Originality: an interview with author Dr. Ellen Anderson Penno

Ellen and her current dog pal, Ed

At age 22, Ellen Anderson Penno lost her partner Ian in a mountain climbing accident within hours of kissing him goodbye at base camp. She was also just a few short weeks away from entering med school, with no option to delay. Layering grief over the sudden loss of Ian with the grueling schedule of med school, Penno gives readers a look into her life and the wisdom she’s gained through her experiences.

BKM: Ellen, wow. Your memoir expressed so clearly the raw and searing grief you experienced during the months and years following Ian’s tragic death. How difficult it must’ve been to relive that while writing. Yet, while the overriding theme revolves around grief, the book has so much more to it: wisdom and philosophy and even lessons in anatomy. It really is a treasure to read. 

EAP: Thank you. In many ways it was more difficult to keep the grief mostly to myself for almost three decades. Most people around me advised me to just put my head down and move on. After all, I was starting medical school and even the loss of a loved one shouldn't get in the way of my chosen career—others' advice not my own feeling. So I tried my best to do what those around me wanted me to do.

When a reporter called me years later to tell me a backpack had been found at the base of the glacier after all those years and Seattle Met magazine wanted to interview me for a story about the avalanche, it felt like permission. There were a lot of tears for sure during the writing process, yet it was liberating to finally share my grief with the world. One of my favorite sayings is: Joy shared is doubled, grief shared is halved.

BKM: On the topic of grief you write, “…grief encased me like molasses; my subconscious desperately ran around inside me, poking and prodding, prying me forward from minute to minute, pushing like a miniscule Sisyphus to keep me from sliding down into the darkness.” This struggle plagued you repeatedly as if on a loop, and all the while you were trying to focus on your first year of med school. What were some of the most important elements of psychological survival for you during this time? 

EAP: In some ways my grief insulated me from some of the harsher aspects of medical training; the worst thing I could imagine had already happened, so I didn't really care if I succeeded or not at that time and the ridiculous amount of studying required offered me a respite, a distraction from grief. (People say the amount of information medical students are expected to learn is like trying to drink from a fire hydrant.)

My grief was also a gift to cut through to what was and is most important—the love of family and friends, including animal friends like my dog pals over the years. When it came down to what is most important, the stress of tests and classes seemed inconsequential in comparison, so that took the stress away in many ways. 

On a physical level running, taking hot baths, buying myself flowers, and spending time with humans and animals I loved were some of the things I found comforting.

As I recall, in the 1980s there weren't a lot of options or offerings of counseling or therapy. Later I did join a grief group which I found very supportive. Sharing our varied losses and experiences with one another was very validating; in the sharing of our grief, we were able to help one another carry the heavy burden of loss and encourage each other to do the work of grief on our own timelines and in our individual ways. 

BKM: The chapter titled “Cerebellum” ends with your thoughts on living with choice, that choice is something we have control over, though chance is not. “It is up to each of us to raise our faces and look around to figure out what opportunities exist on the new path.” This is something I agree with 100 percent, though of course the figuring out part is not always clearly laid out or easy to think about. What are some examples of the choices you made that set you on a new path? 

EAP: This question makes me smile, because I can hear Ian lecturing me about hindsight bias. In the memoir I include a letter he wrote to me about this, in which he writes:

If someone were to approach a young person at this stage in his life and tell him that in reality what he was experiencing was the origins of his career as an insurance salesman and his marriage to his college sweetheart, that person would most likely be told to go to hell. Not for lying, but for being so insensitive to what was going on at that time in the student’s life. Historians in search of historical origins run the risk of a similar fate.

With that said, there are some choices like deciding to apply to medical school, choosing ophthalmology (and being lucky to be accepted), deciding not to join the climb the day of the avalanche, moving to Canada... and so many choices in my life that probably set me on a different path; although I am sure there are a multitude of other choices we all make daily that we don't even know are changing our life trajectory. As my big brother (a stats guy) says, it's a “SWAG”—a scientific wild-assed guess.

But I do like to think I have some agency to my life, and that if I pause and listen and think and keep my head up and observe, then I will have more data which might guide me to a better choice in a given circumstance, provided that fate doesn't have other plans. 

BKM: I kept learning things as I read: the basics of rock climbing and mountain climbing, the biochemistry of running a marathon, medical facts like the health benefits of a hot bath. Peppering these fascinating bits of information into your story brought levity and provided additional layers of intrigue, which I thought was brilliant. How did you decide upon writing your memoir in this way, and what was it like to move in various directions while writing? 

EAP: Memoir is challenging in that life rarely unfolds with a narrative structure. I had many earlier versions that I worked on with writers’ groups including twice attending the Yale Summer Writers conference, as well as working with editors, and over time the chaos of the first drafts took shape including what to keep in and take out. I have been a lifelong learner, and in training for eleven years (fifteen if you count undergrad) so I have a natural love of facts of all kinds. Including these bits of information was a natural part of this story.

BKM: Something that stood out when reading Counting Bones was the places in which you’ve lived and traveled. In part, because I too have lived in some of those areas: Northfield, MN, Bellingham, WA, and Bozeman, MT; but also because many of the places in which you’ve chosen to spend time are outdoorsy in some cases to the extreme. You’ve clearly been an adventurous woman throughout your life (waaaay more than me!), not to mention an accomplished one—as a doctor and in taking life by the reins. To what would you attribute your drive, your success? How did/does the adventurous side of you enhance the rest of your life? 

EAP: I have to give credit to my adventurous parents and their message that I could do anything I put my mind to—in an era when I was young that was stacked against women. Probably also genetics and luck play a role in terms of where and when I was born; I do explain this in my memoir as my superball theory of life. There again is that blend of being at the right place at the right time and maybe a little bit of your own spin with your intentions and choices. I grew up with a full set of encyclopedias on the shelf and parents that allowed me to collect bugs and spill them out onto the kitchen floor to examine. True grace is finding serendipity at the feet of chance. I have been so lucky in my life to have amazing adventures with curiosity as my fuel.

BKM: Several years have passed since Ian’s accident on Mt. Baker. Your life was always moving forward, though it may not have always felt that way. I found the following quote from your book a poignant reminder, especially in knowing that most everyone experiences grief whether due to loss or other challenges in life. You write, “Eventually your grief will be there to carry your history, to remind you never to forget, and to remind you that you can raise your head to see the light that exists outside yourself, and know that light exists within yourself, even when it seems you have fallen into endless darkness.” Some believe that a part of being human is to further personal growth by way of being challenged—even though it can take a long time to “see the light.” What are your thoughts on this? 

EAP: Yes, and that is why the sharing of loss and grief is important. The first time I found myself in the pit of deep grief, I did not believe that I would ever get out. I credit those close to me who supported me the best they could at the time, for pushing me to stick to the plan—to start with I was mostly carrying on because I didn't want to let the people around me down. It took months and years to learn how to integrate my grief and to understand that grief and joy can coexist. It took me a long time to understand that it was okay for me to feel broken, it should have been okay for me not to always try to be "fine," and to learn to embrace my grief as my path forward.

For me, the crux (to use a climbing term) was to understand that I would never get over grief, and to recognize the gift of making friends with grief whose lessons will lead to the ability to see all the joy in my life that is often already around.

Dr. Ellen Anderson Penno’s book, Counting Bones, can be found online at all major booksellers and through her website at eepenno.com.