. The question becomes, “Do they love naval aviation so much that they are willing to continue and accept the risks?  Or is it time for a career change.”  About half leave.

Recently I became mortal.

Oddly I wasn’t surprised. I knew when the ED doctor came back into the room and closed the door. It was inevitable that something would happen to one of us. I didn’t know which of us would be first. My clinical life has made me odd I suppose. My wife grew up with loss. We don’t expect things to always go well. It seems like most of the world expects health and prosperity and is shocked when anything goes wrong. We have always been so pleased with good things knowing that the world is a broken place. 

Gut punches. The pager message, or the colleague calling to tell me, or the CT scan result, or when I obsessively check the labs or hemodynamics and they are bombing. The favorite patient is dead. Or had a horrible complication. I know the feeling so well.  Like Harry Houdini (or perhaps like he was supposed to have done) I tense my abdominal muscles to take the hit.  I guess I have gone past my medical “1000 flight hour” equivalent.” Numerous times it has been tempting to call it quits. Who really needs all of this? But in the end, I decide it is who I am and where the Lord has called me.  And so I stay.

Back to the ED: Door open and closed. The look on his face. Tense my abdomen.  “Ok. What is it?” And then it played out like some scene from a medical drama. It seemed so, “cliché”. Would we cut to a break for an ad for laundry detergent?  It was me. It was serious. But there were a lot of unknowns. He showed me the tumor on the screen in the exam room.

Mes Trois Filles (French for “My Three Daughters”)
She is a 1984 Catalina 36 TR Mk1

The emotions came gradually. For me they hit with force about 36 hours later. I admire my wife so much for this part of the story. She let me be. She sent me off alone to work on my sailboat. The next morning she went to breakfast with a friend as she had planned and so that I could go to one of my favorite coffee and breakfast spots and just be. I am an introvert at heart and she knows that I need time to process. I needed time to become mortal. 

Subconscious assumptions about the present and the future crashing down all around me. Frustration at a world that tempts us to go through life but never really feel the life that we are living. The people – the friends. They are SO wonderful and precious. Do we let them touch us? Or do we keep up a shield because if we let them they might slow us down? Do we gobble down the delicious meal so quickly that we don’t taste it? Music. Nature. People. Emotions. Do we appreciate it all?

A few days later my wife asked me to help clean some gutters. I was surprised at myself as I was being so cautious. I joked and explained that I was suddenly feeling, “mortal.”  She understood. I am not bulletproof. I am not invincible. I am as a good friend and gifted speaker taught us, “fragile, fractured, and flawed.”  All of us are.  Some of us just haven’t learned that yet.

So what does it mean to be a mortal? 

  • It means that I no longer feel bulletproof, nor invincible. I don’t feel it. I don’t feel like I need to either. I can admit that I am fragile. 
  • I don’t have to be everything to everyone. I can ask for help and enjoy receiving it.
  • I can no longer live for tomorrow. I have to experience today for all of what it has – or at least try to do so.
  • I want to love people and be loved by them. I now see how wonderful they all are.  They truly are. They are beautiful. How dare I not let myself feel it before! What a fool to not drink it all in. I have started telling people how much they mean to me and really believing it. 

I know that the time that I have to live is not a promise. It is limited. None of us know how much time we have. Are we brave enough to live today? Will we insist on slowing down enough to taste our food? Will we insist on slowing down enough to see the faces and read the emotions of our family and friends. Will we enjoy them in the moment? Will we reread the page because it is so good instead of rushing to the end of the story? Will we look up and see the leaves, the sunrise, the grass? Will we taste each bite?

And Johnny? The last I saw him he accepted a high risk – high reward assignment flying helicopters for the Columbian government in the war against drugs. He was still bulletproof and invincible.

For me? 

  • I am “fragile, fractured and flawed.” But that is really not a surprise to me or anyone. And I am ok with that.
  • I don’t know the future. Who really does? “I know whom I have believed and am assured that He is able.” It is going to be ok. I don’t know what is next. But I am ok with that too (mostly).
  • My emotions have come back. I can feel again. I am not just living life. I am tasting and enjoying life. I like it. I am not going to easily give that up again. Slow down. 
  • No more superman for me. I never really fit in the suit anyhow.
Sarah made sure that we went sailing for one last sunset before my surgery on 10/11/2018.
It was an amazing night!  Thanks Sarah!

“Fragile, fractured and flawed” is an amazing phrase that I was taught by Christian Thomas Lee.  Here is his webpage if you would like more information about him: http://www.christianthomaslee.com/contents.html