Physician Looks to the Stars

My third year of medical school was exhausting. My female classmates and I were wearied by clinical rotations and hospital calls.

And then we heard the news. An asteroid shower was scheduled to pass over our area. A couple of classmates and I headed to the local mountains. We had no idea where we would stop to watch the sky, but we hoped our view would be clearer up there. And it was.

It was breathtaking. The sheer number of stars was overwhelming. I thought I knew the constellations until that night.

Stretching out on the grass, I was reminded of grade school history lessons. Images of ancient mariners, explorers, and slaves seeking freedom filled my mind. The stars over my head were the same stars that guided these nighttime travelers as they navigated uncertainty, risked their lives for freedom, and lived to tell. And then, without warning, the asteroid shower passed overhead.

We were shivering, from a mix of cold and amazement, as we got back in the car, only to discover the car would not start. We were stranded on a sparsely traveled mountain road, in the dead of night, with temperatures dropping.

We stood there by the road, wondering what we would do if a car didn't pass by. And conversely, what to do if one did.

I'll never forget the driver of that Jeep Cherokee, as he pulled over. He was a white-haired older gentleman, with a back seat full of his grandson's stuffed animals. He was headed to our area, on his way to a swing shift at a local water-bottling plant.

Arriving home that night, it felt like I had been gone for a month. Everything felt different. I had courage and the certainty that I would make it.

Many years have passed since that night on the mountain. My friends and I are now wives and mothers with busy practices, and a new set of worries. But this story has always stuck with me. I always smile as I glance at the sky. It is as if the stars are whispering, "This too shall pass; hang in there, you'll find your way."