As the alarm sounded, I craved to sleep longer. Perhaps, with more time on the pillow, clarity would surface. Last night, with only an ivory sheet shrouding my body, beads of perspiration enveloped me forcing constant tossing, and turning, clutching the sheet while I pondered, reflected, and speculated. I marveled at what trekking the Camino de Santiago would actually be like. Am I capable to do it? Or foolish thinking of such a concept? All night long the mind raced from one image to another. The internal battle of “Go for it!” versus “You’re crazy!” clashed. It battled until the blackness relinquished into various shades of gray, until dawn.

I recall when I arrived at work that day. I quietly and sluggishly changed into my scrubs with brief good mornings to the surgical team. The decision weighing heavily on me. Throughout the morning cases on Wednesday, I remained low key. I dropped an instrument during one case as my mind drifted away for a second.

After a few back-to-back surgical procedures, I located Dr. Palm Harbor sitting in the lounge area. I walked over, about to ask to speak with him privately when. . .