What Prometheus Taught A Doctor Turned Stroke Survivor

by Dr. Bevan Choate

At 36 years of age, I was a titan.  I was a full-fledged urologist.  A urologist is a surgical cyborg and the only surgical specialist mentioned in the Hippocratic Oath (“. . . I will not cut for stone.”)  We use lasers to treat stones, robots to yank cancerous prostates, and general irreverence when the going gets tough. Despite this self-adulatory salvo, I wasn’t much like the surgeons you see on television. I drove a beat-up car, paid down student loans, and genuinely loved my patients.  It was my calling, my purpose in life.

I was a titan; not a god.  We’ve all at one point or another been privy to the fool with a god complex.  Icarus taught us how that story ends.  According to some in the medical community, “The only difference between God and a surgeon is that God knows he’s not a surgeon.” Be that as it may, I was not going to be some high-falutin surgeon type.  I prided myself in my work in the trenches and strived to improve the lives of my patients.

Then, on 12/3/2020, the music stopped.  I had suffered a life-threatening stroke.  After nearly dying twice, I ultimately underwent three brain surgeries.  I walked out of the hospital with an aluminum walker in February of 2021.  Within the months of therapy I engaged to improve my coordination and regain strength, I wrote a book titled The Stroke Artist. It’s a no-frills divulgence of the microcosm surrounding brain injury, penned from my perspective as a young surgeon.

After suffering such a catastrophe, I had no desire to write a book.  My friend and former colleague tried to convince me to start writing down the humorous and frankly absurd experiences I endured as a doctor turned stroke survivor.  I needed a reason.  He muttered something about posterity and I refused, stating “I don’t want to remember this shitshow.”  Yet, I ultimately agreed citing that the act of typing will be an excellent form of therapy for my feral left hand.  After a few paragraphs, the storytelling began to take on its own life.  I was no longer a titan and I was now chained to a boulder. Yet, I still had an opportunity to help others by sharing my experiences.

Prometheus gave the world fire and suffered dearly for it. I may have tried giving “fire” to many of my patients.  This doesn’t change the fact that I am now a “mortal” bound to a catastrophic brain injury.  From this I learned that no matter how high we think we are flying, humility is right around the corner.  My error was not in the work I did or my past intentions.  My error was in not allowing myself to grow further as a human being.  For more years than we can fathom, humans have survived and thrived on community and fellowship.  We rely on external constructs like religion, scientific models, and behavioral therapy. These concepts are often strengthened through community and practice. I was blind to this essence because my former brain thought I was achieving this by helping others. Maybe so, but perhaps I could have done it better.  After all, our modern-day brains ARE the same ones we had 200,000 years ago. 

 Is it not a god complex to think you can make yourself whole by treating the many parts of others? Didn’t Dr. Frankenstein try that? Can’t be, right? I was a titan. I mean, come on, I thought I was the most self-aware doctor on the planet.

To say you are the “most” anything pretty well misses the mark for self-awareness.  The moniker I gave myself does not matter. I still had a complete blind spot.

I realize now that my true life had been on life-support prior to my stroke. I previously avoided community and fellowship because my poorly evolved brain thought I was getting it in spades on a daily basis in a hospital.  My relationships with friends and family suffered throughout my years in medicine.  I somehow managed to avoid those that gave me a chance to be vulnerable, self-reflect, and be fulfilled.  I was always too tired or too busy. To a brain, simulation is the same as reality.  To a heart, it’s a dreadful cancer. 

Not to get too elder millennial, but is social media often not but a simulation of community and fellowship? Now, more than ever, we need to come together in a way that our hearts can enjoy.  It only took a stroke and writing a book for me.  I don’t recommend either, but if your passion is in writing, write from the heart and write when you don’t think you want to.  

Dr. Bevan Choate is a urologist, artist, and author of The Stroke Artist, a self-penned story that speaks to all who have, at one time or another, faced and then overcome life’s unplanned obstacles. Just when Dr. Choate had found his stride as a successful surgeon, he suffered a stroke, and the music stopped. Overnight, he went from the ship’s captain to a passenger floating aimlessly at sea. His story is one of grit and the determination to be better—despite the odds. Dr. Choate received his medical doctorate from Texas Tech Health Sciences Center and completed a five-year residency through the University of New Mexico Hospitals. He now lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico, with his wife and dog Indi and pursues painting, fly fishing, and urology.

Mixed Genres In Writing

by Linda Stewart Henley

Writers are often asked to name the genre that best fits their book. Sometimes that’s easy. Non-fiction doesn’t need to be genre-specific. However, fiction writers often have a decision to make. Typical categories include general fiction, historical fiction, thriller, memoir, romance, mystery (cozy or murder), science fiction, fantasy, and paranormal.

Sometimes books cross genres. A book may be best described as a mystery, but it may include a romance or fantasy. Or both. To further complicate matters, book award contests invite authors to submit their work in one or more categories, so the same book can win a prize in more than one.

Having written books in two different genres, I can talk a little about some differences. My first book Estelle would be classified primarily as historical fiction. Since the subject-matter concerned the Impressionist painter Edgar Degas, I needed to research the artist’s life during the time-period of my story, the five months in 1872-73 when he visited his Creole relatives in New Orleans. Historical fiction appeals to many partly because it can bring real people to life. In some ways, writing in this genre is easier because there’s already a framework of events in place that can guide the plot. To prepare for writing Estelle, I made a careful time-line of events during that period. I included the important known facts and filled in the unknown details from my imagination. One of the biggest challenges I faced was in deciding how much liberty to take when writing about the lives of real people.  

Waterbury Winter falls into the general category of contemporary fiction. The beauty of writing pure fiction is that anything goes—anything that fits believably into the story, anyway. So I made up the character of Barnaby Brown, an artist who has lost his way. I wanted to keep the tone of the book upbeat, so although at the beginning Barnaby has a host of problems to overcome (a drinking habit, debts, his lonely life with only his parrot for company), I wanted to make him a sympathetic character and bring in some humor. This book was far easier to write, partly because my goal was simply to write a good story. In writing about Degas, I wanted to tell a tale that many people didn’t know. No one needed to know about Barnaby Brown, and I didn’t need to pay too much attention to history. However, readers will learn a little about the brass industry in Waterbury, Connecticut, when they read the book.

Just for the record, Estelle won a few awards. The categories?  Romance, art, and historical fiction.

Linda Stewart Henley is the author of Estelle and Waterbury Winter, published by She Writes Press.