When I found out I’d be delivering the graduation speech, I was elated. But as the realization set in, I panicked. How do you write a graduation speech to summarize a journey that showed us life, death, suffering and salvation? I really didn’t know where to begin. It’s been three years, or 36 months, or 1,095 days, or 26,280 hours, or 1,576,800 minutes, or exactly 94,608,000 seconds since residency started. You get the point. It’s been a long journey—at least 23 years of education—and it’s finally coming to an end. How could I explain this journey in the best way possible? So I tried to find another journey that could compete with our ridiculous one. And then it came to me: “Lord of the Rings” and the journey through “Middle-earth.” Let me clarify some similarities between the two journeys: “Lord of the Rings” starts with a handful of strangers who are assembled and led by a white-haired wizard atop a horse. We’ll call him Gandalf. Our class started off with a handful of strangers, who were assembled and led by a white-haired individual atop a motorcycle. We’ll call this man Dr. Lane. (Dr. Lane, I guess horses aren’t really that fashionable anymore?) Frodo and his pack were the first group Gandalf assembled. The class of 2013 was the first class Dr. Lane assembled. I would like to point out that it was the best class he ever assembled. Ahem. Thank you. In “Lord of the Rings,” the days were tough, the hours long, and the rest little. Our class was the last one to experience “real” medicine, before ACGME, the governing body, imposed limits on resident working hours to a maximum of 16 per shift. That meant, for us, the days were tough, the hours long, and the rest, little. Like Frodo forced to eat stale bread and water, our meals during calls often comprised of saltine crackers and ginger ale from the emergency room pantry. In the journey through Middle-earth, Frodo and his team were often travelling all day and sleeping short hours. Like them, we worked long hours and sometimes never saw the sight of a bed during our 30-hour calls. Sméagol was often a big hindrance and threat during the journey through Middle-earth. Although I haven’t seen any slimy bald hobbits crawling around at New Britain hospital, I know that we have all fought our own demons in the past three years. Although we were a bit weary of one another initially, like Legolas was to the red-haired dwarf, we soon realized that in strangers we can find family. In both stories, by the end, these strangers had become inseparable, their lives being intertwined forever. Gandalf was always aware of his team’s strengths before they realized it themselves. Dr. Lane, not surprisingly, knew of our potential before we were tested. And lastly, Gandalf was always the biggest supporter, advocate and guardian of his team. Even when he wasn’t physically around, he was present in spirit. Dr. Lane was no different. His unwavering faith in his team and unconditional support and encouragement led his team to where they stand today: graduation. When the end was near and the travelers tired, Gandalf sent in eagles to fly them home. Dr. Lane went a step ahead: he didn’t just give us wings, he taught us how to fly. I guess in that sense, wizards come in many forms. They don’t all have to come on horses with long white hair billowing in the mountain wind. Carson Mullers once said, “The closest thing to being cared for is to care for someone else.” In that sense, we have all been well cared for these past three years. At some point, all of us realized that we had taken not only taken the Hippocratic oath, but also a personal one to be a lifelong caregiver. Unknowingly, the same patients we took care of were also the ones taking care of us. As we travelled this road, we provided care in many different forms. It wasn’t always administering the right medication at the right time. Sometimes it meant holding a wife’s hand while her husband took his last breath, or bringing water to a patient who had just passed his swallow test after a stroke. In that respect, defining a physician was a little tough. So I decided to look up the definition. I went to Webster’s Dictionary, and it said: “a person skilled in the art of healing.” I was intrigued. This was a very unconventional definition, a broad one that encompassed many unsaid truths. Knowingly and unknowingly, we heal in many ways. Sometimes, a human touch is all that is needed between sickness and health. There is so much to the art of healing that we are still learning that I cannot begin to unveil today. However, I do remember that healers have been linked to divinity in ancient times, because they were a means of guarding and safekeeping our most prized possession: our health. Healers are no different today. They work hard to preserve health and ultimately, life. A smart man once said to Peter Parker that, “with great power comes great responsibility.” I am reminded today, of how true it rings for all of us on this day when we will finally take our solo flight. We have been given this gift: the opportunity of being able to protect life. With that immense ability comes an even greater responsibility. In a world where war is ever prevalent, where hatred lurks in school yards, buses and in places of worship, the hospital is perhaps one place where everyone is treated equally, regardless of creed, race or social status. As a healer, then, we have the ability to convey a strong message: If people are mandated to receive the same quality of medical care, why shouldn’t we be mandated to treat everyone with the same love and respect we reserve for our friends and family? In medical school, we were given the privilege to dissect a human body. More than just teaching us about human anatomy, it reinforced the fact that we are identical inside. Although it’s been a long journey, I’m glad we took it together. We are leaving today having made countless memories together. Like “The Fellowship of the Ring,” our journey has come to an end. Everything we have been through in the past three years will never be forgotten. The lessons we had to learn in the toughest of situations will continue to mold us through our lifetime. Nothing worth having in life comes without sacrifice. And residency was no different. In order to be where we are today, we have had to sacrifice the things we cherished and the time we spent with people we love. I just wanted to say, on behalf of you all, a thank you to our loved ones for enduring this journey with us. A thank you to our dedicated faculty whose time spent with us often meant missing their child’s recital or science project. It takes a village to raise a child. And although we are no longer children, it definitely took a hospital to raise a doctor. We thank you today for every time we forgot to acknowledge an act of kindness bestowed upon us. I know we will never forget the last three years, our teachers, or each other. The end is today, but our fellowship will endure for many years to come. So let us celebrate what we have been looking forward to for so many years, and let us make this a night to remember. In the words of Tolkien, “If this is to be our end, then I would have them make such an end, as to be worthy of remembrance.” Source
