Getting Through It

Getting Through It

By

Leonard Zwelling

https://www.nytimes.com/2026/01/04/magazine/the-pitt-season-2-noah-wyle.html?searchResultPosition=1

This profile of actor Noah Wyle of “The Pitt” describes the evolution of a good actor becoming a great one, and a chronic liar becoming a man who embodies great universal truths, particularly the truth of being a caring healer. Noah Wyle may end up being the most famous actor to ever portray a physician on any screen—bigger than Marcus Welby, Dr. Kildare, and Ben Casey. (You may need to look those up which kind of makes my point). He’s even bigger than his previous medical incarnation John Carter of ER.

This piece got me thinking about being a liar and a seeker of the truth. I’m both. Today I want to focus on how I lie, mostly to myself about “getting through it.”

In 2002, I needed semi-acute coronary artery by-pass surgery after having coerced my cardiologist and medical school roommate into performing a cardiac catheterization after I had a severe bout of palpitations. That study revealed severe left main and right sided obstruction of these vital arteries despite the absence of angina or shortness of breath. The surgery two days after the cath was followed by a week in the hospital, a re-admission two days after discharge for atrial fibrillation, ten weeks of cardiac rehabilitation, and finally a return to work after three months of sick leave, never really regaining the momentum I had had before the surgery. I was never the same again—in both a bad way (far less stamina) and good way (far more humility and awareness of my mortality). Getting through something like semi-acute major thoracic surgery is not what I want to discuss today. This event was a complete surprise, unanticipated.

“Getting through it” is about knowing something tough is on the horizon that you have to survive, tolerate, and “get through.” This thing cannot be avoided. It is in your future. It was totally anticipated and somewhat dreaded.

The first time I wrestled with “getting through it” had to be my bar mitzvah. I had known for months that it would be June 17, 1961, and that, unlike most of the bar mitzvahs at my Long Island synagogue, it was not to be myself with another boy, but just me. Someone had dropped out. I had to do the whole Torah portion reading and Haftorah myself. I was a chronically lousy Hebrew school student. I was obviously going to have to tough this one out and rise to the occasion above my natural abilities. I did. It went fine.

There were many such moments after that one from final exams in high school, to April 15, 1966 when I found out where I would be going to college, to the day I took the MCAT exam to get into medical school. But the one that really stands out is my first day as a Duke medical intern. I was absolutely petrified of that day, June 24, 1973. I was sure I didn’t know enough to care for a sick person. I was just hoping I didn’t kill anyone on the first day. I had no idea how I would withstand the call schedule of five nights out of seven for weeks on end. I was not sure I could get through it. Then, a year later, I had. I was never the same once again. I had gone from being an ignorant and clinically inept medical school graduate to a competent (not good, yet) provider of health care. Like so many “getting through it” moments, this one started with anticipatory anxiety and ended with a sense of accomplishment. I got through it.

There have been so many such moments since these. Each time I had to lie to myself to get through. First, I had to convince myself I could survive the pending ordeal despite the fear, anxiety, and the reasonable perception that I might not succeed. I was never really sure of that. Then I had to lie to those around me during the trial that I could actually do what was being asked of me.

I think this lying is what attracted me so much to the article from The New York Times Magazine on January 11 by Sam Anderson. Actors lie. Doctors lie. Actors who play doctors lie. Anything to get through it. Now, after so many years in a white coat without a medical degree, Noah Wyle has won an Emmy and a Golden Globe for embodying the good that is doctoring at a time when medicine in America is under attack from the Trump Administration and from the forces of money that drive everything in health care.

As I write this, I am in the Polaris lounge at IAH awaiting flights to Singapore, the next stop on the BW’s bucket list. As is the case often, I am trying to get through the trip despite several medical problems including the surgical repair of a trigger thumb five days ago and some other ailments. This is another thing to get through. Once again, can I do it? I have lied to myself that I am sure I can. I am not sure at all. I have lied to everyone I talk to about the pending voyage as looking forward to it. I am not looking forward to this. It is, yet again, something to get through.

Stay tuned to this space and see what happens.

In the last twelve months, I have made many trips I did not want to make or, I made out of a sense of obligation to someone else. For the next twelve months, I am going to try to do less such traveling. But that will have to start when I get back from this trip—if I get through it.