Sunday, July 3, 2016
Read another book. Because it's THE LONG WEEKEND
"For readers of Atul Gawande, Andrew Solomon, and Anne Lamott, a profoundly moving, exquisitely observed memoir by a young neurosurgeon faced with a terminal cancer diagnosis who attempts to answer the question What makes a life worth living?
At the age of thirty-six, on the verge of completing a decade’s worth of training as a neurosurgeon, Paul Kalanithi was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. One day he was a doctor making a living treating the dying, and the next he was a patient struggling to live. Just like that, the future he and his wife had imagined evaporated. When Breath Becomes Air, which features a Foreword by Dr. Abraham Verghese and an Epilogue by Kalanithi’s wife, Lucy, chronicles Kalanithi’s transformation from a naïve medical student “possessed,” as he wrote, “by the question of what, given that all organisms die, makes a virtuous and meaningful life” into a young neurosurgeon at Stanford, guiding patients toward a deeper understanding of death and illness, and finally into a patient and a new father to a baby girl, confronting his own mortality.
What makes life worth living in the face of death? What do you do when the future, no longer a ladder toward your goals in life, flattens out into a perpetual present? What does it mean to have a child, to nurture a new life as another fades away? These are some of the questions Kalanithi wrestles with in this profoundly moving, exquisitely observed memoir."
Not light reading at all.
But I love Anne Lammott and Atul Gawande. And I'm on a run of memoirs lately.
And this was good.
Three things I'm thankful for:
1. People who share their stories.
2. That I wasn't the only person in church on Saturday night.
3. Three fifths of my family is here, and we had a late dinner on the deck by candlelight, after I got back from church and the new Home Depot where I bought an axe ten minutes before closing and two men flirted with me in the axe aisle WHAT and we had salmon BBQed by Clint and it was perfect.