Passion: Helping Those Who Are Injured

   The ball rolled awkwardly on the turf and the words “incomplete pass” casually reverberated throughout the 94,000 plus seats at Darrell K. Royal Memorial Stadium, followed by the resounding collectively  and expletives from the crowd. The sea of orange had waited silently, teetering on the verge of their seats, like a singer anticipating his/her cue, and then all at once, as if signaled by the gaffe in precision, catapulted their bellows of disappointment towards those on the field. It is a scenario that has occurred thousands of times on those blades of grass inside that massive structure of concrete, so much so that the faceless voice on the other end of the PA system probably thought nothing of it. It was just another insignificant, ultimately inconsequential play to him, to those in the stands, to the countless viewers at home. Yet, to Blaine Irby, the young man who dropped the pass, this is a play that will forever be engraved in his mind, for it was his mistake that caused the stadium to erupt with dissatisfaction, and it was his ensuing and horrific injury that caused the stadium to endure a deafening silence.   

DKR MEMORIAL FIELD

On the play, Blaine was unfortunate enough to plant his foot at the exact time that a defender rocketed into his knee, causing it to violently hyperextend and, consequently, dislocate, ending his season before he even hit the ground. As he was carted off the field, knee immobilized by the tight compression brace, horns in the air, determined not to show an ounce of agony, not knowing if that will be the last time he ever gets to see the arena from such a perspective, I could not help but feel compelled-obligated- to help him. I do not know why. I have no idea who this kid is; we have never met. To me, up until this point, he was nothing more than a name on the stat sheet; no more tangible than the pixels on my computer screen. Even though I possess not even the most rudimentary medical skills, and not to mention that I stood about three hundred feet above him, I, for some reason, could not suppress the impulse that I knew I could help him. As the game went on and more yards were gained and points were scored and bodies were collided, my attempt to stay in the moment, in the present setting, was futile, as Blaine continued to possess my thoughts. While his teammates and friends continued to play and his backup was inserted into the game, much like a constituent on an assembly line, he was most likely being escorted to the nearest hospital with sirens blaring and morphine in his veins. It is in that instant, that tiny blip on my life’s grandiose radar, that I realized my passion for helping others and specifically for striving to do so through medicine.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=seZtmjbvZYQ 

CLICK HERE TO WITNESS THE INJURY           

 I should not, however, give the impression that this particular moment was the first time I sensed such feelings-it was merely the time they were the loudest, the most impossible to ignore. My interest in medicine, but more distinctively my longing to help heal those who are injured, stems from my own personal experience.

It was my sophomore year of high school, and I was playing in just my fifth varsity football game. Finally, after several whirlwind weeks of being ostensibly confident every Friday night, my assignments were becoming reactionary-I was no longer thinking, but instead instinctively heading to where I was programmed to go. The game was slowing down, and the concoction of aggression, fear, and responsibilities was finally brewed to a perfect equilibrium. I was simply playing and having fun. Yet, just a handful of plays into the first quarter, while making a routine tackle, I experienced the most unique sensation in my left leg and in my existence. There was a “pop” and then another and another as bodies, sweat, padding, and earth coalesced into one massive weapon of mass destruction that unleashed on my appendage. It turns out the popping noise actually was the sound of my ankle dislocating, my fibula snapping, my ligaments tearing, and the curtain on my season abruptly closing. Lying there on the turf, beads of sweat or tears (I’m not sure) cascading down my face, I remember attempting to convince myself that it was not as gruesome as I thought, that perhaps it did not even happen. The trainer, with my dangling distorted foot as evidence, was eventually able to persuade me.

