聂卉

邁克尔.柯林斯（Michael J. Collins），美国作家、医生，生于芝加哥。柯林斯从圣母大学毕业后成为一名建筑工人，与一位同事的偶然聊天让他有了当医生的梦想，柯林斯选择重返校园，他考入了罗耀拉大学医学院，从此开启了另一种人生。他的著作《砖工变医生》（Blue Collar， Blue Scrubs， 2009）追溯了这段从建筑工人到成为一名医生的追梦历程。柯林斯从医学院毕业后进入世界顶尖的梅奥医疗研究中心，进行为期四年的住院医生培训，他将这段终生难忘的魔鬼式经历记录了下来，写成了《梅奥住院医生成长手记》（Hot Lights， Cold Steel， 2006）。从梅奥结业后柯林斯回到家乡芝加哥，成为一名骨科医生。现在他与妻子和12个子女一起生活在那里，业余时光用来写作和乐队演出。

迈克尔.柯林斯

Excerpts1）

I suddenly realized how unprepared I was for all this. Oh， I had to have been sharp2） to get a residency at the Mayo Clinic. I knew my anatomy3） and physiology. I did well on the National Boards. I had wonderful letters of recommendation from my deans. I came very well trained for the cognitive aspects of my work， but there was no training for the emotional aspects. Letters and board scores could never prepare me to lose the struggle to save a pregnant woman and her baby， or to watch a twenty-year-old girl slowly fry her brain.

No， I was not prepared for such things， and they were beginning to rip me apart. How， I wondered， can life go on？ How can my fellow residents and I continue to smile， to cut the lawn on our day off， to have children？

Of course， it would have been easier if we didnt care， and sometimes we actually pretended we didnt. We would try to do our job and be detached. But we didnt go into medicine to be detached. We went into medicine because we cared. But caring kept bringing us pain and frustration and anguish. We had been training for years to become surgeons. We had excelled in college.

We had excelled in medical school. Our lives had been one success after another until we woke up one day， and there we were， surgical residents at the world-famous Mayo Clinic. It was all so perfect. But before we could congratulate ourselves， scarcely before we learned where the surgeons locker room was， we discovered this was a profession that， like no other， quickly and ruthlessly and uncaringly proclaimed we were not perfect. People came to us with head injuries—and we couldnt help them. People came to us with gunshot wounds—and we couldnt heal them. People came to us with ruptured4） arteries5）—and we couldnt save them.

We kept confronting these terrible problems， and we kept failing， again and again and again—we， who had always succeeded， who had always known what to do， who had always been so sure of ourselves. Never before had we attempted anything so important， and never before had we failed so miserably.

Oh， sure， we tried to let conventional wisdom shield us. “Look，” wed tell ourselves， “you did exactly the right thing， exactly what the textbooks say you should do. Just because she died doesnt mean it was your fault.”

Thats what wed tell ourselves， but we didnt buy it. Medicine wasnt about following directions in a textbook. Thats not what we were supposed to do. What we were supposed to do was save people—and so often， it seemed， we didnt.

“You want the truth？” wed ask ourselves ruthlessly. “Heres the truth： A young woman came to you alive， breathing， fear in her eyes， wanting you to save her， and now shes lying on a metal cart in the morgue6） with a sheet over her. Theres your truth for you.”

So we would drag ourselves into the surgical waiting room， to the frightened， anxious eyes that had been waiting for us for the last three hours. The same eyes that looked to us with pleading and hope as we rushed their daughter to the OR7）. They knew before we said a word. They could see it in our struggle to speak.

“I … I am so sorry to tell you that …”

And afterward wed sit on the bench in the doctors locker room， and take a deep breath and slowly let it out—but we couldnt exhale everything. Wed sit there， hands folded and heads bent， too lethargic8） to pull off our bloody scrubs9）， too tired to go to bed， too dispirited to start that IV10） the nurses had called for two hours ago； our minds slowly going out of focus， slowly retreating from the horrors of the past few hours.

And if we were one of the lucky ones， wed go off duty at eight or nine， after morning rounds. Wed drive home through avenues of early-morning sunlight flashing at us through the trees， hurting our eyes， like looking into the revolving lights on an ambulance. Wed come home to our wives who needed us. Wed mumble our hellos， brush past them， and tumble11） into a dreamless sleep.

But more likely we did not have the day off. We had another full day ahead of us. And we had no time to think about what we did the night before. If the patient was still alive， there were other， newer challenges ahead….

We were learning that all the training and all the caring in the world were not going to solve every problem. This wasnt medical school. We werent going to ace every exam. Silver-haired professors werent going to pat us on the head and marvel at our intellectual acumen12）. We werent going to win every battle.

“Sometimes theres just too much trauma13），” Joe said.

There certainly had been for me.

1. 本文選自该书的第七章，讲述了自己竭尽全力却仍无法挽救病人时的内心痛苦与挣扎，略有删节。

2. sharp [?ɑ?（r）p] adj. 敏锐的，聪明的，机灵的

3. anatomy [??n?t?mi] n. 解剖；解剖学

New Oriental English .

作品赏析

多年以后，芝加哥的骨科医生柯林斯念念不忘的仍是他早年在梅奥医疗研究中心的四年魔鬼式住院医生培训。所谓 “梅奥虐我千万遍，我待梅奥如初恋”，这句话对写一本书来纪念这段岁月，并执意将其定义为美好时光的柯林斯医生来说，大概是不言自明的。

美国医生的高薪酬早已声名在外，这位柯林斯医生却用身家性命无时无刻不在反驳这条真理：“不是这样的！”捉襟见肘、疲于奔命、出生入死——这些凄惨壮烈的词语用来形容柯林斯似乎也稍显逊色。从圣母大学毕业的柯林斯成为一名建筑工人，但当医生的梦想从心灵的角落里燃起后，就煽动着这位不安于现状的年轻人开启了打鸡血的人生。……