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An
Accidental Journey
By
Dr. Fred Epstein
I'm a pediatric
neurosurgeon who's been working closely with children in medical crises for
more than 34 years. Two years ago, I decided to write a book about my exceptional
young patients, a personal and professional summing up of what I'd learned from
these kids while fighting alongside them for their lives.
It didn't turn
out the way I'd planned.
One month after
signing a publishing contract, I had a near-fatal bicycle accident. I landed
on my head and, even though I was wearing a helmet, the concussion caused a
bleed in my brain that sent me into a coma. I remained unconscious for almost
a month, and when, against all expectation, I regained consciousness, I was
completely helpless. Day by day over the ensuing months, I gradually had to
reclaim my basic life functions -- relearning how to breathe, how to talk, how
to eat, and how to walk.
It was quite a
fall, from heading up a premier pediatric neurosurgical team to being just another
head-trauma patient in rehab. Worst of all, I knew exactly how slow and arduous
my road back to function would be. On some level, I understood I'd lost something
I'd never regain -- the feeling of omnipotence that every surgeon has to summon
on a daily basis before he can open up someone's skull and probe inside with
sharp instruments.
What I hadn't
lost, and what I realized could never be taken from me, was my will to recover
and return to work. I knew just where to turn for encouragement and guidance.
I hadn't communicated with many of my young patients for over a decade. But
I knew that if I wrote to them, asking what had gotten them through the toughest
times they'd face, they'd come through for me. And they did.
People who don't
know any better have a tendency to think of children in diminutive terms --
as little people, as underdeveloped souls-in-training. To me they're giants.
They humble me with their bravery, with their tenacity, and with their boundless
capacity for compassion. Over the years, I've watched them up close as they've
stared down death and reached out to life with both hands. Every day when I
went to work, I felt their strength as they forcibly and effortlessly unclenched
their hearts and mine.
If
I Get to Five is really their book. It's their testament to the wellsprings
of courage and resilience that they drew on to see them through their medical
and spiritual crisis. Their journeys of hope and faith became my journey; their
lessons in love without boundaries became my core curriculum as I struggled
to regain a foothold in a life that had been pulled out from under me.
I wish I had gotten
to write the book I set out to write. I wish I still had everything that got
swept away 18 months ago. I wish I were still riding 20 miles every morning
on my bicycle, still suiting up for surgery 5 days a week.
Instead, I've
embarked on an accidental journey toward an uncertain destination. We all wonder
what we're made of. Like my young patients, I've had the chance to find out.
I've been tested in ways I never was before -- not as a medical student, not
as a neurosurgeon, not as a husband or as a parent. I've been challenged to
find a way to move forward into the future, stripped of almost everything I
felt I needed to be useful and powerful in the world.
Most of all, I've
been challenged -- and inspired -- by the example of my young patients. They've
raised the bar for me, showed me how to clear that bar...and then set it again
a notch higher. It's the only way to get back home.
A few of my
favorite books:
And two audiobooks
I particularly enjoyed:
Find
If
I Get to Five on BookSense.com!
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