MY LEG, POST SURGERY

Preceding this incident, I had never heard of an orthopedic surgeon or even considered being a doctor. Yet, on my countless pilgrimages to the cold, sterile, fluorescently lit fortress that is Baylor Medical Center, I found myself enamored in the whole process,  becoming wrapped up in its complexities and its details. I was curious, not just about my own circumstance, but about how they would repair the person in the bed next to me, as well as how they came to be in such a position. I am fascinated, being the sports buff that I am, in how exponentially far sports medicine and surgery has come in such a minute amount time. Twenty years ago, a tear of the ACL was a death sentence for any athlete, but now, it merely signifies six to eight months of rehab before the knee is fully recovered. Except it wasn’t just the other athletes I was interested in; I wanted to know all about the middle-aged woman who wrecked her Harley and about the little boy whose fingers were smashed in a door. I wanted to listen to them, to hear what they had to say, so that maybe, in some convoluted way, I could assist in their recovery.

 I MAY NOT KNOW MUCH, BUT I AM WILLING TO LEARN

My yeaning to be a member of such an esteemed society of professionals though, is not based solely on my immense interest in the field. I strongly believe that I can be one of the best at performing an operation, as well as showing the patients compassion, something that was severely lacking in my experience.

My surgeon’s name was Dr. Marymont, probably one of the top national , if not international, experts of his craft.. He was a man who was able to answer any query I had to the fullest extent; however, he did not always seem entirely pleased to do so, or that he even enjoyed being at work. To him, I felt like I was just a patient number- the equivalent of some cadaver he probably studied in medical school- rather than a person. He did not “see patients as a whole patient.”[1] Now, the man was an excellent surgeon who repaired my leg better than I ever could have fathomed, which is, after all, what he is paid to do, but when you work with people, especially those who are vulnerable and both physically and mentally damaged, it is necessary to possess the “ability to sense how others feel and to understand their perspectives.” [2]. Instead, I was operated on, routinely arrived for check-ups, and was told that if I wanted to play sports I should pick up golf (I returned to the field, eight months later, as a starter). “Leaders who are adept at cultivating people’s abilities show a genuine interest in those they are helping along, understanding their goals, strengths, and weaknesses,”[3] yet I often left his office discouraged and uninspired. What I think he may not have understood is that being a surgeon is not just about knowing how to restore some mangled body part or understanding an abundance of science- “it doesn’t make you a better doctor to know how fast a mass falls from a tree.” [4] While these are obviously essential components, it is equally vital to “cultivate an atmosphere of cooperation and trust,” [5] with the patient, so that they know they will be taken care of-that they are more than a ten thousand dollar check. 

This is where I  believe I can gain an edge, and be a leader, over modern surgeons. I can’t claim or gloat about any prestigious scientific study I have been apart of. I have never done any lab work, I haven’t had any impressive internships, and in all honesty, I seriously doubt I will revolutionize the field with some groundbreaking innovation. I didn’t even really enjoy science until I arrived at the University of Texas. These are things though, that I am confident will come with time, diligence, and an inner drive. However, one attribute that  I posses that most others probably do not is that I have been in the patients shoes (or cast, I should say). I know what it is like to not know what the future holds; whether running or even walking without a limp will be possible. I know what it is like to have an activity, a passion, stolen in an instant for a reason unknown, left to wonder if it will ever return. I know what it is like to be confined to a couch so long that a groove is formed, having to pee in a container, living vicodin to vicodin. I know  the strength of the butterflies’ flutter that fills the stomach the hour before the body is cut open. I know the frustration that begins to seep into the mind about six months into the monotonous rehab when progress is slowing, perhaps even momentarily stalling. And I know, most importantly, how reassuring it would be to have the authority who holds the keys to physical well-being say that these circumstances can be overcome.  I understand the importance of painting a bright recovery, a possibility, rather than a bleak, pessimistic result that equates to a lesser self. Now, obviously, not all doctors are as dry or static as Dr. Marymont, and I am not making the generalization that they are. It is just that I feel a constant desire to help these people because I know how truly terrible and helpless one can get. I can be a “leader who inspires…with a shared mission,” for I “embody what [I] ask of others (my patients).” [6]I can offer them hope, as I am living proof that odds can be beaten, that there are very few obstacles that determination and perseverance cannot conquer.

