“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” ― Albert Einstein
“Miracles happen everyday; change your perception of what a miracle is, and you’ll see them all around you.” — Jon Bon Jovi
“The miracle is this: The more we share the more we have.” — Leonard NimoyIt is amazing when things in medicine work just the way they are supposed to — it’s like a miracle.
When I take an antihistamine, I can breathe, and all the itching and sneezing stops. When I get an injection of local anesthetic, I can touch and poke and pinch to test that it is working — and it is. When I had an operation on my knee, an ACL repair, my knee stability was noticeably restored almost immediately, despite the post-op pain and swelling. I know these things work on patients, because books, observations, and experiences have shown me so. As a surgeon I get a kick out of operating on acute appendicitis, where often even in the recovery room immediately after surgery, the patient already feels better.
Yet I still marvel when I notice that this stuff is working on me.
I used to worry that as I entered the world of science, and then medicine, I would lose the ability to see beauty, to appreciate and be amazed and awed by the world around me. I worried that the more I knew about the details of how things worked, that I would not be able to see the glorious whole, the big picture, whatever that big picture might be. Would the biology and chemistry and biochemistry and physics become like a filter on a camera lens, changing the way I would see these things? As I got deeper into this world of science and medicine, and then surgery, I was concerned that the experiences around me might overwhelm or blunt my humanity, become mundane. Would I become callous, detached, dispassionate? Would I still feel? Would I lose my faith, whether in people and humanity, or even more? Continue reading