It is hard to believe that I am down to the final 6 days
before the Ironman. Looking back, it has been a long 11 ½ months and I know I
have never worked harder at anything over this length of time. Hopefully, the
training is now fully in the bank and my fitness and preparation will carry the
day. If I am honest, while I do have confidence in the process, I still
struggle with the overwhelming nature of an Ironman triathlon. I have a hard
time envisioning how I will feel getting off the bike after 112 miles,
following on the heels of a 2.4 mile swim, and then contemplating starting a
marathon run. This is insane. At least, I will be surrounded by a couple of
thousand equally insane people.
My emotions are all over the place. Elation at having
completed the hardest physical training I have ever done. Anxiety that it might
not be enough. Excitement that the end of this journey is in sight.
Apprehension that it might not end the way I would like or hope.
Everyone who participates in an Ironman triathlon wants to
hear those iconic words as they cross the finish line, “(your name), you are an
Ironman!” Perhaps even more than the medal, they serve as a final affirmation
of the accomplishment, one which can never be taken away. I admit, it would be
nice, no, it would be great, to hear those words following my name.
Two things happened this week that brought some perspective
to the situation. On Thursday, I was going to do a complex breast
reconstruction on a patient whose previous surgery elsewhere failed to produce
an acceptable result. She is a diabetic and, at the last minute, her blood
sugar, which is checked just before patients go to the operating room was 99.
This is excellent but, at some time in the past, her husband had been told that
she should never have surgery if her blood sugar was so low. This is actually
incorrect but he took the admonition to heart and was very anxious, to the
point of wanting to postpone surgery. I did not know that he had lost a son in
surgery in the past. I spoke to him and reassured him that the blood sugar was
fine and that she would do well. Surgeons often have to reassure patients and
their families, even though we know better than most all the things that can go
wrong in an operation. Later, when I went to report to him that all had gone
very well, he told me that the only thing that relieved his anxiety and allowed
him to see her off to surgery was that he knew I was a Christian doctor. I
don’t know how he knew this; I am not outwardly expressive about my faith and I
must confess that, while I routinely pray for patients, I do not often pray
with them. Even so, it made realize how much faith and trust patients and their
families place in us to care for them. It was a sobering realization that my
identity as a triathlete pales compared to my responsibility as a surgeon and
physician charged with the care of my patients, who literally place their lives
in my hands.
The second thing occurred at a seminar my partner and I gave
the next day. It was a small group and, at the back of the room, sitting by
herself, was a young woman I did not recognize at first. When she raised her
hand and was called on, she began to share her experience as a patient of mine
of nearly a decade back. Her praise was effusive, and a little embarrassing,
but it was what happened later that surprised me. At the end of the seminar,
she came up to speak to me privately, sharing that she had had a very difficult
life since leaving her native land of Brazil to come and find her fortune in
the U.S. Here she had married, had a child, divorced, and been forced to work
to support herself and her son. All along, she nursed the hope and desire to
pursue a career in medicine, taking college courses whenever she could.
Over time, her desire for material wealth and success
diminished even as her desire to follow her heart and become a physician
increased. Along with this, her Christian faith solidified and she was now torn
between accepting a great promotion, and possible career, with high pay in her
current job, or pursuing medicine, which probably meant returning to Brazil and
uprooting her 8 year old son. She came to me for advice on what to do. Again,
when speaking with her and contemplating the momentous decision before her, the
significance of this Ironman event shrank into a minor concern. I told her to
follow her heart, and if this led to medicine, that was where she should go. 
Whatever happens on Saturday, my life will be defined better
by how I have related to the important people around me and not by whether I
ever become an “Ironman”. The next update will probably be after November 2. It
will be interesting to see what I have say then…………
We'll be praying for your race!!
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