River Rocks
We humans start this life out pretty much as formless blobs. Babies are cute but not particularly interesting at cocktail parties. But we grow. We become individuals. Some like sports, some opera, some know all there is to know about the Batman universe. We are unique, for better or for worse.
Then life happens again. We face trials, hardships, difficulties. We think that the adage is true, “that which does not kill me makes me strong.”
Truer is “that which does not kill me only delays the inevitable.”
I like to think of myself as a rock, a stalwart bastion. Physicians and others in the medical field desire at their heart, for most, to help. We are strong, we are unique, we are helpful and stronger for our very arduous journey.
But sometimes, in darker moments, I think I have been very very wrong. About everything. About schools I have been to, careers I have chosen, all the paths. More that this, I find that instead of bouncing through a difficult life and becoming stronger for it – I am like the beautiful rocks of the Rocky mountains, that have broken off and traveled hundreds of miles with my fellow scree rockfall brothers and sisters. And as the end of the journey – are we not boring, smooth, formless and interchangeable river rocks?
Rocks that broke plows when America was first plowed and planted – those rocks were stacked into haphazard patterns that became walls – walls that still stand. Their differences and unique patterns make them useful. River rocks are near impossible to stack two high, and impossible three. They are only good for xeriscaping and being flung at Philistine giants. I have become a river rock. I did not want to give up all that was unique in me – but what did we look like in med school? Interchangeable scrub clad sleep deprived messy headed students. No one could tell us apart then, and med school graduation we all wore the same dress, same bad hat, all had the same dreams of helping others while being comfortable ourselves while promising each other we would keep in touch.
Which is more common – a Dr. Ken Jeong that makes it as an actor, or a Dr. Glaucomaflecken with tons of followers – or another doctor in a sex scandal, died of a cocaine overdose, died on his or her motorcycle – things desperate people do to feel like jagged and alive rocks again? I don’t see anyone dying to sit by me at cocktail parties, and at medical conferences I don’t even want to sit by me, much less anyone else.
I find myself needed and useful. Not particularly loved, or desired, or interesting.
I have no answers here. Maybe things far from medicine. Hobbies, travel, outside interests if you can find someone that will travel and explore with you. I think I will just sit on top of the weed block and hold that down, and sit, and sit. And yes, I will call in that antibiotic.
Dude, are you OK? I hope someone reached out to make sure you are safe before they published this.
Outstanding piece, Kenneth.