I was born in 1973, which makes me part of Generation X, whatever that means. I don’t remember much about the 70’s, except the song “Funky Town” and the corduroy bell bottoms my mother dressed me in for nursery school. I grew up outside of Buffalo, NY, with a wonderful family, the occasional blizzard, a childhood largely spent between books and our back woods, and a lot of cats.
Like most people my age, I was defined by the 80’s. Michael Jackson. Cindi Lauper. Styxx. The Goonies. Leg warmers. Cultural icons that defied explanation, and which evoke unreasonable nostalgia to this day.
I started the 90’s in college and ended in med school. I vaguely remember Hootie and the Blowfish, but most of that decade’s pop culture failed to make an impact. I was busy kayaking and dancing. I had my first job. I almost got married. I adopted two cats.
I spent four years in medical school, four in residency, and one in fellowship, culminating with a career in academic pediatric anesthesiology. Somewhere in there I got married for real, had two kids, and more cats. Then one day in 2011 I woke up with a headache that never went away. That was the end of my medical career, although it took me a while to admit it.
I started writing—often about cats.
Looking back, there are many times at which I also had dogs. I like dogs okay. But not as much as cats.