Saturday, March 15, 2008
Becoming a healer, part 1
While I maintain that my desire to become a doctor didn't take hold until my sophomore year of college, I find a few memories of my childhood that betray my innate desire for healing others. I remember our Fisher Price doctor's kits, in the black faux-leather bag with the interlocking plastic handles. The stethoscope that actually did work somewhat aas an amplifier, but not enough to really hear heart sounds, which was of course a disappointment. I think there's something captivating about uncovering the mysteries of the human body that even a five-year-old could have appreciated if given a real stethoscope. I was also disappointed to find that the thermometer didn't actually give a temperature reading, but merely had a red line that gradually turned to show "fever" and if you kept turning, would return to normal. The greatest addition to our kits was the Ace bandage that showed up probably soon after we started playing soccer (and therefore would have probably "needed" it frequently). This was such a great replacement for the plastic band-aids and casts that were hardly convincing, and I remember we would spend hours wrapping and re-wrapping each-other's wrists and ankles, pretending that we were truly injured and in need of a doctor's touch. I remember one time Michelle got wrapped up and limped around the house, fooling my parents into thinking she had really hurt herself. Perhaps this was the "cry wolf" that made them not believe her years later when she shattered her tibia and my mom told her to "Get up and walk on it." I think even then, the Ace bandage provided us with an outlet for what I think is one of the most basic human instincts: to love each other. In a very simple, playful way, we were taking care of each other, trying to prove our ability to heal part of someone's life. That's what excites me even now about being a doctor. I think the desire to love is one of two yearnings burned into us at the moment of our creation, the other being a longing for Truth. Too bad there are no Fisher Price kits to help us out with this one.
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1 comment:
I think "shattered" is probably too strong a word for what happened to my tibia. But I appreciate the exaggeration.
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