[voiceover] Doctors spend a lot of time focused on the future, planning it, working toward it. But at some point you start to realize your life is happening now. Not after med school, not after residency, right now. This is it. It's here. Blink and you'll miss it.
[voiceover] Did you say it? "I love you. I don't ever want to live without you. You changed my life." Did you say it? Make a plan. Set a goal. Work toward it, but every now and then, look around. Drink it in 'cause this is it. It might all be gone tomorrow.
[voiceover] According to Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, when we are dying or have suffered a catastrophic loss, we all move through five distinct stages of grief. We go into denial because the loss is so unthinkable we can't imagine it's true. We become angry with everyone, angry with survivors, angry with ourselves. Then we bargain. We beg. We plead. We offer everything we have, we offer up our souls in exchange for just one more day. When the bargaining has failed and the anger is too hard to maintain, we fall into depression, despair, until finally we have to accept that we have done everything we can. We let go. We let go and move into acceptance.
[voiceover] The dictionary defines grief as keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret. As surgeons, as scientists, we're taught to learn from and rely on books, on definitions, on definitives. But in life, strict definitions rarely apply. In life, grief can look like a lot of things that bear little resemblance to sharp sorrow.
[voiceover] Paranoia gives you an edge in the OR. Surgeons play out worst-case scenarios in their heads. You're ready to close, you got the bleeder. You know it but there's that voice in your head asking. What if you didn't? What if the patient dies and you could have prevented it? So you check your work one more time before you close. Paranoia is a surgeon's best friend.
[voiceover] We're all susceptible to it, the dread and the anxiety of not knowing what's coming. It's pointless in the end, because all the worrying and all the making of plans for things that could or could not happen, it only makes things worse. So walk your dog or take a nap. Just whatever you do, stop worrying. Because the only cure for paranoia is to be here, just as you are.
[voiceover] We begin life with few obligations. We pledge allegiance to the flag. We swear to return our library books. But as we get older we take vows, we make promises, we get burdened by commitments, to do no harm, to tell the truth and nothing but, to love and cherish till death do us part. So we just keep running up the tap until we owe everything to everybody and suddenly think... what the.
[voiceover] The thing about being a surgeon, everybody wants a piece of you. We take one little oath, and suddenly we're drowning in obligations. To our patients, to our colleagues, to medicine itself. So we do what any sane person would do. We run like hell from our promises, hoping they'll be forgotten. But sooner or later, they always catch up. And sometimes you find the obligation you dread the most isn't worth running from at all.
[voiceover] When you get sick, it starts out with a single bacterium. One lone nasty intruder. Pretty soon the intruder duplicates. Becomes two. Then those two become four. And those four become eight. Then, before your body knows it, it's under attack. It's an invasion. The question for a doctor is, once the invaders have landed, once they've taken over your body, how the hell do you get rid of them?
[voiceover] What do you do when the infection hits you, when it takes over? Do you do what you're supposed to and take your medicine? Or do you learn to live with the thing and hope someday it goes away? Or do you just give up entirely and let it kill you?
[voiceover] In order to get a good diagnosis, doctors have to constantly change their perspective. We start by getting the patient's point of view, though they often don't have a clue what's going on. So we look at the patient from every possible angle. We rule things out. We uncover new information, trying to get to what's actually wrong. We're asked for second opinions, hoping we'll see something others might have missed. For the patient, a fresh perspective can mean the difference between living and dying. For the doctor, it can mean you're picking a fight with everyone who got there before you.
[voiceover] It's impossible to describe the panic that comes over you when you're a surgeon and your pager goes off in the middle of the night. Your heart starts to race. Your mind freezes. Your fingers go numb. You're invested. There's someone's mom, someone's dad, someone's kid. And now it's on you because that someone's life is now in your hands. Surgeons, we're always investing in our patients. But when your patient's a child, you're not just invested, you're responsible. Responsible for whether or not that child survives, has a future. And that's enough to terrify anyone.
[voiceover] They say the bigger your investment, the bigger your return. But you have to be willing to take a chance. You have to understand, you might lose it all. But if you take that chance, if you invest wisely, the payoff might just surprise you.
[voiceover] Doctors live in a world of constant progress and forward motion. Stand still for a second, and you'll be left behind. But as hard as we try to move forward, as tempting as it is to never look back, the past always comes back to bite us in the ass. And as history shows us again and again, those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it.