The surgeons assistant, in a chatty mood and already donning cerulean scrubs, hastily leads me down the 7th floor hallway lined with unoccupied stretchers, past two sets of imposing doors into the nurses' break area leading to the locker rooms. The contrast between the sterile North Wing of UMMC and the rest of the medical center, which resembled the local mall begins to affect me immediately. Pulling on the one-size-fits-all uniform, I feel like I'm infiltrating a funeral home, and though I have been anticipating sitting in on the operation for weeks now, stepping into the ward- which is buzzing with activity as I stand by- seems as appetizing as watching a mortician butcher the thoracic cavity of some unfortunate soul.
The room chills me …show more content…
Kaushal repeatedly murmurs, "Wendy, are you seeing this?!", inviting me to the head of the stretcher, near the anesthesiologists work station for a closer look, and though I'm on my tip-toes, supported by a step stool, I can barely make out the magenta, rhythmically vibrating form in front of me. Apprehensive, I try my hardest not to cough, sneeze, breathe on, touch the surgeons, etc. The doctors are carefully cutting, rearranging, and cauterizing fatty deposits and tissue like it's second nature, doing a neater job than I expected. Now, to prevent anyone reading this essay from swooning, I can only say that I left for lunch four hours into the surgical ordeal, overwhelmed and having learned a lot from spending my morning in the OR. I had just seen the insides of a fellow teenager. Most awe inspiring to me was that the six pairs of gifted hands, the choreographed steps, and the steady vitals monitor all worked in tandem under immense pressure to help a stranger stay alive. Before the ten hours spent at the patients bedside were 4 years of pre-med, 8 years of medical school and seven years of residency. "Dr. Kaushal must be more sleep-deprived than the average high school junior" I muse, head already hitting the pillow but having trouble falling asleep, making a mental note to come back again the next week and ask if it was worth it. I don't ever plan to become a pediatric cardio-thoracic surgeon, mind you, but I see the same grit, fulfillment, and humanity in the doctors
The room chills me …show more content…
Kaushal repeatedly murmurs, "Wendy, are you seeing this?!", inviting me to the head of the stretcher, near the anesthesiologists work station for a closer look, and though I'm on my tip-toes, supported by a step stool, I can barely make out the magenta, rhythmically vibrating form in front of me. Apprehensive, I try my hardest not to cough, sneeze, breathe on, touch the surgeons, etc. The doctors are carefully cutting, rearranging, and cauterizing fatty deposits and tissue like it's second nature, doing a neater job than I expected. Now, to prevent anyone reading this essay from swooning, I can only say that I left for lunch four hours into the surgical ordeal, overwhelmed and having learned a lot from spending my morning in the OR. I had just seen the insides of a fellow teenager. Most awe inspiring to me was that the six pairs of gifted hands, the choreographed steps, and the steady vitals monitor all worked in tandem under immense pressure to help a stranger stay alive. Before the ten hours spent at the patients bedside were 4 years of pre-med, 8 years of medical school and seven years of residency. "Dr. Kaushal must be more sleep-deprived than the average high school junior" I muse, head already hitting the pillow but having trouble falling asleep, making a mental note to come back again the next week and ask if it was worth it. I don't ever plan to become a pediatric cardio-thoracic surgeon, mind you, but I see the same grit, fulfillment, and humanity in the doctors