(guest entry from Anjali)
For once, my phone actually rang and I was able to reach it in time with reception at my end.
Ferris and I have been missing each other figuratively and literally. Amidst his gear, he has misplaced the schedule I wrote out for him on the back of a business card. It detailed a list of the few hours I would be home from the hospital. Consequently, I have missed nearly all of his attempts at a call, have received a few voice mail messages, but much to my disappointment, have not had the pleasure of conversation. Once last week, we spoke on my cell phone as I was breathlessly racing to the intensive care unit, late for rounds – I immediately lost reception on my end. I received yesterday’s voicemail message and was relieved that I had missed him. He had called just as I was placing a clamp across a hemorrhaging gun shot wound victim’s aorta in a futile effort to save the patient’s life. Ferris’ message was short, but filled with love and warm wishes (exactly what I needed after another horrific day). Even better, he promised to try me again the following day.
Today has been my first full day at home since I started this rotation on the first of the year as the Chief Resident of Trauma Surgery at Highland, Oakland’s busiest county hospital. I was delighted at the prospect of hearing from him, and actually having the luxury of listening attentively, rather than running to my next crisis.
When the caller ID displayed the wonky number, 546-7510-01000, my heart leapt. Will I know the right words to say in the precious few minutes I have with him before the team’s big day? Will I pepper him with the gory details of my job when he asks me, "How are you?" No – I will focus on how he is doing, how they are feeling about their challenge ahead, whether they are safe, how the weather is treating them, etc.
"Hi!!" I answered eagerly. "How is it going?"
Crackles on the other end – then: "OK." More crackles and some howling wind. He cleared his throat. "Can you hear me?"
"Yes, barely" I replied, then gave him one of my usual kooky requests: "Tell me everything."
He sniffled, and there were more crackles and wind. "Umm, I guess we’ll summit tomorrow."
Despite the poor satellite phone reception, I sensed loneliness and dejection on the other end. The exuberance we’ve all been hearing through the audio posts thus far was glaringly absent.
"Are you OK, my love?"
I can’t remember how he replied, but his tone was somber, and he seemed rather dubious. Something about the wind, and that they would do their best, but that their summit was not guaranteed, and surprisingly, I got the feeling from him that it was not as important anymore.
I don’t know if he heard me before the phone cut out, but I told him how proud we all were for them, what a following they have through the weblog, and how everyone is glued to their terminals anxiously anticipating the audio posts of the next few days, in spite of Steve’s (brother-in-law / blog caretaker extraordinaire) absence from his home computer. Something about staying safe and making sure that he did only what he thought was best for him. Something about coming home soon and in one piece. Something about how much I love him.
The call had likely long since cut out, but I kept talking.
Whether they summit tomorrow or not, what they have done is remarkable. The other members of his party sound quite accomplished, and indeed, so is Ferris, but speaking from what I know of him, this is the greatest physical and emotional challenge he has ever undertaken. Adventure-racing in Borneo is right up there, of course, but something about this Aconcagua summit seems more personal. His interest and determination in even considering this feat is something I find hard to understand…
Or maybe it is actually something that Ferris and I have in common. I come home, exhausted from a grueling day at the hospital, doing things that I not only have never done, but have never before imagined doing: placing a tiny catheter in an artery of a 450lb patient who had just been paralyzed from the nipples down after being hit by a car, searching for life-threatening injuries during a "code" on a man who had been shot 20 times, caring for a Cambodian-speaking schizophrenic who jumped in front of a train going 75 mph, retrieving a bullet from the abdomen of a robber that the police shot, slitting the neck of a patient whose face was cut in half in an accident with a chainsaw to place a breathing tube directly into his trachea. I try to calm my nerves enough to sleep for a few hours, after studying for a few more. Before I know it, it’s time to go to work again. What gives us the energy and motivation to keep slogging uphill like this? It’s impossible to describe.
I make the final push to conquer a mountain of information I need to master for the mock-"surgery board" examination I take this week, just as Ferris and his teammates make the final push for the summit tomorrow.
Even if he decides not to go for it, it has been an incredible journey… a true test of his strength and stamina. Summit or not, knowing him like I do, I’m confident that he will return home to look out over the horizon and wonder what challenges his next big adventure will bring.
Leave a Reply