The Truth About Healing

I woke up suddenly as my phone rang loudly. I looked at my clock - 3:30 am. I answered my phone quickly because it seemed as if it was ringing much louder than usual. I was needed at the hospital, scrubbed up, in 30 minutes for a stat angioplasty. The body knows no time, it will decide to stop working properly whenever it deems fit, regardless of the patient’s or hospital staff’s sleeping schedule. I was already in scrubs from a night shift prior. I brushed my hair and teeth, poured some iced coffee and headed to the hospital.
I typically enjoyed challenging cases, but this one proved to be more taxing than others. After a five hour surgery which consisted of cardiothoracic, neurology, vascular, and interventional radiology physician consults, and one team of fearless nurses who resuscitated the patient twice, the admit was stable and sent to recovery. By the time I scrubbed out and left the hospital, it was 10 am. I decided to stop by my favorite local coffee shop for breakfast and catch up on patient notes. It was nights like these where I often wondered about my career path in the larger context of life. What if I had chosen an easier job? Would I be married by now? Thirty and single, I felt discouraged often. I knew I had made many sacrifices to become a doctor and dedicate my life to medicine, teaching, and research. It was fulfilling and a perfect job for me. But it did not negate the fact that I had always wondered what life might have been like to have a wife, to have a family.
As these thoughts were running through my brain, I looked through the busy crowd of the coffee shop for answers. Through the quickly moving customer line, the hustle and bustle around the pickup counter, I saw dark brown hair with shiny, disorganized curls. Something about this girl interested me, she was smiling as she asked the barista how their day was. It was easy to see that she made the staff feel special with her kind conversation. I drew my attention back to my computer, reminding myself to stay focused on this research paper. Ten minutes later I heard a beautiful, soft laughter. My attention to the work in front of me lost again, I looked around the coffee shop. I discovered the brown curly hair belonged to a girl with dark green eyes and the beautiful, soft laugh. Maybe I gazed a little too long, since she turned and met my stare. I smiled and nonchalantly resumed typing away on my computer, though I wasn’t too focused on what I was writing. At this point, I began to feel tired from my busy night shift. I decided I needed another cup of coffee. Yes, that would help me focus on my studies instead of a pretty girl sitting two tables away. I stood up slowly, I felt awkward. Why was I experiencing an intense self consciousness? This wasn’t some special coffee shop and I wasn’t some V.I.P. I was just another face in the crowd, there wasn’t a justification for feeling nervous just to grab a cup of coffee. Since my last heartbreak three years ago, I refused to acknowledge romantic notions of any sort when it came to my personal life. Of course, I love love. Nothing brings me more joy than to watch my friends, family, or strangers find that happiness and unconditional support. However, I had come to terms that this was not in the cards for me, even if I secretly (but struggled to admit) wanted it. For this reason, on the occasion I met a beautiful girl who I might possibly have stronger feelings for, I felt the fluttering of anxiety and the tightness in my chest. Call it a protection mechanism, since I had not ever had much luck giving into these kinds of feelings.
I decided to ignore the sweaty palms and racing heart. I needed the coffee, and I had to finish this section of my dissertation. There was no time for silly little coffee shop crushes. I slowly approached the counter and studied the menu to look occupied. For someone who sees hundreds of patients a week, I still tend to struggle through social anxiety, even in public situations where I am completely anonymous. Every romantic partner I had ever had in the past found this quality to be a particularly heavy burden, so I adapted in order to mask the nerves. However, I had not quite mastered the mental aspect of finding peace and contentment in social situations. As I gazed intently at the menu, I debated ordering my usual or branching out…
“You should try the shaken espresso.”
The voice was soft and sweet, but startled me. I turned around and met bright green eyes. I struggled to respond quickly as I sorted through my jumbled thoughts.
“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I just saw you looking confused at the menu. A friend got me the shaken espresso three weeks ago and I haven’t been able to stop drinking it.”
