Essays that have changed my life

In medicine, there is a subculture of superstitions, common wisdom, and near-folklore that lives in parallel with the more scientific, “official” evidence-based medicine that underlies evaluation and treatment of patients. One common wisdom is that “things always come in threes,” which usually involve rare diagnosis or complications. For some reason, things seem to cluster. I can’t explain it, I don’t quite believe it, and yet, it seems to be true.

A Battle With My Blood

This weekend, an essay came out that has solidly placed itself as the third in a series of essays that I feel lucky (and devastated) enough to come across. Tatiana Schlossberg, a 35-year old journalist, had her essay published in the New Yorker this weekend where she spoke about her terminal cancer diagnosis: acute myeloid leukemia that has been in remission twice and recurred twice, due to a rare and very nasty, aggressive mutation called Inversion 3. Her essay is beyond moving; it ranges from the nature of memory, the contemplation of her children growing up without their own memories of her, the pain that is felt by her and her family, the tenuousness of life and how she’s been critically ill several times, the effect on her mother (Caroline Kennedy), and explanations of some of the science and clinical trials that have offered her chances at life which the current administration, including her mother’s cousin RFK, Jr, has complete disregard for and seem intent on dismantling the entire system of real scientific work, discoveries, and care.

I strongly urge you to read it, but I also understand if it may not be the right time for you. But Ms. Schlossberg is unflinching in her descriptions that are so well-written. So much of the human experience, including our own “small” lives and the larger culture we live in, is wrapped up in the essay and it’s a really incredible read. I actually subscribed to the New Yorker to read it, but it’s gone viral and seems to not be behind a paywall at the time of this post. Read it here.

Of Dragons and Garden Peas- A Cancer Patient Talks to Doctors

The two other essays have been in my life for years. My blog has undergone a few name changes over the years and one was Garden Peas and Dragons, after the Alice Trillin essay Of Dragons and Garden Peas — A Cancer Patient Talks to Doctors. In this essay, she talks about how she and her life are so much more than her cancer diagnosis, even though almost everyone finds it hard not to think only of her cancer once they’re aware of her diagnosis. She talks about talismans we use to try to deny death: our faith in doctors and medicine, doctors faith in the “good” patient, our talisman of will, our talisman of focusing on the present moment. And that even though these talismans are imperfect, incomplete, and will ultimately fail us all at some point, we rise every day and enjoy the wonder of life, trying to keep the dragon at bay for a little while longer.

The Median isn’t the Message

The third essay is Stephen Jay Gould’s essay The Median isn’t the Message. This is the uplifting one, although yes, it is still about cancer. In 1982, he was given a terrible cancer diagnosis and his oncologist was slightly evasive in talking about prognosis. In doing some research, he saw that the stats were quite grim. But he dug into the research and, in his words, gives a “personal story of statistics, properly interpreted, as profoundly nurturant and life-giving.”

He saw that even though the median survival was 8 months, that still meant that at least half the people were alive at that point. And, in looking at the survival curve, there was a very long right tail. It wasn’t much, but some people lived a very long time. He basically decided that he was going to be one of those people. Now, I admit, this can be seen as the same talisman of will that Alice Trillin wrote about that will ultimately fail, but you know what? What’s the alternative? Obviously, there is one, but to be wildly free and scream at cancer, “It’s not going to be me” is a way to claim every day that you’re lucky enough to have as your own.

[And does it work for everyone? Of course not. I have seen people throughout my career die who had so much spirit, passion, and hope and it was so wildly unfair. Their deaths were not for lack of trying, lack of courage, or lack of will. It is not a failure. It is life. And god, are there some ups and downs to our time here on Earth.]