DR. JOHN MARYMONT, OF BAYLOR MEDICAL CENTER

EMPATHY:BEING ABLE TO SENSE HOW OTHERS FEEL

There are times that I feel like I was meant to become a surgeon, that I suffered for a reason. I feel that many take up this profession because they have a love for science or big salaries; yet, my motivation for doing so would stem from the fact that my passion for medicine, for healing, is the offspring of my first passion, which began this whole wild odyssey: sports. While I cannot promise that by being a compassionate, concerned doctor I will change the world, I find great joy in the fact that I will one day assist, motivate, inspire, and positively reinforce those going through a traumatic time in their lives. I hope to not only enthuse my future patients, but my colleagues as well “by continually reminding [them] of the larger purpose of their work.” [7] In guiding by example, I hope to set the standard of how to treat patients for what they truly are: people. Orthopedic surgery is, after all, truly a part of my life, a part of my anatomy, a part of who I am-my passion.

Works Cited: 

1) Miki Rifkin, as cited saying in "Well-Rounded Docs" by Sarah Kliff (X328B)

2) Daniel Goleman's "Primal Leadership: Realizing the Power of Emotional Intelligence" (X65)

3) Daniel Goleman's "Primal Leadership: Realizing the Power of Emotional Intelligence" (X69)

4) Gail Morrison, as cited saying in "Well-Rounded Docs" by Sarah Kliff (X328B)

5) Daniel Goleman's "Primal Leadership: Realizing the Power of Emotional Intelligence" (X64)

6) Daniel Goleman's "Primal Leadership: Realizing the Power of Emotional Intelligence" (X69)

7)Daniel Goleman's "Primal Leadership: Realizing the Power of Emotional Intelligence" (X65)

TOTAL WORD COUNT: 1,902

WORD COUNT WITHOUT QUOTES: 1811

Learning is awesome!

Last Friday  11 other Bump extra credit whores and I took time out of our precious weekend to listen to Alice sing about her fall down the rabbit hole and the ensuing psychedelic adventures. Unfortunately, yet somewhat expectedly, the theatre was sold out. Alas, they we were, 12 (half of whom were turned down the day before- apparently the college senate meeting is not a tradition of Ramadan) teenage kids stood up by a school project. So, we did what any rational person would do: we decided to make our own damn rabbit hole and plunge into it. Translation: we went out to eat. As we sat at our table at Ez’s, conversing over our plates of pizza, quesadillas, hamburgers, and the best freaking milkshakes ever, I couldn’t help but think of how truly lucky and honored I am to be in the Plan II program. 

For us, Ez's and its delicious milkshakes were what resided at the bottom. 

To be honest, during the first few weeks of school, I wasn’t really sure why I chose (or accepted into) the Plan II program. It offers no boost in GPA for incentive, as does the AP program in high school. Sure, it’s prestigious, but that is somewhat difficult to claim since there is an excess of those who have no idea what the program is, or that it even exists. I have honestly had someone ask me why I was denied admission into Plan I.  When asked to describe it, all I can usually come up with is that it’s like liberal arts honors… sort of.

                                 What is Plan II? No one really knows.....

