Knowing I wouldn’t be able to get to work otherwise, the hospital sent the national guard to collect me for the night shift. The snow was too deep for the even Humvee to travel the ¾ mile from the main road, so the soldiers called ahead to say they would walk to my house and carry me back to the vehicle. Mortified, I left home long before they were scheduled to arrive. The snow was literally up to my hips and I made it less than half way before I met two guardsman.

“You were supposed to stay put so we could carry you,” one sweet young man admonished.

“There is no way anyone is going to carry me,” I retorted.

They shook their heads at my stubbornness, then shrugged and off we went. The first soldier created a slight path with his footsteps, and I trudged through it. The second young man followed behind me, ready to snatch me up should I fall. It took another half hour, but finally we made it to the end of my road, where the rest of the team was waiting.

Even the main roads were treacherous, but the Hummer was able to make the two-mile trip to the hospital easily. I thanked the kind soldiers when they promised to pick me up again in the morning and headed into the Emergency Department as they plowed off to help someone else.

It snowed again that night, and when I came out the next morning the world was glistening brightly. The same two guardsman waited at their vehicle for me, high on adrenaline from the night’s activities. As we got to my road, I heard sirens going off not far in the distance. I saw from their excited faces they wanted to go help, so I refused to let them walk me to the house and sent them off instead to help with whatever emergency was happening at the same time.

The fresh snow had covered the footstep path from the night before. The first few hundred feet of the gravel road was a steep incline, and it took me an hour to climb that first hill. The next quarter mile was still an incline, though less dramatic, so it only took a half hour. By then I was sweaty and hot and hungry and really wanted my cup of coffee. I cheered myself with the conviction that the rest of the walk would be easier since it was downhill. No such luck

Although the last half mile to my house was a gentle decent, the snow had been blown into drifts that were now up to my waist. This was long before the days of cell phones (not that anyone could help anyway), and it made no sense to turn back; my only option was to trudge on.

I tried to distract myself by imagining the warm house waiting for me. My family would still be sleeping, and while my coffee brewed, I would sneak into their rooms and look at their peaceful faces. I daydreamed about the nap that awaited me and the warm bed into which I would soon be snuggled.

My gloves were about as helpful as tissue paper and my fingers were frozen like icicles on the tips of my hands. Despite that, the intense work of moving through the deep snow left me sweating in my coat. My breathing got harder and harder as the cold air filled my exhausted lungs. Finally, I just couldn’t do it anymore.

I plopped down on my knees into the snow. It enveloped me like a hug and cooled my sweating body. My breathing retuned to a slow and steady pace and I felt safe and comfortable in my cocoon of snow. All that stuck out above it was my head, now devoid of hat. I closed my eyes and the fatigue of a long night shift added to the exhaustion of my struggling hike kicked in. I started to dose off right there in the snow.

My mind relaxed and thoughts faded away. There was nothing but peaceful stillness in and around me.

Then I snapped out of it with a jolt. Oh my gosh, that’s how people die of hypothermia! I bolted up and yanked my coat sleeves down around my frozen hands. I jerked my hood over my icy hair and started walking again. I prayed and deep breathed and trudged and pushed and eventually my house came into view. Along the way, I wanted so much to sit back down in that snowy stillness, but I forced myself to think about home and life instead. I thought of my babies in their beds, my husband, my family and friends and patients and finally pushed open the front door and collapsed in the hallway. 

“Col, are you OK?” I heard Neil’s sleepy voice from our bedroom.
“Just fine, hon, go back to sleep.” I peeled off my wet layers and within minutes was cuddled in bed beside him.

I think of that day whenever I want to give up. It would be simple to accept the stillness and stop trying so hard to accomplish whatever it is I am doing. Whether its exercising or seeing patients or writing, pushing through the hard spots is never easy, but giving up rarely brings the joy completion provides. I would have lost a loving marriage if I left when our relationship felt rocky. I would have missed the joy of medicine if I quit when school and study got too difficult. I would have lost my relationship with God if I abandoned it when faith felt elusive.