when breath becomes air summary and review
Introduction of when breath becomes air by paul kalanithi
Only a thousand of the world’s people will suffer from lung cancer before the age of 36, and Paul Kalanithi is one of them. When you read this book, he is no longer alive. Paul has a double degree in English Literature and Human Biology from Stanford University, and a Masters in Science History and Philosophy from the University of Cambridge, England. He received his Ph.D. in Medicine from Yale University with honors and is about to receive a professorship in Stanford Medical School. Host your own research room. In 2013, Paul, who was about to reach the peak of his life, was suddenly diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer. Since then, he has begun to record the rest of his life as a doctor and patient, reflecting on medical and human nature. His articles were published in the New York Times, The Washington Post, and other media, and received global reader attention. The book when breath becomes air by paul kalanithi is beautiful and sincere, and the book has deep meditation on human nature, life and death, and medical care, which has made many readers around the world move.
How to evaluate paul kalanithi book when breath becomes air
I saw a brief introduction to the author Paul Kathathini on the youtube channel of Stanford University more than a year ago. At that time, he paid a little attention to him and later forgot. Recently, the school sent an e-mail to inform everyone that his family Lucy would come to the school to open a reading session. Only then did Paul and Lucy both be alumni of our medical school, and I suddenly became interested in his book. Amazon’s delivery was fast, and I got the book two days later. Because I am an alumnus and a person in the medical field, his words make me feel familiar. I am imagining the classrooms where I usually fight day and night, the dissection room, and the library have always left Paul’s fingerprints. The air here was once He breathed, the professor’s guidance was once engraved into his heart, I did not consciously bring myself into his role, feel his life in the first person, he explored in the desert of Arizona when he was a child, he experienced cruel neurosurgery Resident training, he couldn’t stand the pain in the aisle in New York’s train station. After he got the diagnosis, he and Lucy were crying in the hospital. He said goodbye to the future that was radiant but suddenly dimmed. After the last surgery, he refused the ventilator and said “I am ready” to receive the last dose of morphine.
Today, I had dinner with my roommate. He told me that the hospital’s internal medicine was also suffering from brain cancer. I suddenly felt a feeling of collapse. The disease and death were actually close to us. We as a doctor could not help but become a patient at the same time. This is unimaginable to us – tomorrow I will lie on the bed of the patient who just fell asleep? As Paul wrote, as medical students and doctors, we don’t ask why it is me. We want to know the prognosis of Kaplan-Meyer survival curve. I want to know if the efficacy of first-line second-line and third-line drugs can change the curve of this crazy fall, but in the end. We all have to accept that kind of — can I become a patient alone?
After listening to the news of hospitalized total brain cancer, I went back to read the last pages of the book. I thought that this book would have a beginning and a end. I didn’t expect the middle to be broken. Just like Paul’s life stopped, I could not help but imagine. When he finished the last few words, did his back hurt so that he could not mention the pen? Or did he suddenly start vomiting? Or is it…? Forever question mark. After reading the postscript written by Lucy, she wrote that she had sang for the last time Paul, who was facing Cady and had stopped breathing, and Bedtime said that the last final parting, my eyes were wet – just like this, suddenly, the end ?
The events described in the book are based on the memories of Dr. Kalaniti and real situations. The names of patients, their age, gender, nationality, profession, marital status, place of residence, medical history and / or diagnosis, as well as the names of colleagues, friends and doctors of Dr. Kalaniti, except one, have been changed. All coincidences with living or dead people, arising from the change of names and details of personal life, are accidental and unintentional.
Preface of the literary critic [ when breath becomes air summary and review ]
It seems to me that the preface to this book is more like a conclusion. When it comes to the Kalaniti Field, time is reversed. To begin with, it is worth mentioning that I truly recognized Paul only after his death (I beg you to show leniency to me). The closest thing I met him when he was no longer with us.
Due to the diagnosis of sex, I was thinking not only about his immortal death, but also about mine.