Her kind and gentle tone put me at ease. I smiled and laughed as I admitted “you didn’t scare me, I just wasn’t expecting it.” I paused for a split second to observe her dark brown curly hair, her beautiful smile set in between two dimples, and her nose sprinkled with subtle freckling. “Thanks for the suggestion, I will definitely try that.”
She smiled back at me and nodded. I turned back around towards the counter and that is when I felt my heart begin to pound. This gorgeous girl started a conversation with me, and I immediately killed it. Say something to her, I repeated to myself. I turned around and she was already looking at me.
“How did you know I was thinking of a new drink to order?” I asked. I am so awkward, I thought to myself, but it’s better than silence.
“I guess I am just good at reading people,” she said with a sassy half smile.
“Okay, then how did you know I would like coffee and not tea or juice?”
She directed her attention back to the table I had set up my computer and notebooks. “You’ve been drinking coffee all morning, no?”
I did not realize she had been watching me while I was studying and writing. “You are very observant.”
“Only when I want to be,” she quickly replied.
I laughed and looked at the ground. I wasn’t as skilled at prompt responses like she was. How is it that talking to patients comes so naturally to me, but as soon as I am attracted to someone, I fumble with my words? I would have thought by thirty years of age, I would have figured this out by now.
“What are you studying for?” She filled in the awkward silence.
“I’m actually writing a dissertation.”
“Oh my God, that is intense. May I ask the topic?”
Anytime someone brought forward this question, I struggled to decide whether I would explain my research in depth or attempt to butcher my thesis into digestible terms. From experience, I had learned that most people don’t want to hear my nerdy ideas on neuron regeneration. No one I had ever dated wanted to listen to, nor discuss, my theories with me because they were “boring.” I did not want the conversation to die, so I decided to reword my thesis. “I am writing about healing the nervous system.”
She dug further, “what’s your hypothesis?”
“Uh, well, specifically?”
“Yes, give me the details!” She responded excitedly.
Was she actually interested in my topic, or just trying to be nice?
The barista saying “Next in line, please” snapped me out of focus.
I ordered my shaken espresso and turned to smile at my new friend. She blushed and smiled at the ground.
She met me at the espresso bar a couple minutes later where we both waited for our drinks.
“So, I’m dying to know!”
“Okay, well, specifically I am investigating the regulation of astrocytes in the response to acute trauma to the neurons of the central and peripheral nervous system.”
Now it was her turn to struggle for words to say. She looked at me stunned.
I laughed and began thinking of a way to change the subject. I did not expect her to keep asking questions.
“Why are you focusing on the astrocytes and not the stem cells?”
“Astrocytes are the supporting cells in the nervous system that secrete biochemicals in response to trauma or stress that can cause permanent scarring of neurons and impair their ability to regenerate. We have techniques to encourage the growth and rewiring of neurons. We have discovered the power of manipulating stem cells to repair lesions. But no one has addressed the extracellular environment that prevents your neurons from spontaneously regenerating or remyelinating.”
She smiled big, “You are so crazy smart.”
I hated compliments, so I deflected, “I tend to equate this more to curiosity than smarts.”
My drink was ready, I took a sip. “This is so good! I’m glad I trusted you.”
“Right?” Her eyes sparkled.
I walked back to my seat and reoriented. I took a couple deep, slow breaths to ground myself. I could not believe that interaction just happened. Furthermore, I could not believe she was walking up to me yet again.
“My name is Vanessa by the way, I am so glad I talked to you!”
“I’m Ava.” I reached out to shake her hand. I looked her up and down so I would not forget her. She wore a dark green silk button down that complimented her tan complexion, tucked into simple, dark blue jeans. They were fringed at the bottom and stopped just above her ankles to show her black loafers. All her jewelry was gold to match her black leather belt with a gold buckle. I was intimidated by her style and natural beauty. I wondered how her skin glowed without any makeup. “And I am glad I met you too, now I have a new favorite drink.”
She looked straight into my eyes and my heart fluttered a bit, “maybe the next time I see you, you’ll have the cure for Parkinson’s Disease.”
She waved at me while walking away, grabbed her bag from her seat and left the coffee shop. I kicked myself for not asking for her contact information.