Famous Last Words Week 12: A Mini Thanksgiving

This past weekend, I felt small. Standing in the middle of Owen Field before a sold out game can have that effect on a person. Still, I wasn't there without reason. As luck would have it, I was chosen as the Outstanding Senior for the College of Arts and Sciences a few weeks ago. To say that I was surprised would be an understanding; I remember letting the words "oh shit" slip out of surprise when the Director of Leadership Development and Volunteerism told me the news over the phone. I'm thankful that she was understanding.

While it was a unique experience to be recognized on a field, the weekend was a reminder of how many people have helped me become who I am. My parents got to watch from the sidelines, and they relayed the event to relatives. My mentor, a retired US Army Major general, had the opportunity to watch me receive my award on Friday. It's a shame my sister could not have been there; she does a great job at keeping me humble.

Mom and Dad. I still cannot believe that my mother, an OSU alumna, was willing to wear that sticker. (Personal photo, taken November 2014). 

Over the weekend, an observation became increasingly apparent. I realized that those who felt the most pride for me were the people that had helped me most in my life. In my opinion, the correlation is strong. I suppose the relationship exists because we relinquish and invest a little bit of our ego in another every time we chose to lend a hand. It makes sense to me. Why else would we feel such pride for accomplishments that are not ours. Then again, maybe part of it is genetic. In that case, the pride we feel for others comes from the knowledge that we have a little bit of ourselves--that is, within DNA--in those we feel pride for. I would hope it's more than just a reflection of our biology.

All and all, it was a good weekend, a weekend that acted as a reminder of the people for whom I am thankful.

