I have to address something quickly before diving into the review. A lovely coworker of mine featured my blog in the 12th floor newsletter! So thank you to any new readers who may have started following along. She mentioned that my next post may be a how-to knitting book, so I'm sorry if anyone was looking forward to that. In reality, I know the majority of my "audience" is probably random 20-some year old friends of mine who notice my link on Facebook, so I'm thinking you all aren't too devastated that I strayed from a knitting book. Hope you enjoy this lovely book below....
When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi
After reading this book, I thought this review would be really easy for me to write. The writing style and the philosophy behind the book pull at your heartstrings enough to make you want to talk about how amazing the book is. But this review in particular has taken me a few weeks to actually sit down and write.
The author, Paul, is coming to the fruition of his education as a neurosurgeon. Countless hours have been spent working towards his goal of being a doctor. When he finally sees the end in sight, he is diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. Paul Kalanithi passed away March 2015 while working on this book. It was published posthumously January 2016. Reading this short summary while standing in Barnes and Nobles was enough to peak my interest, but I had no idea how deeply Paul's writing would connect with me on a personal level.
Paul opens the book discussing his diagnosis with cancer. I was pretty surprised he decided to start the book with that. Especially since there was a lot of the book left to read, and I know from personal experience that cancer does not give you that much time. I was a little afraid he would discuss the ugly side of cancer too much. The sick, the death, the pain. Luckily he did not take that turn. He delves back into his past to talk about his early education in English, life with his wife, and changing his path to medicine. He takes you through the struggle of medical school and the grueling hours. Paul talks about his constant struggle with wanting to treat people as people instead of a diagnosis on a piece of paper. And then the tables are flipped on him when he is diagnosed. He suddenly becomes the patient and the statistic. He goes from working full time, 100 miles per hour, and in control of his life, to an abrupt halt. His doctor urges him to go after his passion because there is no guarantee in a successful recovery. He has to decide if that is continuing in the medical field or following his first passion and writing a book. Obviously, we are reading the product of his choice.
This book is about looking mortality in the face and doing so with a thirst for knowledge. The beauty of the book is that you get to view it from the perspective of both the doctor and the patient. It is hard to give this book the justice it deserves. For that reason, I am going to finish the review by quoting a paragraph from the epilogue written by his wife, Lucy.
The author, Paul, is coming to the fruition of his education as a neurosurgeon. Countless hours have been spent working towards his goal of being a doctor. When he finally sees the end in sight, he is diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. Paul Kalanithi passed away March 2015 while working on this book. It was published posthumously January 2016. Reading this short summary while standing in Barnes and Nobles was enough to peak my interest, but I had no idea how deeply Paul's writing would connect with me on a personal level.
Paul opens the book discussing his diagnosis with cancer. I was pretty surprised he decided to start the book with that. Especially since there was a lot of the book left to read, and I know from personal experience that cancer does not give you that much time. I was a little afraid he would discuss the ugly side of cancer too much. The sick, the death, the pain. Luckily he did not take that turn. He delves back into his past to talk about his early education in English, life with his wife, and changing his path to medicine. He takes you through the struggle of medical school and the grueling hours. Paul talks about his constant struggle with wanting to treat people as people instead of a diagnosis on a piece of paper. And then the tables are flipped on him when he is diagnosed. He suddenly becomes the patient and the statistic. He goes from working full time, 100 miles per hour, and in control of his life, to an abrupt halt. His doctor urges him to go after his passion because there is no guarantee in a successful recovery. He has to decide if that is continuing in the medical field or following his first passion and writing a book. Obviously, we are reading the product of his choice.
This book is about looking mortality in the face and doing so with a thirst for knowledge. The beauty of the book is that you get to view it from the perspective of both the doctor and the patient. It is hard to give this book the justice it deserves. For that reason, I am going to finish the review by quoting a paragraph from the epilogue written by his wife, Lucy.
This book carries the urgency of racing against time, of having importing things to say. Paul confronted death -- examined it, wrestled with it, accepted it -- as a physician and a patient. He wanted to help people understand death and face their mortality. Dying in one's fourth decade is unusual now, but dying is not. "The thing about lung cancer is that it's not exotic," Paul wrote in an email to his best friend, Robin. "It's just tragic enough and just imaginable enough. [The reader] can get into these shoes, walk a bit, and say, 'So that's what it looks like from here ... sooner or later I'll be back here in my own shoes.' That's what I'm aiming for, I think. Not the sensationalism of dying, and not the exhortation to gather rosebuds, but: Here's what lies up ahead on the road." Of course he did more than just describe the terrain. He traversed it bravely.
