I have notoriously cold hands.  My feet are cold too, but they don’t feel cold to me.  My hands, on the other hand, are not only cold but they feel cold to me.  My right hand is quite a bit colder than my left.  Whenever I am examining a patient and I place my hands on their belly, the typical response is a shriek with the exclamation, “cold hands!”  Even when I attempt to pre-warm my hands the aforementioned scenario ensues.  It’s like clockwork.  Time and again, my response to “cold hands” has been to smile and state matter-of-factly, “warm heart.”  I wonder how many times I will say this in my career.  I had a boyfriend many moons ago who’s father was notorious for saying, “I’ll have the other half” as he swirled his wine glass toward the waitress(es) insinuating he would like one more drink.  I remember sitting across from this man saying the same only modestly funny thing for the umpteenth time and thinking to myself, “I wonder how many times his wife has had to hear him say this!”  I conjure a similar feeling every time the phrase “warm heart” leaves my lips.

Today I was running up Millcreek Canyon at sundown.  Dusk was settling in and I was running in snow right out of the gates.  I scolded myself for running, as I have a general policy that when the snow starts falling it’s time to trade in the running shoes for ski boots.  But I pressed on anyway, silently admonishing my poor choice in footwear.  At the turnaround the sun peeked over the mountains and cast a glow where I was standing.  I had the most indescribably amazing feeling standing there in the golden glow of the day’s last light.  My chest literally felt so warm.  Not hot, just really deeply warm.  And I was overcome with intense confusion.  Did the endorphins from the run and the stunning canyon view and the sun setting on me all converge to profoundly warm my heart in a metaphorical way and create in me this sense of belonging and purpose and contentment.  OR… wait for it, OR… did I layer really well today and hit the nail on the head in terms of my outfit choice?  I was wearing a baselayer with a fleece over top with a down component over the chest, with a wind-protective vest over top of that.  Is it possible that my wardrobe choice was such that between the down and the vest and the black colors absorbing the sun’s rays that all of the heat was concentrated on my core, thus literally warming my heart (or at least torso) beyond that of the rest of my body?  It was unsettling!    So I started running again and the moment passed.  And I will never know if in that moment my cold hands and warm heart finally came to fruition or if I just dressed reasonably.