The Choice

deeply within.
One day I arrive at work and slip on my white coat and my name
tag, DR. EGER, DEPARTMENT OF PSYCHIATRY. During my time at William
Beaumont, I have developed a reputation as a person willing to go
above and beyond the technical requirements of my position—to stay
up all night on suicide watch, to take the most discouraging cases, the
ones that others have given up on.
Today I have been assigned two new patients, both Vietnam
veterans, both paraplegics. ey have the same diagnosis (lower T-
injury of the spinal cord), the same prognosis (compromised fertility
and sexual function, unlikely to walk again, good control of hands and
trunk). On my way to see them, I am unaware that one of them will
have a life-changing effect on me. I meet Tom ĕrst. He is lying on his
bed, curled up in a fetal position, cursing God and country. He seems
imprisoned—by his injured body, by his misery, by his rage.
When I go to the other vet’s room, I ĕnd Chuck out of bed and
sitting in his wheelchair. “It’s interesting,” he says. “I’ve been given a
second chance in life. Isn’t it amazing?” He is brimming over with a
sense of discovery and possibility. “I sit in this wheelchair, and I go out
on the lawn, out on the grounds, and the Ęowers are much closer. I
can see my children’s eyes.”
e way I tell this story now, when I’m talking to my current
patients, or addressing an audience from the stage, is that every person
is part Tom and part Chuck. We are overwhelmed by loss and think
we will never recover a sense of self and purpose, that we will never
mend. But despite—and, really, because of—the struggles and the
tragedies in our lives, each of us has the capacity to gain the
perspective that transforms us from victim to thriver. We can choose to
take responsibility for our hardships and our healing. We can choose
to be free. What I still have trouble admitting, however, is that when I
first met Tom, his rage thrilled me.