When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalathini

Couldn’t put this down. What a beautiful book. Paul is truly a gifted writer, as Verghese celebrated in the foreward. I was initially hesitant to read a neurosurgeon’s perspective on terminal illness, imagining his prose may veer on the esoteric. Rarely did this feel like a hardened, clinical account of cancer and death; it was full of life, tender and vulnerable in the lightest and heaviest of moments.

I really like this part where he’s debating whether or not to have a child in his current state.

His wife asks, “Don’t you think saying goodbye to your child will make your death more painful?”

Paul responds, “Wouldn’t it be great if it did?” Life is not about avoiding suffering. It’s about creating meaning.

He achieved a delicate balance here, oft bereft from memoirs: rarely self-gratifying nor smug about his life, but also never morose or pitiful about his death. It’s also a really illuminating read on the life of a neurosurgery resident and the moral enormity of a doctor’s job. I have more respect than ever for my friends currently toiling through their own medical residencies.

Part I (In Perfect Health I Began) could have been shorter - and I realize how morbid this sounds - but I think it set a necessary backdrop for the rest of the book. Credit must be given where it’s due - Lucy Kalanithi’s epilogue was quite possibly my favourite part of the whole thing. Tissues were needed. I slept at 5am, staying up late to finish the book and then to maddeningly research the life of Paul.

Note: “Painful” by Yo La Tengo, on loop, set the musical scenery from Part II to the end. What a perfect pairing… unplanned company that felt inextricably tied to the story itself by the end of it all.

Rating: 5/5