LCFC#18: It's been a year, already?

Plus: Do we truly have free will?

Dear Lamb Chops Fans,

This is a happy post, with a somewhat sad memory.

A year ago today, my husband and I sat in a hospital room talking about the next day, the day of transplant. Naturally, I was a bit nervous, having no idea what to expect. And so was he, and so were my parents, and my sister — all the people who love and care about me were on edge.

We’d signed papers, we’d written wills, decided on directives, in case the worst happened. I was calm, minus the pit gnawing at my stomach at leaving my husband alone, if I died. I reassured him that my parents would help him, if anything happened. I wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly, but it was a promise that made me feel better because I trust my family. They show up. And so does he.

The next morning, on the day of the surgery, he snuck into the hospital even though visitors weren’t allowed yet. I’m not sure how, but he found a way, walking along with me as they wheeled me to the operating room doors. Only there, he had to turn back.

Lamb Chops everywhere! Though they will never replace the one and only namesake of this newsletter.

On that day, a year ago tomorrow, I had my body cut open and my heart replaced. It was physically excruciating. But I don’t remember anything after surveying the operating room, chatting with the nurses and surgeons and enjoying some deep breaths to put me under. My loved ones, on the other hand, suffered worse. Sometimes I think being operated on is not near as terrible as hours of agonizing consciousness waiting on the news of your wife, your baby girl, your only sister, your granddaughter, your relatively new daughter-in-law.

I think I’m more emotional now thinking back on those days and hours before and after, than I was then, though I was heavily medicated. It’s hard to imagine your life (and heart, new and old) literally in the hands of another human being, but it’s even harder to let another human control the fate of a loved one with little to no control.

I know if it were me, the lack of control would be the most difficult to accept. You have to trust other human beings that entire time, and we humans, we can be brutal, uncivilized and cruel. (I probably don't need to mention things going on in the world to put a fine point on that fact). We can make mistakes. And we can fail. 

The spectrum of humanity and our limitations is not something you want to think about while a loved one is on an operating table with a relative stranger touching their heart. You have to believe everything will work out.

But is that belief even a choice we make?

It’s a question I’ve been pondering given the discussion of Robert Sapolsky’s latest book, Determined. I remember reading Sapolsky’s writing long ago as an undergraduate, in the class that made me want to become a science writer. I’m looking forward to working through his latest book to explore our machine-ness and when and when we should not dwell on it.

He argues there is no free will. If there were, there would be “neurons that caused a particular behavior, and it wouldn’t matter what any other neuron in the brain was doing, what the environment was, what the person’s hormone levels were, what culture they were brought up in. . . those neurons would do the exact same thing with all these other things changed,” he told the New York Times.

Our study of neurobiology is far from having the capacity to show that intricate detail. And it might never uncover it, if it doesn’t exist. If there is no free will, then we can’t be responsible for our actions. We can own them, but we are not responsible for them, which has implications for all of humanity. Imagine, there’s no intent for good or evil, just the amalgamation of genes, hormones, environment and culture over seconds, years, decades, possibly generations.

Was my making it to a year such an amalgamation, not made by my choices or my grit? Maybe. Though it’s hard to relinquish all responsibility for being here today. Longing for that sense of autonomy could be why we cling so fiercely to free will. I'd like to, but I am questioning it, which is, I think in the end, all what Sapolsky wants — for us to ask questions.