You’re our last hope,” the marine’s mother told me. “If he can’t do this, I’m afraid he’ll…” Her voice trailed off, but I knew what she feared.

At 23, her son had suffered a spinal injury in combat, leaving the use of his arms and legs extremely limited. She’d brought him here, to the Lakeshore Foundation rehabilitation center in Birmingham, Alabama, in hopes of finding some physical outlet. Could I teach him to swim? “He’s terrified he’ll drown,” she said.

She introduced me to him. His core body was still strong, but I saw the fear in his eyes. I knew it wasn’t the water he was most afraid of. It was moving on to a different kind of life than he’d imagined.

“You’ll have to trust me,” I said. “Can you do that?”

He nodded, uncertainly. I helped him into the water, faceup, and put my arms underneath him. His body trembled. “Don’t let go of me!” he said.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m right here. Take a deep breath. All you need to do to float is relax.”

Slowly his body stopped shaking and his breathing normalized. “I’m going to let go,” I said. I pulled my hands away. He was floating. He looked at me, his eyes filled with wonder. On the pool deck, his mother was crying.

I was in high school when i knew I wanted to be a doctor. Not just any physician. I was going to be a hand surgeon, specializing in microsurgery and reconstruction. The work was demanding, intense. Both my parents were driven, but it was my mother who inspired me most. She’d been a chemist, working for rocket pioneer Wernher Von Braun, then later for the U.S. Department of Defense. She taught me that God had a plan for my life but that nothing got handed to us. “He gives us talents, but what we do with them is up to us” was how she put it. What I heard was: You need to work your tail off. Always...read more

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