A Marathon of Medicine:
Part 2 - Fear in the OR
by Cassie Boggs
Cassie
Boggs, a fourth-year medical student, shares her personal perspective on
medical school. Her column appears periodically during the academic year.
After two years of sitting in classrooms attempting to memorize insane amounts of information, then taking step one of the U. S. Medical Licensing Exam, the toughest test by far in my life, finally, that tantalizing string of promise dangling over my head for so long dropped within reach. At last, I was allowed to enter the hospital and see patients. I gazed upon my first day like a starving hobbit encountering a seven-course meal.
I started my core rotations with surgery, initially terrified of the operating room, petrified I would inadvertently cause the death of the patient by some random act of clumsiness. I knew this fear was irrational but could not drive it from my mind, uncomfortable with the amount of power I had over someone’s well-being.
That first time, with my trembling hands inside the abdominal cavity, retracting tissue so the surgeon could see what he was doing, I became mesmerized by the beauty of living human entrails, the springy texture of lung tissue inflated with breath, the smooth, firm quality of liver.
I became equally enthralled by the destructive forces of disease: the unnatural blue of a bloodless intestine wrapped around itself, the rock-hard nature of a severely cirrhotic liver caused by years of alcoholism.
But most remarkable to me were the patients – not the collection of organs inside them – but the people that they were. They would come into the operating room naked, surrounded by strangers, and yet, sometimes, they would come in singing. And other times, they did not say a word. I found myself trying to predict how my patients would deal with their fear of the OR – with silence or chatter.
I came to discover that the best way to overcome my own fear was by helping my patient overcome his. I made sure he knew I would be in the operating room with him, would stand next to his head as he was given anesthesia and fell asleep, would be there the entire time he slept, and would stay after the operation to help him wake up.
I know my presence was a comfort to many patients. I was glad to be able to help them navigate their fear and uncertainty. However, I do admit to ulterior motives.
The future pathologist in me wanted to be at ease in the OR, to be able to walk in without my heart rate going up. I wanted my discomfort to abate so that in the future, I will not be hindered by fear when evaluating a surgical specimen, even if I’m nowhere near an operating room.
I wanted to be a better doctor. The thought scared me because it meant I was beginning to think of myself as a doctor. A doctor? A person responsible for the health and well-being of others? Am I really capable of making a decision that will determine the course of another person’s life?
I believe I am, and I hope I never stop questioning my ability and privilege to make those decisions.
Next time: Part 3 – The ER