I met Paul at Stanford in early February 2014. At that time, the New York Times just published his essay, “How much is left?” which caused an incredible response from readers. In just a few days, it spread at an unprecedented rate (I am an infectious disease specialist, so forgive me for not using the “virus speed” metaphor). After that, Paul wanted to meet with me to ask about literary agents, publishers and various subtleties associated with the publication. He decided to write a book, this book, which you now hold in your hands. I remember how that day the sun’s rays, falling through the branches of a magnolia growing near my office, illuminated Paul sitting opposite me, his beautiful calm hands, the thick beard of a prophet and penetrating dark eyes. In my memory, this whole scene is like a Vermeer canvas with characteristic blurred outlines. Then I said to myself: “You must remember this,” because what I had before my eyes was priceless.
That day we discussed a lot. Paul was a senior neurosurgical resident . Most likely we had previously met at work, but could not recall a single common patient. Paul said that at Stanford University his main subjects at the undergraduate level were English and biology, after which he continued his studies in the master’s degree program in English Literature. We talked about his eternal love of writing and reading. It struck me that Paul could easily become a teacher of English literature and at a certain stage of his life was very close to that. However, some time later, he realized what his vocation consisted of. Paul became a doctor, dreaming not to move away from the literature. He wanted to write a book. Someday. Paul thought he had plenty of time left. However, that day everyone understood that he had very little time left.
THE FLOOR THOUGHT HAD IT IN A STOCK OF ANOTHER TIME. HOWEVER HE IS MISTAKE.
I remember his gentle and slightly mischievous smile on his thin, gaunt face. Cancer sucked all the forces out of Paul, but the new biotherapy had a positive effect, and Paul dared to make plans for the near future. According to him, while studying at the university, he had no doubt that he would become a psychiatrist, but eventually fell in love with neurosurgery. He was driven not only by the love of the subtleties of the brain and by the satisfaction of the ability of his hands to perform incredible feats during operations, but by his love and sympathy for suffering people, for what they had already suffered, and for what they had to go through. My students, who were his assistants, once told me that Paul’s unshakable conviction of the importance of the moral side in the work of the doctor struck them deeply. Then we talked about death with Paul.
After that meeting, we corresponded by e-mail, but never saw each other again. And not at all because I plunged into a series of everyday affairs, but because I could not just take away precious time from him. I wanted Paul to decide for himself whether he wanted to meet with me or not. I understood that the least thing he needed right now was to comply with the formalities of the friendship that had just begun. Despite this, I thought a lot about him and his wife. I wanted to know if he was writing and how he found time for that. As a busy doctor, I always had difficulty allocating time to work with text. One famous writer, arguing about this eternal problem, once told me: “If I were a neurosurgeon and told my guests that I needed to leave for an urgent craniotomy, no one would have condemned me. But if I told you that I needed to go upstairs, to write … ”I wonder if Paul would find this story funny? In the end, he could say that he needed trepanning! That would be very believable! And actually sit down and write.
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While working on this book, Paul published a short but outstanding essay on the concept of time in Stanford Medicine (translated as “Stanford Medicine”). I wrote an essay on the same topic, and my thoughts were strikingly close to the ideas of Paul, although I found out about his thoughts only when the magazine was in my hands. During the reading of his work I was visited again by a thought that first came to my mind when I was introduced to Paul’s essay in the New York Times: his writing style was simply amazing. If he had written on any other topic, his essay would have been just as amazing. However, he did not write on other topics. He was interested in time, which then so immeasurably meant a lot to him.
POLA INTERESTED IN THE REMAINING TIME FILLED WITH SENSE. [when breath becomes air summary and review]
I came to the conclusion that his prose is unforgettable. Pure gold poured from his feathers.