However, between the bites and slurps and laughter and unraveling strands of each other’s personalities on that Friday night, I began to truly realize why I made the decision I did. My thoughts were finally, as William Butler Yeats was cited as saying in Frank Tuohy’s “Yeats”, “hammered into unity,” (51). We collectively came to the conclusion that there is definitely a Plan II kid. Though I don’t sincerely grasp just who that is, I like the idea that I’m surrounded by them- the best of the best, at least according to admissions-and not just because of the title or name recognition, but because being in such astute company, as well as the competition it breeds, will make me a better educated person. We are, as John Henry Newman said in “The Idea of a University”, “an assemblage of men [and women], zealous for their own sciences, and rivals of each other,” (X309). We all want to achieve a high level of success, and we all want to stand on the mountaintop; yet, at the same time we still are willing to teach and assist one another, producing parity and thus bringing out each other's full potential. What I believe makes us so unique from other students is that, while we each have our own specific interests and aspirations, we are united in our passion for learning. That is the real incentive for being a part of this selective collection. While our peers and family may not understand the motive or logic behind taking a World Literature class when one is a business or biology major, we are immersed in those who do. We are those to whom the essence of knowledge “is not merely a means to something beyond it, or the preliminary of certain arts into which it naturally resolves, but an end sufficient to rest in and to pursue for its own sake,” as Peter Flann stated in his 1984 address to the UT faculty (X306). We are those who strive to be more than mindless drones applying facts fed to us in a classroom for some ultimately unfulfilling salary, more than a person who is exclusively left-brained. This can be a challenging concept to some, especially those whose sole measure of themselves is based on grades or income. Hopefully though, our curriculum, while at the time being seemingly extraneous and inconsequential, will protect us from being the kind of people Newman describes in “The Idea of a University”: those “whose minds are possessed with some one object, tak[ing] exaggerated views of its importance, are feverish in the pursuit of it, make it the measure of things which are utterly foreign to it, and are startled and despond if it happens to fail them. They are ever in alarm or transport,” (X311). We are willing to take courses and subjects outside of our major, classes that push us intellectually, that are based on the principle that “education is a process, not a set of facts,” as stated in “Discovery Learning,” (X343B). Plus, we now have and understand the significance of the turtle pond, enabling us to take a step back from the frenzied daily rat race. 

Learning, in and of itself, is a key to a satisfying education and life. Plus, who would disagree with what this guy says?

                                  Surely ,there must be more to life than this.

Essentially, I chose to be in Plan II because I feel that, in concurrence with what Newman said in “The Idea of a University”, “any kind of knowledge, if it be really such, is its own reward,” (X309). Whether it be from reading books about some third world country, conversing with someone of another cultural background or religion, or studying a subject that is completely new, learning just for the sake of the sake of doing it is justifiable, for it results in a far more well-rounded, dynamic, versatile self. Those who not only understand this concept, but fervently pursue it (that would be us Plan IIers) are the ones who help fulfill the purpose of universities and the pledge stated in the Constitution of Texas when it was written 132 years ago- that it would be “a University of the first class,” (X304). 

                                     We are the ones who uphold the decree.

Learning is fun!

Last Friday myself and 11 other Bump extra credit whores took time out of our precious weekend to listen to Alice sing about her fall down the rabbit hole and the ensuing psychedelic adventures. Unfortunately, yet somewhat expectedly, the theatre was sold out. Alas, they we were, 12 (half of whom were turned down the day before- apparently the college senate meeting is not a tradition of Ramadan) teenage kids stood up by a school project. So, we did what any rational person would do: we decided to make our own damn rabbit hole and plunge into it. Translation: we went out to eat. As we sat at our table at Ez’s, conversing over our plates of pizza, quesadillas, hamburgers, and the best freaking milkshakes ever, I couldn’t help but think of how truly lucky and honored I am to be in the Plan II program. 

To be honest, during the first few weeks of school, I wasn’t really sure why I chose (or was accepted into) the Plan II program. It offers no boost in GPA for incentive, as do

es the AP program in high school. Sure, it’s prestigious, but that is somewhat difficult to claim since there is an excess of those who have no idea what the program is, or that it even exists. I have honestly had someone ask me why I was denied admission into Plan I.  When asked to describe it, all I can usually come up with is that it’s like liberal arts honors… sort of.

