Surgical Re-education

While preparing for D-day (which was, in case you're curious, June 5, 2006: the first day AMCAS accepted applications for the entering class of 2007), I spent a great deal of time in the operating room (this looked great on my application, but that ended up being just a fringe benefit...I really actually learned a lot). I racked up hundreds of hours of time shadowing surgeons and, eventually, even assisting with a few surgeries ("Hey, want to learn how to scrub in?" Hell yes!) Given all of this time I really thought I had a working understanding of the entire process of surgery on at least a general level, and I did have that...from the professional side. As I mentioned before, however, my father had surgery this Friday. Through this, I really got some education about the process of surgery from the patient's point of view.

I played it very cool for the month and a half leading up to dad's surgery. I knew he was going to be fine and that he was going to be better off because of this procedure. I answered what few questions I could for him and told him not to worry at all. And, he played it pretty cool, too. On the day of surgery, however, when I walked into his room, he had tears in his eyes and said simply, "It's over, hon." There was such relief on his face that I nearly cried, too. It turns out that I was also tense about this procedure...not because I'm not familiar with surgery, but because it was my father on the table this time. My father, the first degree black belt in Tae-Kwon-Do; my father, the dirt bike racing champion (that's him in the picture!); my father, who is strong and fit and wise and untouchable was suddenly...vulnerable. And, that's a new adjective for him in my mind.

This, I think, is the worst part of surgery for the patient and his or her family: waiting. Thinking of yourself (or someone you love) unconscious, intubated...vulnerable (there's that word again). My father said that he'd rather feel the pain after the surgery (which has been substantial) than live through the anticipation of the procedure again any day. For me, the hardest part of all of this was that I knew dad was scared and there was nothing I could do about it. (As an aside...I think that one way to know that you really do love someone--be it a parent, a sibling, a spouse, a friend, anyone--is when you would rather go through pain yourself than see the person you love endure a moment of it. And, that's true: I would have gone through all of this for my dad in a heartbeat if I only could have...)

See, this whole ordeal has given me an insight into the human side of surgery. When I worked and volunteered in the OR, very often I never even saw the patient until he or she was unconscious. It's probably very easy, when surgery is your everyday job, to loose sight of the human being in the patient. But, as a surgeon, the person on your table is a father, mother, brother, sister, husband, wife, best friend...you get the idea. Still though, at the worst case, I've seen people referred to as simply their time slots or their procedures ("This mastectomy is eating into my lunch hour")...this behavior is nauseating and ought not exist.

For what it's worth, I promise to always see the person before the procedure; to appreciate their life before their illness. I think this is very important...and I'm thankful that I'll never forget this now.

Feel better soon, dad. I love you with all my heart.