We are fascinating creatures. We possess an inherent and intuitive desire to count, organize, and sequence virtually everything. Before humans even understood exactly how or why the Earth orbits the sun, the planet's annual trip around its central star became the benchmark measurement for all significant events of history, as well as those of each individual lifetime.
That the 365 rotations of the Earth on its axis correlates with a single trip around the sun is arbitrary and unique to this particular rock circling this particular ball of fire. Yet the "year," subdivided into "months" (patterned on the Earth's own orbiting rock), further divided into "days" by the illusory rising and setting of the sun, is how we measure, collate, and define our lives, accomplishments, and memories. That a person remained alive, married, employed, or remembered for yet another trip around the sun, is routinely celebrated. This is especially true for a first anniversary, and also for those at 5 or 10 year intervals. This is an arbitrary cultural manifestation of biologic natural selection favoring our ancestors who more frequently survived their primitive environments with 5 digits on each hand, and eventually developed a base10 numerical system.
The first date many of us learn and commit to instant recall memory is our own birthday. For me, November 18, 1967. Kids can reflexively report how old they are and instantly flash the right number of fingers. Kindergarteners finally put their naturally selected thumbs to good use, proudly spreading all 5 digits in response to "So how old are you?" At some point, maybe late 20s or mid 30s, the birth year suddenly becomes very important as a pause for quick calculation becomes necessary to determine age. Hmmm...it's 2014, I was born in '67...guess I'll be...uuhhhh...47 in November so I must be 46. Yeah, I'm 46. Really? I'm gonna be 47 this year? Sheesh.
Life progresses and other important dates are impressed upon memory, like the birthdays of parents and siblings (cake!!), and important recurring holidays like Valentine's Day (candy!! February 14th!), Halloween (candy!! October 31!), and Easter (candy!! um..when is Easter, exactly?). Only the naiveté of a child could foster contemplation of how cool it must have been for Jesus to have a birthday (December 25, 0000) on Christmas Day. Double presents!The dates of historic events that occurred before we were born become part of our shared experience and could sometimes be contextualized by parents or grandparents. Certain dates have always carried great weight and gravitas as far back as I can remember. July 4, 1776...December 7, 1941...November 22, 1963...May 4, 1970 (my Dad was a student at Kent State and we were all there). I lived through many, many April 19ths before I knew that would be my wife's birthday. August 4th came and went a couple dozen times before it became my wedding day on August 4, 1995, our 1st anniversary in 1996, and will be our 20th in 2015. Those dates are now enshrined in my personal Calendar Date Hall of Fame (and damn well better not be forgotten!). The births of kids on September 2, 1997; June 19, 2000; and January 9, 2002 are among the most special of dates. I succeeded in flawlessly rattling them off rapid-fire in a pre-op urology clinic interview, an amusing quiz to make certain that I was indeed satisfied with the kids I already had and was ready for a vasectomy.
I can distinctly recall how September 11th, 2001 changed from a simple quiet morning in the ER, where I had already written that meaningless date on half-a-dozen charts, to a day that everybody knew, even as it had barely unfolded, would be "one of those dates." September 13th, 2008 drew a line in the sand that everybody here in Galveston knows distinctly marks the "pre-Ike" and "post-Ike" periods of our lives. It was with wistful sadness and moist-eyed joy that recent commemorations reminded me that my entire life and generation are encompassed within and profoundly influenced by the 50 year-long shadow of JFK in Dallas (November 22, 1963) and the Beatles on Ed Sullivan (February 9, 1964).As you grow older, you don't expect or hope to add more landmark dates to the list. Maybe a grandchild's birthday (in many, many, MANY years!!!). One year ago, at age 45 (um wait I was born in '67...about to make reference to summer of 2013...so yeah, 45) I added a new one: The day-I-had-a-seizure-while-giving-a-lecture-to-the-medical-students-on-their-first-day-of-school and got-diagnosed-with-a-brain-tumor. My own personal Pearl Harbor Day. I'll always remember exactly where I was and exactly what I was doing when that happened. I hope the events of that day not only made for a unique and memorable first-day-of-medical-school story for that auditorium full of future physicians, but impressed upon them the way an ordinary August 26th can abruptly, and with only subtle warning, become August 26th, 2013, a date dramatically altering a person's health, hopes, and identity from that day forward...or possibly even that final bookend date to be chiseled on their tombstone.
Almost a year ago, I went to work on August 26th blissfully unaware of the 3.5cm time bomb ticking in my right temporal lobe, which was removed on September 25, 2013. This coming August 26th I'll already be recovered from a second procedure to remove a 1cm recurrence discovered just this week. I'm moving on to the terrible twos with hopeful plans to make it to kindergarten and beyond.
Put away the chisel for now.
- kpb 8/12/14
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