No “4th and 22”: Finding Comfort Before the Unknown

The moments before something life-changing often don’t feel the way you expect them to.

One of the most powerful examples comes from a deeply personal moment in my own life—midway through my career, when I was diagnosed with a life-threatening brain tumor.

Before my surgery, my dad and I weren’t sitting in silence or speaking in hushed, serious tones. We were joking. Laughing, even. We started comparing the upcoming surgery to a football game.

We made a deal—

No “4th and 22” situations.

No field goals.

Definitely no “Hail Marys.”

Just steady progress: first downs and touchdowns all the way.

It was our way of making sense of something we couldn’t control. A way to bring a little familiarity—and a lot of humanity—into a moment filled with uncertainty.

Then the doctor walked in.

When asked why the surgery would take so long, he said something unexpected: “It’s like a football game. You have the pregame show and the post-game show. The actual game—the surgery—isn’t really 13 hours.”

We looked at each other. Of all the metaphors he could have chosen, he picked ours.

He went on to reassure us, explaining that they perform this type of surgery so often, it should practically be named after them.

In that moment, something shifted.

It wasn’t just the confidence in his words—it was the connection. The recognition that even in highly clinical, high-stakes environments, small moments of shared understanding matter.

Humor mattered. Language mattered. Human connection mattered.

That brief exchange didn’t change the outcome of the surgery. But it changed the experience of it. It replaced some of the fear with trust, and some of the uncertainty with calm.

And it reinforced something I’ve come to believe deeply:

Even in the most technical moments, empathy finds a way in.

Sometimes, it sounds like a football analogy.

And that is the impact of empathy.