Quiet voices from the heart

 “Why don’t people’s hearts tell them to continue to follow their dreams?” the boy asked the alchemist.
  “Because that’s what makes the heart suffer most, and hearts don’t like to suffer.”

                                                                                                           -Paul Coelho, The Alchemist

If you clicked on this to read a medical vignette, my apologies. This piece is going to be a bit more existential. Or metaphysical. Or something less concrete. But I’d love to have you come along for this ride. For months I have written and talked about changes that were coming. I have shared the angst and discomfort I felt as I approached July and the change in my work status to part-time. And I have commented on the parallels to other moments of change in my life.  Change Redux,  How did I get hereCh Ch Ch Changes.

And now it is here.

It’s interesting how the best laid plans can change in an instant.  For more than a year, I have planned to hit the ground running by lining up some part time and consulting opportunities. Writing daily as the sun rises, working on projects and pieces.  All aimed at opening new doors in the near future.

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Sleepless Nights

You were closer to one year of age than two. Our family just three. Between surviving a combined internal medicine and pediatrics internship for me and navigating your young world for your mom, our days were challenging. But the nights. Those endless nights. As the sun would set on the cumulative fatigue of our day, the tension would grow and start to take hold. The rising dread would join our evening journey. Sleep, for you, was never easy. If and when it would come, its hold on you was more often brief and brittle. The crib lay empty and your room stood quiet, having been given up months ago. We entered nights with one goal in mind. Survive until the morning.

That night was different. The reasons escape me; exhaustion in your mother’s eyes or the frustration in mine. But that night I was determined to create a night of sleep for your mom. I pushed her out of our bedroom door, leaving just you and me behind.

You ran to the door, chasing after her. I grabbed you. Picked you up without looking you in the eye. I carried you to the far side of the bed and lay you down, tucking you under the covers. Almost before I could get to my side of the bed, you bolted up and slid off. Racing back to the door, hoping to get through and back to the comfort of your mother’s embrace. And thus it started. I rolled out on my side, intercepting you. I picked you up without looking you in the eye. I carried you to the far side of the bed and lay you down, tucking you in under the covers. Within seconds, you were sliding out of the bed. Repeating this dance. Again. And again. And again. With each repeated attempt, your determination and frustration grew. The cries louder and the screams stronger. I lost track of the number of times you bolted for that door, blurred by the tears streaming down my face.

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How did I get here?

And you may find yourself
Behind the wheel of a large automobile
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house
With a beautiful wife
And you may ask yourself, well
How did I get here?                         -Talking Heads

 

A middle aged father, critical care physician, triathlete, water polo goalie and Bob Mould stalker wakes up one day and asks, “How did I get here?”

The answer to that is probably longer than what is appropriate for this blog, the human attention span being what it is. But that question along with its logical follow up, “where am I going?” has been on my mind quite a bit.

How did I get here? Where am I going? My past. My future. With change coming just around the corner, it’s hard not to have my headspace taken up by these questions. But with some more introspection, I find that this is my brain’s default; to be looking forwards or backwards. I can be in the middle of a long run or bike ride, but instead of seeing the countryside around me, my eyes focus on last week’s battles with the kids, wishing for a “do over”.  Or I fail to see the sunrise in front of me, on my morning drive to work, as I have already mentally dived into the ICU to deal with the overnight admissions.

My past. My future.

But what about my present?

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Clarity of the Unknown

Maybe it’s the Jeep with its top down, whipping thru the wind on the highway.

Maybe it’s the music playing…a combination of new and old. Of fast and imploring. Of slow and restrained.

Maybe it’s the caffeine from my first cup of coffee in a week starting to work its way thru my veins to my heart and brain.

Maybe it’s the race, that has been front and center in my brain for a month now, finally coming to fruition.

Maybe it’s the actual connection between Chicago and Madison. More than I-90, but where my past and present continue to intersect. The innocence (and obliviousness) of my seventeen year old freshman self on Madison’s campus, to a departing graduate four years later. Or the somewhat irregular path of preparing for this race that leads me to the hills around town and the comfort of nights at the Union Terrace, mingling with friends old and new.

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