When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi
Paul Kalanithi was a neurosurgeon with a bright future who was diagnosed with cancer while still in residency. How does a surgeon keep working once such a bleak diagnosis has been made? All the time and training and effort were now placed on a balance scale with family, and writing, his other passion. It became a time of doubt. And of determining what was important.
‘I began to realize that coming in such close contact with my own mortality had changed both nothing and everything. Before my cancer was diagnosed, I knew that someday I would die, but I didn’t know when. After the diagnosis, I knew that someday I would die, but I didn’t know when. But now I knew it acutely. The problem wasn’t really a scientific one. The fact of death is unsettling. Yet there is no other way to live.’
Paul comes to terms with the loss of a life before it’s lived, and subsequently loss from death. He asks the central question Is There Meaning to Life? Scientifically? And what about philosophically? What does it mean to have lived a worthwhile life? Is there meaning in a life lived intensely but also in a life lived without distinction? None of us has much time.
‘That morning, I made a decision: I would push myself to return to the OR. Why? Because I could. Because that’s who I was. Because I would have to learn to live in a different way, seeing death as an imposing itinerant visitor but knowing that even if I’m dying, until I actually die, I am still living.’
Paul Kalanithi raged against the dying of the light. He died in March 2015 from lung cancer.