Scorched Earth
Another moment of which I have no recollection. I’m pretty sure I’m holding my brother-in-law’s first daughter at his paternal grandmother’s on Thanksgiving, but I wouldn’t swear to it. I’m getting those details strictly from the photo.
The other night the hunny and I were in search of mindless viewing, and we landed on what turned out to be the fairly ridiculous Reign of Fire. If you haven’t seen it, it stars Christian Bale and Matthew McConaughey in a post-apocalyptic Great Britain where dragons terrorize what is left of humanity. Yes, really. And the rest of the cast isn’t a bunch of unknowns. Gerard Butler is even in it, for goodness’ sake. As you might imagine, the film is full of fairly memorable scenes of scorched earth, aggressive dragons, and human angst—things one would think would jog the memory.
As we watched, and different big names kept popping up on the screen, I would say, “Huh! Look at that!” or “Wow! There’s so-and-so.” At the end, when the movie ended and went to the title screen and revealed its 2002 release date, I was dumbfounded. I turned to James and said, “2002? I can’t believe we haven’t come across this at some point over the last 20 years.
He looked me dead in the eye and replied, “We watched it in the theater.”
I had absolutely no recollection of having seen this movie, or even of its existence in general. No recollection at all.
Again I was taken aback, but this time it wasn’t about the movie itself but about my lack of memory. In all honesty, I never remember a movie in detail. As a matter of fact, usually I can initially only recall either that I have seen it or not and maybe some general plot points. If I happen to rewatch it, certain scenes will be familiar, but overall, I just get to have the fun of watching it again with little knowledge of the details. I do, however, always recall having seen the ones I have seen. Well, at least, I thought I was always recalling the ones I had seen.
That I didn’t remember this film disturbed me, so I started to dig into that a bit, and it didn’t take me but a second to realize that this movie came out while I was in residency. Residency is that time in a physician’s life after medical school but before private practice when we train in earnest. Medical school is about learning the theory and science behind medicine. Residency is when we begin to understand how to apply what we have learned. I trained before today’s laws limiting the number of hours a resident could work were put in place, so thirty-six or forty hour days happened twice a week most weeks, and for those of us hungry to spread our wings, moonlighting often meant those hours were longer, and the forty hour days happened more frequently. Life was medicine and the pursuit of wisdom and skill. We lived in a state of anticipation of the arrival of “some day” when all the effort being put in and time apart would be rewarded by being able to pay bills before the overdue notice or having to rob Peter to pay Paul. “Some day” it would all be worthwhile.
I do remember much of that time. I remember the schizophrenic patient who took three buses to her appointments with me in clinic and who was beside herself with pride that she was one of the home visits I made to fulfill that training requirement. I remember the alcoholic gentleman who didn’t fit the mold and went into delirium tremens ten days after stopping drinking. I remember finding and mixing my own clot buster for my first heart attack patient in the four bed rural emergency department where I was moonlighting because the lone nurse was busy starting an IV and doing all of the other things he needed. I remember the 15-year-old who grabbed me by the collar and pulled me to her screaming, “THIS IS NOT RIGHT!” when we started oxytocin to make her contractions more effective, i.e. stronger. I remember a lot.
But I don’t remember the date with my husband where we went to see Reign of Fire, and now I wonder what other precious moments I have lost. What conversations with my mom and dad? What sweet snuggles stolen with my Chelsea girl?
At the time I did realize I was sacrificing experience in one place for time in another. I knew I was missing things, and I was willing to accept that because I felt the ends would justify the means. I made a conscious decision to pack every moment to its absolute fullest.
Now, though, in retrospect, I realize that I wasn’t just sacrificing by spending more time at work than at home, but I was also filling my life so full that I couldn’t fully live the moments I did have to relax. I was filling life so full that I wouldn’t remember the details of the life I was living.
Life is short. Believing that living it to its fullest requires every second to be brimming with activity and novel experiences makes sense. I would like, however, to posit a different theory—one more along the “quality over quantity” line. What if, in order to live life to its fullest, we should slow down and have fewer novel experiences and more fully present ones? What if those sixty hour work weeks fatigue us so badly that we can’t remember the beautiful moments that take place on the two days we have off? What is the value of a beautiful moment if it is lost without memory when it is gone?
I know countless people who work sixty to seventy-two hour work weeks to pay for second or third wives and huge homes and private schools and keeping up with the Joneses. While I worried about them before I watched this silly movie, now I worry about them more and in a different way. Will they reach a ripe old age only to have forgotten all but the time spent toiling away to provide the moments they have forgotten? Maybe not, but then again, maybe.
I continue to pull at the this thread of thought snagged by a silly dragon movie.
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Unless otherwise noted, all material--written, photographic, and artistic--is the original work of Estora Adams. All rights reserved.