by Paul Kalanithi
Hardcover, 230 pages
January 12, 2016, Random House
4 stars
"...even if I'm dying, until I die, I'm still living."
Paul Kalanithi was 36, nearing his graduation as a neurosurgeon from Stanford University, when he was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. In this memoir, Kalanithi chronicles his journey from a student "obsessed" with understanding what gives life meaning, to a talented neurosurgeon and neuroscientist at Stanford, researching and performing surgery, and finally to a patient himself, coming to terms with the end of his career and his life. There's a bit of a feeling that Kalanithi was writing this as it came to him, as it jumps around a bit, but it's never confusing. Rather, you feel as though you're being told the story of his life as he sits and tells it to you. The book is, obviously, tremendously sad. This book broke me, turning me into a sobbing mess over and over again. It's not self-pitying, however. The sadness comes from the feeling that Kalanthi was an empathetic and talented doctor, destined to do great things that he will never now get a chance to do. This is a hard book to read but is an important examination of mortality and what makes a life worth living, especially as that life draws to a close.
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