giving thanks

Rachel Remen wrote of a patient: “he had always been a superb surgeon whose outcome data are remarkable, but the past few months for the first time people have begun to thank him for their surgery, . . . ‘A patient gave me this’  . . . he brought out a beautiful stethoscope . . . ‘and what do you do with that Josh?’ . . . ‘I listen to hearts Rachel, I listen to hearts.’ … Perhaps it is only by those who speak the language of meaning, who have remembered how to see with the heart, that life is every deeply known or served. “

I spent a great deal of time memorizing mechanisms, facts, and system interactions. However, it wasn’t until I knocked on the door of my first patient, sat down, asked him his story and listened to his heart did any of it make sense. Since that first patient I have met many others, heard their stories, listened to their hearts, felt their protuberant abdomens, and beheld with wonder the privilege of entering such lives.

Such efforts can become routine, miracle turned to work, and awe reduced to algorithm.

How do I remember meaning?

How do I serve the life that puts its trust in me?

Perhaps it is by letting the lub dub of the beating heart to determine the pace of my life. The pulse of an artery set the rhythm of my day.  In the chaos of chart reviews, note writing, order entry, and rounding the days are consumed by the wildfire of time. If I am aware, however, of the heart that beats before me, and give thanks that I am here, all fades to vapor as the nodal pacemaker sends blood cycling once more; actuating the days already passed and welcoming the ones to come.

I am blessed to serve the life that is before me.