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‘Challenges in Ophthalmology’ column highlights inspiration, strength and encouragement
In a new OSN feature, April Steinert shares stories of challenges faced and overcome by members of the ophthalmic community.
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Benjamin Franklin famously said, “In this world, nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.” We all know Benjamin was a wise man, and while his statement may be reasonably accurate, I think he overlooked one: challenges. We all face them. Every day. And there are times in our lives when we meet a problem that appears to have no solution. It is in those times we discover our true mettle. It is when we put our head down, push our emotions off to the side and work the problem that we discover what we are capable of achieving.
Many of you knew my brilliant, loving, funny and accomplished husband, Roger Steinert, so you also knew of our struggle. I can tell you sincerely that during our cherished time together, there was not a challenge Roger faced he did not believe he could overcome. In 2004, we left his successful private practice in Boston for the University of California, Irvine, family in tow, where Roger started over in academia, and in less than 5 years, he became the chairman of his department. Once Roger was chairman, he began focusing on fundraising and built the world-class Gavin Herbert Eye Institute using only philanthropic dollars. Once the building was complete, Roger was then asked to be the interim dean of the School of Medicine, where he equally excelled. Roger accomplished all of this in 10 short years. Remarkable. And it was during that 10th year in California that together we faced the challenge of our lives: glioblastoma.
It was in a private, small, pale peach-colored room, off the rear of the surgical center, that I received the terrible news. In what I will forever refer to as the terrible-news room, I remember looking at the banal prints on the wall and watching Dr. Bota’s lips move. Roger was still in recovery. The words “stage 4 glioblastoma” hung thick in the air, and I experienced an intense hollowing-out sensation. The room began to undulate like heat waves on scorching asphalt. The words were there. They could not be taken back. It was real. The tears came. I howled, I pounded on my legs, I looked at my friends’ helpless faces hoping for solutions, and I tried to conjure up the essential questions while my insides were twisting.
It was in that space, after 10 minutes of virtual hysteria, that I realized that none of that was going to help. Tears were not going to find the answers or give me the resolve I would need to support Roger, to buy us precious time. This was my challenge. Holding it all together for 30 months and guiding us through the toughest of times, while tenuously maintaining a positive attitude for Roger’s well-being. This experience would prove to be my Everest summit.
During the climb there was plenty of hope and heartache, in equal measure, and I would gladly do it all over again if I could have another 30 months. Although the ending I had written in my mind did not come to pass, it was still the most illuminating time of my life. I learned so much. And as painful as it was — is — each day, I try to remember that it was a privilege to hold my love in my arms as he left this world. To say my final goodbye with a kiss and an I love you. So many do not have that opportunity, so for that I am blessed.
This column will be about you and for you. I want to speak with you about your personal and/or professional Everest summit. I would like to share what inspired you, and what gave you the strength and encouragement to keep moving forward, with the ophthalmic community. Your story could provide the spark and inspiration for someone at just the right moment. Please email me at aprilsteinert@mac.com if you have a story you would like to share.
“If you aren’t in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?” – T.S. Eliot
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- April Steinert can be reached at email: aprilsteinert@mac.com.
Disclosure: Steinert reports no relevant financial disclosures.