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Re: A Beautiful story

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So much truth to this. Really touched my soul!!!!! Thanks for finding

this!!! Ingrid

>

> I'll post this on the ccsupportstories board but thought you'd all

like to

> read this.

>

> It really puts disease in perspective. In this case it is chronic

Crohn's

> disease but the feelings

> are similar.

>

>

> From: " altman23 " <altman23@>

> Date: Sat Aug 3, 2002 1:03 am

> Subject: A Beautiful Read altman23

> Offline

> Send Email

>

>

> http://www.cmbm.org/conferences/ccc2001/Transcripts/Remen.htm

>

>

> Life is full of mystery. There are many things that we cannot

> understand, but we can witness and even know in ourselves. In

truth,

> we all know many things that we cannot measure. And over the

years, I

> have found in a lot of circumstances, knowing something may be much

> more important than understanding it or being able to measure it.

>

> I've been a physician for 38 years, and I've taught on the faculty

of

> three major medical schools. I'm trained as a researcher. And for

the

> last 30 years, I've cared for people with cancer and listened to

> their stories. And on the basis of all this experience in

medicine, I

> would really want to say that it's possible to research and study

and

> measure life for many years without knowing life at all. You know,

> some of the important things about life cannot be learned through

> analysis. It can be only learned by experiencing life whole. And so

> it may be important for us all to consider the possibility that

> science may have defined life too small, because when we define

life

> too small, we define our work too small, and we define ourselves

too

> small as well. And I have actually come to think that life might

best

> be defined, not by science, but by mystery.

>

> I want to start with a story here about the first time that I

noticed

> the will to live. And it was something that changed my life, so I

> remember exactly where I was at the time. I was 14 years old, and I

> was walking up Fifth Avenue between 34th Street and 35th Street on

a

> Saturday morning with two of my friends, and we were doing what

young

> teenagers did on Saturday morning in the '50s: We were shopping.

>

> And as we walked up the street, a little flash of green caught my

> eye. And there, growing right through the New York City sidewalk

were

> two tiny green blades of grass. Now, they weren't growing through a

> crack in the sidewalk. They were growing right through the cement.

> And this, of course, stopped us all cold. Now we were very

> sophisticated young people. We were 14 years old, but of course, we

> were New Yorkers. So we knew quite a bit about power. But none of

us

> had ever encountered this kind of power before.

>

> And I remembered it for years, the image of the two little tender

> blades of grass coming right through the cement. I remembered --

even

> before I had a glimmer of its personal significance and meaning for

> me, because at the time I saw it, it struck me as a kind of a

miracle.

>

> Now, about a year later, when I was 15 years old and I was

diagnosed

> with Crohn's disease, the disease that I've lived with for all of

my

> life, a group of experts in white coats gathered around me and my

> family, and they told us the facts. No one knew what caused this

> disease. No one had any idea how to cure it. I would have multiple

> surgeries and I would die by the time I was 40.

>

> Now, at 15, this was not my dream of the future. I had something

else

> in mind. So it was a time of great darkness and despair. And I come

> from a very medical family: In two generations of my family, there

> are nine physicians and three nurses. And so we never questioned

what

> the experts had told us, and I made many life decisions based on

this

> information, decisions about marriage and children. It didn't seem

> right to me to start something that I knew that I was not going to

be

> able to finish. It would be years before I would make the

connection

> between the two little blades of grass that I had seen the year

> before and myself.

>

> Thinking back on this, if only one of the many physicians around me

> had suggested that it might be possible for me to find something in

> me that could break through this obstacle of this disease,

something

> that medicine could not measure, even understand, that perhaps I

> could strengthen this in myself. It would have made a great

> difference to me. But no one did. And now that I've been a

physician

> myself all these years, I think I understand why.

>

> My doctors didn't tell me because they simply didn't know. You do

not

> find will to live under W in Essentials of Internal Medicine. This

is

> not something you learn from a medical textbook. This is something

> you learn only by being open to observing life itself.

>

> You know, why allow mystery in life? In the presence of mystery,

life

> becomes more filled with possibility, more inspiring actually,

> somehow larger. And in allowing a larger and more mysterious

> definition of life than science may offer us, we may discover one

of

> mystery's greatest gifts, which happens to be hope. Now, you know,

> it's really sad, because the facts in my situation have never

> changed. There is still no known cause for Crohn's disease and

still

> no definitive cure. I live with this problem daily. I've had eight

> major abdominal surgeries. I no longer have most of my intestine.

But

> I have not been dead these past 23 years. (Laughter)

>

> So I suppose I'm here to remind you that what was in those two

little

> green blades of grass is in us all. You know, whenever there's a

> difference between the facts and the stories, you're in the

presence

> of mystery. And life is often not limited by the facts. Life is

> filled with mystery. The world is not made up of facts. The world

is

> made up of stories. And each of our stories is as unique as our

> fingerprints. Each of us is a story that has never happened in the

> history of the world before. You know, a diagnosis is a

confrontation

> with the unknown, an encounter with mystery, and it would be good

to

> acknowledge the mystery in things just a little bit more -- as

> friends, as family, as health professionals, certainly as

physicians.

> I think it's very important to be able to say that the diagnosis is

> cancer or Crohn's disease or whatever, but I think we also need to

> add that what that will mean remains to be seen, and then become a

> part of someone's story as they live it out.

>

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