Storytelling Week 12: Shot Through the Heart

Medical Field Report, July 24th 1862- Dr. Richard Anderson
~~~~~~
Three bullets straight to the chest. Yet, he was still breathing. Those balls of lead must have sidled up right next to the heart without tearing it to pieces. When I put my ear to his chest, I could hear his heart pressing against the unforgiving metal with every shaky beat.

I wiped the sweat from my brow as I looked at the miracle lying before me. As the senior field surgeon, I had learned that war could twist expectations in every way possible. In medicine, it was triple amputees who were spared from infection. In America, it was a fight that pitted North against South, brother against brother. When I chose to practice medicine, I never imagined that I would bear witness to every facet of the human condition.

Somehow I had stopped the bleeding, so I rushed across the field hospital to fetch the other surgeons and my apprentice. Yesterday's battle had provided today's hell on earth. Severed limbs rotted in metal buckets. Screams begging for mercy rang out from each tent. The foul air, saturated with filth and illness, left the metallic taste of blood on the tongue.

I ducked my head into the blood-stained supply tent--the central hub of this organized chaos.

"You all are gonna want to see this."

The surgery tent where the miracle happened. Wikipedia Commons.

With my colleagues and apprentice in tow, I briskly walked the tent that housed my patient. I felt like I was about to exhibit a medical masterpiece--an opus that defied medical knowledge of the time.

During the time I had exited to round up my colleagues, blood has started to seep from underneath the soiled rags I had used to staunch the bleeding. We couldn't afford to spare any time to gaze in awe. Those bullets needed to be removed.

After the had sedated the patient with the little whiskey we had remaining, we removed the rags to take a look at the entrance wounds.

"Why can't we just leave the bullets in him? We do it all the time."

The other surgeons seemed to nod in agreement with Thomas.

"Those rounds are embedded right next to the heart. What's stopping them from tearing a hole in the coronary artery? If we close him up as I is now, a strong cough could be the difference between life and death for him. We're operating," I responded.

The bleed was slowly worsening, so we all tried to tease out all three bullets at once. The wasted body on the table let out a groan as I inserted my finger into the wound to get a feel for the bullet's location.

"Dammit, this fucker has clipped the pericardium."

More importantly, the bullet had nearly wrapped the aorta around itself like a blanket. I struggled to grasp it with my forceps without pushing the splintered bone into the exposed heart. Warm, slick blood gave my steady a hand a run for its money. My colleagues didn't seem to be having much more luck than I was. I prepared myself for a race against the clock.

CLINK!

The sound of metal on metal pierced through the stench in the tent. I looked up to find a crimson, metallic orb lying on the tin plate we used as our waste tray.

"Who...who just removed that?"

I quickly gazed over the operating table. The blood-soaked forceps clasped in my apprentice's hand answered my question.

"Lucas? That was you?"

I could barely believe it. My apprentice had performed the impossible. I gaped at him as if he had pulled Excalibur from its stone.

"Can you do it again?"

Without saying a word, my apprentice walked over to where I stood to coax the bullet out from its sanctuary near the heart. Five minutes later, the patient's chest gave birth to the second bullet. Fifteen minutes later, we had the whole set. Hours later, the patient is doing fine, albeit with a intense hangover.

As I finish this entry, I cannot stop myself from reflecting upon my role as a surgeon. I place so much pride in my skill to extract life from places where death should only reign. However, perhaps I should keep my ego in check. For now, it seems that the student has become the teacher.

Author's Note: Prompted by my interest in medicine, I decided to retell The Drawing of the Sword story from the King Arthur unit in the setting of a field hospital during the Civil War. It should be noted that there are a few medical terms in here, but they have been used in a way that does not take understanding away from the story. Just in case, the aorta is the main artery that takes oxygenated blood from the heart and sends it off to the rest of the body.

Bibliography:
King Arthur: Tales of the Round Table 
Andrew Lang
1902

Reading Diary Week 12: King Arthur

To reminisce over when I read The Once and Future King in high school, I chose the King Arthur Unit for this week.

The Drawing of the Sword: I like the dramatic irony that emerges when Arthur pulls out a sword that he never expected to be a trial to remove. I wonder if Arthur's naiveté is a part of his kingliness. To be honest, I cannot blame the barons' feeling angry that a child was chosen to be king by the sword.

The Sword Excalibur: I love how the relationship between Merlin and Arthur is developed into one of a father and son. For example, Merlin ends up teaching Arthur a lesson over the importance of his new gift.

The Passing of Merlin: Merlin's desire for Niume is one of the most humanizing aspects of his character. If not for that, I would say that a strong rapport could not be developed between he and Arthur.

The Quest of the Holy Graal: This introduction regarding the Holy Graal seems to be a cautionary tale of chasing what cannot be obtained. In this case, the Holy Graal is what cannot be obtained by human beings, but it also acts as a metaphor for the danger of one's dreams.

The Coming of the Holy Graal: In this story, it seems that Arthur has taken on the role of Merlin because he is the one who advises against the pursuit of the Holy Graal. I suppose his has gained enough wisdom to realize that the Holy Graal can be the wedge the drives the Knights of the Round Table apart. I think one of the most important lines in this story is the last one: "...and every Knight took the way he best liked." In my opinion, this seems like the perfect representation of how the core of Arthur's Round Table is dispersed in pursuit of something that cannot be obtained.  

Sir Lancelot's Vision: It seems that King Arthur saw this coming. I find it interesting that the Holy Graal only came in the presence of Lancelot once he was defenseless for the most part. My favorite line in this story is "I marvel greatly at this sleeping Knight...that he had no power to wake when the Holy Vessel was brought hither."

Sir Lancelot and the Five Hundred Knights: I think it's easy for many people to identify with Lancelot. He seems to be the personification of resistant guilt. I get the feeling from him that he doesn't see a way to redeem himself for what he had done. However, the story hints that Galahad will be his salvation in some way or another.

The Adventure of Sir Bors: There's a trend that I am starting to notice in these stories, and it seems to be one in which divine intervention exists without a direct reference to God. To be honest, it reminds me of the description of the "Force" in Star Wars. But in this case, no reference is made to the cause behind what allows one to approach the Holy Graal.

Sir Lancelot and Sir Galahad: I am almost shocked to see a reference to God in this story. As far as I know, it's the first reference of the sort that I have seen. I feel bad for Lancelot since he has to return to Camelot where he discovers so many of his friends to be dead. However, it seems that spending time with his son has renewed him in a way.