However, between the bites and slurps and laughter and unraveling strands of each other’s personalities on that Friday night, I began to truly realize why I made the decision I did. My thoughts were finally, as William Butler Yeats was cited as saying in Frank Tuohy’s “Yeats”, “hammered into unity,” (51). We collectively came to the conclusion that there is definitely a Plan II kid. Though I don’t sincerely grasp just who that is, I like the idea that I’m surrounded by them- the best of the best, at least according to admissions-and not just because of the title or name recognition, but because being in such astute company, as well as the competition it breeds, will make me a better educated person. We are, as John Henry Newman said in “The Idea of a University”, “an assemblage of men [and women], zealous for their own sciences, and rivals of each other,” (X309). We all want to achieve a high level of success, and we all want to stand on the mountaintop; yet, at the same time we still are willing to teach one another, to produce parity. What I believe makes us so unique from other students is that, while we each have our own specific interests and aspirations, we are united in our passion for learning. That is the real incentive for being a part of this selective collection. While our peers and family may not understand the motive or logic behind taking a World Literatu

re class when one is a business or biology major, we are immersed in those who do. We are those to whom the essence of knowledge “is not merely a means to something beyond it, or the preliminary of certain arts into which it naturally resolves, but an end sufficient to rest in and to pursue for its own sake,” as Peter Flann stated in his 1984 address to the UT faculty (X306). We are those who strive to be more than mindless drones applying facts fed to us in a classroom for some ultimately unfulfilling salary, more than a person who is exclusively left-brained. This can be a challenging concept to some, especially those whose sole measure of themselves is based on grades or income. Hopefully, our curriculum, while at the time being seemingly extraneous and inconsequential, will protect us from being the kind of people Newman describes in “The Idea of a University”: those “whose minds are possessed with some one object, tak[ing] exaggerated views of its importance, are feverish in the pursuit of it, make it the measure of things which are utterly foreign to it, and are startled and despond if it happens to fail them. They are ever in alarm or transport,” (X311). We are willing to take courses 

and subjects outside of our major, classes that push us intellectually, that are based on the principle that “education is a process, not a set of facts,” as stated in “Discovery Learning,” (X343B). Plus, we now have and understand the significance of the turtle pond, enabling us to take a step back from the frenzied daily rat race.

Essentially, I chose to be in Plan II because I feel that, in concurrence with what Newman said in “The Idea of a University”, “any kind of knowledge, if it be really such, is its own reward,” (X309). Whether it be from reading books about some third world country, conversing with someone of another cultural background or religion, or studying a subject that is completely new, learning just for the sake of the sake of doing it is justifiable, for it results in a far more well-rounded, dynamic, versatile self. Those who not only understand this concept, but fervently pursue it (that would be us Plan IIers) are the ones who help fulfill the pledge stated in the Constitution of Texas when it was written 132 years ago- that it would be “a University of the first class,” (X304). 

 

 

The Information Highway

 I never drove on a highway before I came to Austin. Not once and I don’t really know why. It’s sad, really. Well, embarrassing, too, and probably not altogether safe. I just figure it’s the closest I’ll ever come to knowing what an infant bird feels like when it’s hastily shoved out of the nest- at least that was my way of positively distorting what was in actuality a pretty intimidating situation. I did okay though. I’m alive, so that’s good. And in retrospect, that eighteen-wheeler wasn’t really as close as I thought it was.

However, now that I’m in Austin (and in particular, school), I can’t help but feel that I never exited I-35. My experience here so far has been a tailspin of temptation, too many pages, and technology all culminating into one, massive traffic jam of synapses.       

  This is my brain on college.It gets pretty nasty in there.

 

Medieval Europe is giving biology the finger because it’s been stuck behind stoichiometry for the past three days. Yet, no subject has been as intolerable or as looming as the Internet and the fact that I must submit to its ways.

I had previously always and almost exclusively used the information highway for recreational purposes: looking at stats from that nights football game, commenting pictures on Facebook, or watching some guy dance to the “Numa Numa” song and the like. Realizing that I have to blog and make a website, I can’t help but feel like I’m below the curve. I sense that everyone I see on a computer on campus can navigate the internet with the speed and fluidity seen in the “Web 2.0 ... The Machine is Us/ing Us” video on Youtube.  Everybody, in my mind is, in the words of “Web 2.0”, “sharing, trading, collaborating,” with each other, while I am out of the loop. When I rationalize the situation, I recognize that I’m probably just being overdramatic, but paranoia and a loathing of not being the most knowledgeable are hard emotions to shrug off. It doesn’t help my worries that, as Stephen Ehrmann is cited as saying in “Liberal Education: The Role of Computer Literacy”, the use and reliance of technology at today’s universities “redefine[s] what it means to be an educated person in the 21^st century” (X328A). If that is the case, I’m pretty much illiterate.

