Reprieve …(n) 2. A warrant granting or authorizing the suspension or remission of a capital sentence. …3. Respite from a natural or violent death. …b. A respite, or temporary escape, from some trouble calamity, etc. …(v) 2. To postpone, delay, put off. … 3. To bring back, redeem. …5. To pardon, forgive.[i]
Further to my previous post about growth in wisdom, here is a mini-case study. The question for advance consideration is this: what can one learn from a reprieve?
The case
It was the middle leg of a long international trip. Flying to a small town in Europe from Panama, I had to change planes in Munich—and had 90 minutes to do so. I don’t sleep much on overnight flights, and when the dubious breakfast was served, was glad to gulp a few cups of coffee. Slow lines at customs and at security chewed up 50 minutes. I was a tad stressed but was hopeful that long legs and possible jogging would get me to the gate on time. Unfortunately, quick-walking while pulling a black wheelie—at least a mile at this massive airport—took my breath away. Literally. Then a hotspot in the center of my chest mushroomed from a pinpoint to the size of a dinner plate. I had to stop a few gates short of my destination. Healthy and fit as a 75-year old, with no prior indications of heart trouble, I assumed that I was coming down with bronchitis or pneumonia, both of which I’d had before. Pausing at a news stand, I bought the only remedy on view, aspirin, and chewed a couple of tablets. Quickly, the chest pain subsided. I lumbered to the gate and into my seat onto the connecting flight. Over the following days, some milder symptoms recurred, but less often. Upon returning home, I felt fine.
I had intended to mention this episode to my doctor but was distracted by another surprise. A routine biopsy found aggressive prostate cancer. My urologist recommended prompt treatment. My wife and I spent a few weeks answering the myriad questions. Is the diagnosis correct? What kind of treatment? Where? Performed by whom?
To double-check our thinking about the cancer treatment, I finally saw my primary care physician. At the end of that consultation, I casually mentioned the episode in Munich. He allayed my concern, “It’s probably nothing. But why don’t you see a cardiologist?” Days passed until I saw the cardiologist, who said, “It’s probably nothing, but let’s do some tests.” The tests, a few days later yielded another referral to a cardiac surgeon: “Your condition is serious. Do absolutely nothing physical until you see him.” A few more days passed. The cardiac surgeon said, “Your condition is serious. We have scheduled you for a triple bypass heart operation in four days. Do absolutely nothing physical until then.”
I spent the four days sharing the news with family and close friends, cancelling many weeks of commitments, checking my advance medical directive, giving my wife advice and instructions, and “arranging my affairs” in case the operation did not go well. Friends and colleagues in the Darden community showered me with advice—Paul Mathern, Elliott Weiss, Bob Conroy, Michael Woodfolk, Dan Lynch (Darden MBA 1984), Jay Scott (Darden MBA 1991), and John Fowler (Darden MBA 1984) had prepared me along the way. Meanwhile, I tried to buck up my family and sent this photo at 4:00 am as I was leaving home for the operation.
The cardiac bypass is modern surgery at its most complex. Four hours long, it calls on the skills of a variety of medical experts. There must have been a dozen professionals in the operating theater. Over the years, I had taught classes about team-based medical care. Here, I was experiencing it in person. The team, led by Dr. John Kern of UVA Health, was friendly, competent, and calming. As the anesthetic began to take hold, the words of Psalm 31 came to mind: “Into your hands I commit my spirit.”
I awoke for a week in intensive care attended by another dozen or so professionals. The biggest surprise to me was the blow to my stamina. Doctors call this “deconditioning.” I went from fitness (able to walk 7-8 miles, bicycle for 2-3 hours, and/or lift lots of hand weights) to utter collapse. I faced a very steep climb to recovery.
On returning home, I focused four weeks on recovering full use of my lungs, healing my sternum and regaining the ability to stand up and walk short distances. My wife, Bobbie, and younger son, Alex, helped, coached, prodded, and inspired me—and qualified for sainthood with their patience.
In the sixth week after the operation, the doctors gave me permission to drive again and sent me into a 12-week program of cardiac rehabilitation. The staff there (about another 10 professionals) monitored everything while I worked on the treadmill, stationary bike, Stairmaster, and hand weights. They also lectured me and the other patients on nutrition, sleep habits, exercise, and mindset. Rehab was not just about physical recovery; it was substantially about changing behavior.
Midway through rehab, the doctors gave me a colonoscopy exam and then commenced radiation treatment for prostate cancer. This entailed more discomfort and more fatigue. Four or five more professionals took me through the drill of being bombarded with X-rays: slide into a massive MRI machine, hold very still, fight claustrophobia. The doctors think they got the cancer. Forthcoming years of monitoring will confirm it.
My friend and colleague, John Jeffries, summed up the last four months for me: “Bob You’ve been to hell and back.”
What does one learn from all this?
Some of the most important growth in a person’s life occur in the midst of a struggle or crisis. I learned four kinds of lessons from this episode.
First is reprieve. It is possible to outlive the first and second most common causes of death (heart disease and cancer, respectively). We each have a sentence hanging over us. But with sensible lifestyle choices, early detection of symptoms, and modern medical advances, it is possible to thwart and delay that sentence. You can get a reprieve.
Second, attitude counts. Bob Conroy urged this point to me. Don’t let the operations dictate your mindset. You can choose to think and feel the way you want to. Therefore, practice patience, intention, gratitude and optimism. The words on my t-shirt helped me to frame that attitude. Honestly, adopting a good attitude has not been hard. I feel extraordinarily lucky to have had the benefit of modern medicine and great care.
Third, reprieve is not a solo pursuit. All told, I would guess that more than 50 professionals contributed to my treatment and recovery in some way. Listen to the experts. Do what they tell you. The reward is not just physical recovery, but also a better mindset and wiser judgment. As I argued in the previous blog post, growth in wisdom is not a game for individuals; it is best perfected in community with other people.
Fourth, reassess priorities. It may be easy to revert to autopilot after a health event, that is, to return to old practices, habits, and commitments. Autopilot might reassure that the event has not altered your ability to perform as before. But the closer you scrape with death, the more likely you are to question what has been meaningful in your life. A health event is a moment to take stock of how you have spent your time, and how you would like to spend it going forward. During my stay in the ICU, a doctor told me that the triple bypass cardiac surgery had added five years to my life—in the haze of painkillers and fatigue, I had a Wait! What? moment. Did he mean that I had only five more years to live? That triggered some sober prioritizing: ditch pointless activities and tasks; focus on health, relationships, causes, and commitments that matter most. I hope to live past 100 but aim to live intentionally like I have five left.
Finally, let it go. The ultimate sense of the dictionary’s definition of “reprieve” is “to pardon, forgive.” A health event and other indignities of aging jerk you upright and say that you can’t have it all; there are physical limits to your experience. Confronting these limits can trigger anger and depression. The remedy is to forgive yourself and live within the new limits.
Coda
I can’t possibly convey everything I learned from my reprieve. But perhaps these brief reflections will help you consider the year just closing and the year ahead. I hope that 2026 will be better for all of us. In what ways can you win your own reprieve in the days to come?
[i] Oxford English Dictionary Volume XIII, 2nd ed., 1989, Oxford, UK: Clarendon Press, p. 663.