I reread Paul’s work again and again, trying to understand it more deeply. he was a musical, practically prose poem, where Galway Kinnel’s echoes were clearly heard:
And if one day it happens,
You will end up with someone you love,
In a cafe on the Mirabeau Bridge
At a galvanized bar counter,
Where in bottles of open wine … 
These are lines from Kinnel’s poem, which he once read in one of the bookstores in Iowa City, without even taking a look at his notes. But at the same time, in Paul’s essay there was something else, something old, which existed even before galvanized bar counters. A few days later, I finally realized: Paul’s style was reminiscent of the style of Thomas Brown. Brown wrote The Religion of Healers  in 1642. As a young doctor, I was obsessed with this book, like a farmer trying to drain a swamp that his father had not previously been able to drain. I tried in vain to comprehend her secrets, nervously threw her aside, then again hesitantly took in hand, feeling that she could teach me a lot. However, I lacked a critical way of thinking, and this book remained a mystery to me, no matter how I tried to solve it.
Why, you ask, have I tried to understand her for so long? Who generally cares about the Healer’s Worship? [when breath becomes air summary and review ]
William Osler my example to follow was up to her. Osler, who died in 1919, is considered the founder of modern medicine. He loved this book and kept it on the bedside table. He asked that the “Religion of the Healers” be laid to him in a coffin. For many years I did not understand that I found Osler in this book. But one day the secret was finally revealed to me (this was facilitated by a new edition with modern spelling). The main thing is to read it out loud so as not to stray from the rhythm: “We conceal miracles in ourselves, inside of us is all of Africa and its talents; we ourselves are part of the bold nature that the wise man studies in the books … ”When you get to the last paragraph of Paul’s book, read it out loud and catch the rhythm. It seems to me that Paul was the successor to Brown (if it is assumed that linear time is an illusion, then maybe Brown is the successor to Kalaniti, although this is confusing).
THE FLOOR CONTINUES TO LIVE IN ITS BOOK AND LITTLE Daughter, IN HARVEST PARENTS AND FRIENDS. [when breath becomes air summary and review ]
And then Paul passed away. The hall of Stanford Church (a magnificent place where I often go to enjoy the light, peace and find peace), where farewell to Paul took place, was filled with people. I sat on the edge of the bench and listened to the touching stories told by Paul’s closest friends, his pastor and brother. Yes, Paul was gone, but, oddly enough, I felt that I was connected to him by something else besides our meeting and his essay. He came to life in the stories told by his relatives at the Stanford Memorial Church, a church under which so many people gathered under the dome to commemorate the man whose body was buried in the ground, but whose spirit remained so perceptibly alive. He continued to live in his wife and little daughter, in grieving parents, brothers and sisters, in the faces of a whole legion of friends, colleagues and former patients who came to say goodbye to him. He was inside and outside the church. I noticed that people’s faces were calm and smiling, as if they saw something beautiful in that church. Perhaps my face was the same: we all felt the importance of service, farewell speeches and tears. Later, we quenched thirst and hunger at a memorial dinner and talked with strangers who became so close to us thanks to the acquaintance with Paul.
However, only having received the pages of the book that you hold in your hands now, two months after the death of Paul, I finally truly recognized him well, better than if he were my close friend. After reading the book with which you just have to get acquainted, I, admit, was incredibly impressed: it is so truthful and honest that it takes your breath away.
I AM IMPRESSED, THIS BOOK IS SO TRUE AND HONEST THAT THE BREATHEARS BRAIN.
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Get ready. Sit back. You will learn what real courage is. You need to be a very brave person to open your soul like this. After reading this book, you will understand what it means to continue to live and influence the lives of other people by the power of the word, even after death. In the world of asynchronous communication, where we cannot tear our eyes away from the screens of rectangular objects vibrating in our hands and where all our attention is focused on the ephemeral, take a moment to stop and engage in dialogue with my untimely departed colleague living in our memory. Listen to Paul. In the pauses between his words, think about what you would say to him. I understood what he wanted to tell me. I hope that you will understand. It’s priceless. I will not stand between you and Paul.
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