Not My First Surgery
Saturday, June 20, 2009
It seems that the 'wonder' of medicine slowly wears off; there's a lot to be said for novelty value.
Earlier this rotation, I assisted in a Below the Knee amputation (BTKA) for sexagenarian with Type 2 Diabetes and Osteomyelitis. As it's an easy operation to explain, when my parents or friends have asked me what I'm up to at med school, I tell them about it.
The response is pretty varied, although not unexpected. Non-medical people are typically a bit 'grossed out' and think it's amazing. "Wow! You got to help cut off someone's leg?" They proceed to ask questions about blood and getting nauseous and the like. It strikes them as horrific, but also marvelous to be seeing these things. They invariably express deep empathy for the lady.
Med students and my pharmacy mates are substantially less amazed. They tend to ask about he patient's other risk factors, and then for details of the operation. "So, they were Diabetic, hey?" Some ask of the value of the teaching during the surgery. The conversation often ends with an expression of empathy for the patient.
Other doctors, of varying levels, say something along the lines of "So, you got to assist?" and "Did you find it interesting?" They're wholly underwhelmed by the idea of a BTKA. I guess it just comes with the territory. I'm certain that if they were the ones telling the patient about the treatment, their physicians' sensitivity would prevail. Of course, no-one thinks that having a BTKA is a small operation without serious life-altering consequences. But, really, that wonder that the non-medical and allied health express isn't there.
And, now that I think about it, that wonder is dimming for me too. I recently re-read My First Surgery, which I wrote last August, and I can still see the patient's face, and recall all the senses attached to it. But, when I think really hard about the patient having their BTKA, it didn't evoke the same excitement, the same enthrallment.
I have no idea how hard it would be have a BTKA. Surgery has become normal in my head.
Earlier this rotation, I assisted in a Below the Knee amputation (BTKA) for sexagenarian with Type 2 Diabetes and Osteomyelitis. As it's an easy operation to explain, when my parents or friends have asked me what I'm up to at med school, I tell them about it.
The response is pretty varied, although not unexpected. Non-medical people are typically a bit 'grossed out' and think it's amazing. "Wow! You got to help cut off someone's leg?" They proceed to ask questions about blood and getting nauseous and the like. It strikes them as horrific, but also marvelous to be seeing these things. They invariably express deep empathy for the lady.
Med students and my pharmacy mates are substantially less amazed. They tend to ask about he patient's other risk factors, and then for details of the operation. "So, they were Diabetic, hey?" Some ask of the value of the teaching during the surgery. The conversation often ends with an expression of empathy for the patient.
Other doctors, of varying levels, say something along the lines of "So, you got to assist?" and "Did you find it interesting?" They're wholly underwhelmed by the idea of a BTKA. I guess it just comes with the territory. I'm certain that if they were the ones telling the patient about the treatment, their physicians' sensitivity would prevail. Of course, no-one thinks that having a BTKA is a small operation without serious life-altering consequences. But, really, that wonder that the non-medical and allied health express isn't there.
And, now that I think about it, that wonder is dimming for me too. I recently re-read My First Surgery, which I wrote last August, and I can still see the patient's face, and recall all the senses attached to it. But, when I think really hard about the patient having their BTKA, it didn't evoke the same excitement, the same enthrallment.
I have no idea how hard it would be have a BTKA. Surgery has become normal in my head.
It's like that isn't it? But hey, I would take it as a sign of progression and maturation if anything. I mean, to be blase is one thing (and you're definitely not there!), but to be unphased is another thing - an indicator of growing stability and confidence. I re-read your first surgical experience post too and nodded my head in amusement at the difference between the past and present reflections. Le sigh... we are constantly changing.