The days continue to get shorter and darker here in the Pacific Northwest. But soon they will lengthen, imperceptibly at first, but eventually, the return of the light will be obvious, but not for many more weeks of very gray days 

Ever since I spent a week in Alaska in late winter, where the days are even darker and shorter than I had previously experienced, I’ve been aware that in this season, I have less energy for all the usual things. 

Instead, I noticed that I prefer to cuddle up with a warm blanket, hot tea, and a good book. I suppose I always felt that way, but I didn’t notice it so profoundly until spending time in Alaska, where activity is, by necessity, so much more curtailed this time of year due to the dark sky and white snow. 

At the same time that hibernation calls to living things, the holidays for major religions are fast approaching.    

A time of increased social and consumer activities. A time, we are informed in song and literature, is filled with unmitigated joy and celebration. 

So while nature calls for a slowdown, society tells us to speed up, spend money, and get very merry and social.

Rarer, but not absent, are the songs that acknowledge the somber darkness of our northern hemisphere. The seasonal death or hibernation of the natural world.

Prior to our current over-commercialization of the holidays, they were celebrated with light, the gift of fire that illuminates the natural darkness of the season.

I was recently invited to attend a virtual social gathering and asked to have a holiday story, personal or professional, to share as well. 

What could I share that could be potentially interesting or impactful for others? 

Of course, I have tales from my childhood with my parents, grandparents, and extended family. The car travels to see them at least once over the holiday season. The joy of arrival and sorrow in parting.  The many gatherings, greetings, and giving of gifts.

I remember moments from the years my kids were young, nights spent wrapping until the wee hours knowing excited children would be up shortly to rip that wrapping apart. The pressure I always felt to ensure the gifting felt complete and equal and within budget.

(Parenthetically, we once discussed in the bleachers at a basketball game whether Santa wraps. It turns out, with four or more kids, Santa doesn’t wrap. And I don’t blame him, or rather her, since it seemed to be solely the task of women in these discussions.)

But these stories, while personally meaningful to me, do not seem like they would be meaningful to others, except in their familiarity. 

Naturally, I also have professional stories anchored in the holiday season. But those are largely tragedies, due to the nature of orthopedic hospital admissions. 

I remember a family that was nearly wiped out by a drunk driver on Christmas Eve. The sole survivor was the husband and stepfather of three girls. He had multiple injuries, including a profound head injury that he never completely recovered from. 

The woman with three injured extremities, who came in on December 23rd and kept me operating late into the night, the next day, and eventually walked out of the hospital weeks later.

One specific day before Thanksgiving I spent operating in one room, while in the next a harvest was being performed on an 18-year-old boy. Our OR was somber, from the front desk to the pharmacy, everyone repeating the story of his accident and mourning the tragedy of a life cut short. 

Then the transplant team came in, boisterous and laughing. It was jarring. 

I realized we were focused on the donor and family that would have the worst Thanksgiving of their lives. 

The transplant team was focused on the numerous families who would have one of the best. 

What you focus on becomes your reality. Do you focus on the tragedy of one family or the miracle for many?

As doctors, we must hold the paradox that sorrow and joy often live side by side, minute by minute. And that darkness and light serve to define each other. 

Because both perspectives are valid and meaningful, even as this season of darkness and celebration always portends the inevitable return of the light. 

And that rest and celebration are equally beneficial, helping to balance our time and energy.

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