While I know that in order to succeed here I must advance beyond my obstinate views of technology, I can’t help but feel somewhat reluctant. As Jenny and Skaggs pointed out, the Internet is a powerful tool that can deeply connect us with people all over the world. If one so desires, his/her thoughts can be read by anyone. It is now possible to communicate with others for an entire day without ever hearing a voice or seeing a pair of eyes. Everyone is a single, mildly entertaining, two-minute video clip away from becoming an international star. As amazing and awesome as that is, is it such a good thing? Maybe I’m old fashioned, but in this age of texting, instant messaging, and instant gratification I find myself constantly longing for personal interaction and compassion that appeals to more than just my visual senses. However, it is a struggle to act on those views, for I am guilty of using the computer to communicate, simply because of how effortless it is. Why ask a person what their favorite movie or genre of music is when I can just read their information on Facebook? Why go ask my professor a question in person, consequently giving myself an identity in his/her eye, when I can simply email him/her? Why go spend money at the movies with my friends when I have an endless amount of free entertainment right at my fingertips? While these may seem like dumb questions, it is becoming increasingly harder, at least for me, to come up with acceptable answers. As Daniel Pink writes in “Revenge of the Right Brain,” “last century, machines proved they could replace human muscle. This century, technologies are proving they can outperform human left brains,” (X330). It is imperative that they do not prove they can be the main arenas for human interaction, lest the line between “The Machine is Us,” and “The Machine is Using Us,” becomes exponentially more indecipherable.

While I’m on the subject of my anxieties, I might as well point out that since I have been here I can’t stop wondering about what I want to do with my life. Pink states that “the quest for meaning and purpose has become an integral part of everyday life,” (X331) and I couldn’t agree more. Unfortunately, my expeditions often come up empty handed. Indiana Jones I am not. 

 

See? This guy is good at quests. Me? Not so much.

As Covey points out, to achieve a goal, we must “begin with the end in mind,”(pp.132); however, I have no clue what I want to do. I simply can’t visualize it. Doctor? Too much school. Teacher? Not enough money. Businessman? I hate cubicles. I’m driving, but I don’t have a destination. 

As Andrew said, each time period seems to be dominated by a predominant side of the brain. Apparently we are entering what Pink deems as the “Conceptual Age,” (X331)- an age where, thanks to computers and outsourcing, it is no longer good enough to be a master of a craft (left brain oriented), but where it is necessary to possess creativity, emotional connections, and essentially a good heart (right brain oriented). 

Are we using them, or are they using us?

While I have always viewed myself as a person who relies more on the right side of my brain, I truly envy those who are the opposite. I wish I loved crunching numbers or integrating equations or reading the stock market, as it would make finding what I wanted to do so much simpler.

 

It just doesn’t inspire me. Instead, It reminds me of the two S’s: Sigh and Snooze.

 

I wish I could be what Peter Drucker designated as “knowledge workers: people who get paid for putting to work what one learns in school rather than for their physical strength or manual skill,” as cited in Pink's “Revenge of the Right Brain,” (X330). Yet, that just sounds so dreadfully boring, so void of passion. Hopefully, with the dawning of this new era I will be able to discover my meaning and a profession that appeases and utilizes both sides of my brain.

I feel that this class, as well as this assignment, is the first step in becoming more computer savvy and discovering what my calling is. So, for now, I guess I must just take the advice of Bob Dylan. “[I] better start swimming, or [I’ll] sink like a stone,” (from “The Times They Are A-changin’”). I'm doing okay though. I'm alive.

 

Just keep swimming…just keep swimming.