Risk-Taker

I was shocked and horrified by the loss of three amazing people in the last week: a female neurosurgery resident at my hospital (car accident post-call), a friend from college (working in Haiti for the CDC during the earthquake), and the 21 year old luger from Georgia.  All phenomenal people doing risky things while pursuing their passions.

When I was watching the Olympics last night, one of the news anchors talked about risk-takers.  About how the athletes who compete in the ever increasingly dangerous Winter Games are the types of people who love to live a risky lifestyle.  Interestingly, the anchor said, "You probably don't want to be married to one of these."

Though I don't generally hurtle myself down slick ice at 90 miles per hour, I think that in our own way, surgeons are the Winter Olympians of medicine.  What we do every day is risky.  It requires physical stamina, concentration, and being on top of your game every single time we step in the OR.  It requires practice, perseverance, and a certain degree of out-of-body experience.  It requires a huge time commitment.  It requires special equipment that can make or break the operation.  It requires us to put aside our fear...of needlesticks, infectious diseases, and injuries...for the greater good.  If a host of these factors don't come together, it means a bad day, not just for us, but for the person under our hands.

Surgery attracts a certain risk-taker personality, just as the risky sports of the Winter Games.  I think this translates not only into our professional lives, but in our personal lives, too.  We also take on risky sports (as an aside, I went skiing again today and all I wanted was to go hurtling down that mountain with the greatest of ease), fast cars, and alcohol. 

Hell, I realized this week, that I take risks in relationships.  I love a challenge, and I feel that there is no challenge in relationships that can't be undertaken.  Orthodox religion, long-distance, long-term long-distance, complete opposite, rich/poor, much younger/much older.  No matter the warning signs, I've tried it.  I've crashed and burned too many times to count.

So, as I work on recovering from yet another crash, have I learned my lesson?  Will I take the bunny hill instead of the black diamond?  The clinic life instead of the big whack?  Now, what's the excitement in that.