And I would have stayed up with you all night–Had I known how to save a life.
The Fray, “How to Save a Life”
The tenth season of Grey’s Anatomy premieres tomorrow night. For the cognoscenti, this means we will find out what happened after the cliff hanger of last season: Will April really leave Matthew at the altar, for her first love plastic surgeon Jackson? Or will the handsome paramedic who loves the doctor unconditionally and quite unbelievably without ego issues, win his lovely bride? After all, he organized a flash mob for his proposal to her. He deserves his beautiful red headed pig farming sweetheart. And why do I watch these things? Is it because the women wear makeup and heels and do their hair and the men are so very handsome and no one looks tired, and lives are saved quickly, with great valor. As Hemingway’s Jake says at the end of The Sun Also Rises, “Isn’t it pretty to think so?”
The song, “How to Save a Life” by the Fray, was used in an episode of Grey’s second season, and afterwards became an anthem for the show itself. My favorite rendition is a home video with a hand held camera, of the actual cast singing the song at a benefit—you can view it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KX3AjiqFA1s Yes, I know they aren’t “real” doctors. But I suspect that if you act like a doctor for ten years of your life, it might be hard in the end to tell the difference. The emotions are all right out there, in the video and in the show. And that’s the real answer to why I watch Grey’s Anatomy—I get it all out in front of my own television set so I don’t have to do it in front of my patients. I don’t think it’s helpful to have your doctor cry while she is giving you bad news.
Friday, February 28 will be my last day at work. I am officially retiring, at age sixty. My staff and my patients have been asking me why for several weeks now. They make very complimentary proclamations like, “But you look so young!” and “But you’re so GOOD at what you do” and “How can we replace you?” The answers to these questions are “thank you,” “thank you,” and “No one is irreplaceable.” The truth is that I feel like time is running out. I have had some extremely joyful experiences over my last thirty two years in Radiation Oncology and I have witnessed some incredible success stories, many of which I have told here. I know that miracles DO happen. But I have also seen some terrible things, and there is not a doctor alive who would say that we don’t take our failures personally. We do. What I have come to realize, at least for me, is that the sad times are not getting easier as I am getting older. Facing the deaths of loved ones this past year–patients, relatives, friends and pets—has left me with an acute sense that the clock ticking in the belly of the crocodile is ticking for me, and I am no Peter Pan.
So I will leave my practice in the best of hands, and I will read and I will write and I will travel and see more of my children and all the other people I care about. There is a line in “How to Save a Life” which goes, “And you’ll begin to wonder why you came.” There is one thing that I am certain of, when it comes to my career. I will never ever wonder why I came.