Anesthesiologists and barbequed steak

Today I had my last day of my cardiology practicum and I felt sad that it had come to an end. In the morning I went to rounds with Dr. G and sat with all the surgeons discussing cases that had gone well or hadn't gone well. Dr. G and I went and saw a patient with serious endocarditis (an infection of the heart valves) who was waiting for surgery, and then I said goodbye to her and went over to spend the rest of the day with another surgeon watching pacemaker implants.
I had previously watched open heart surgery with Dr. H and he was a good deal kinder and gentler than Dr. K. However, while he wasn't brash and intimidating, I still felt trepidation approaching the OR. The nurses were happy to see me and the anesthesiologist started pimping me.
"How can you tell the difference between first, second and third degree heart block?"
I fumbled for an answer. We were walking down the hall together before the first case started, and suddenly we encountered two medical students. The young woman was obviously a student cause she had a brand new stethoscope and looked nervous. The man was older but I thought, well, medical schools take all types.
"Hey, Dr. P!" The man said to the anesthesiologist. "How come you've got a Calgary medical student with you?"
"I'm not from Calgary." I said. "I'm going to school overseas."
"Overseas?!" He gave me a funny look.
"Well, what's your name? Where are you from? Obviously you must be a mature student." He eyed me up and down.
(A mature student is one who is either a little older or has had extensive experience before coming to medical school.)
"I'm Heather." I stuck out my hand to shake his. "Thank you for calling me a mature student. But how old do you think I am?"
He rolled his eyes.
"Oh boy. Never answer that question if a woman asks."
"Well, I'll take it as a compliment that you think I'm mature." I said graciously. "But I'm probably younger than you think I am."
"Where are you going to school overseas?" He demanded.
"Before you ask me anymore questions, why don't you tell me what your name is?" I answered back. "I hardly think it's fair that you can quiz me on my age, occupation and nationality without answering some of my questions."
He gave me an astonished look. "Who do you think you are?"
"Who do you think you are?" I said right back, and then smiled. "I'm a student with Dr. H and I'll be in the OR today with him."
Dr. P started laughing.
"Heather, this is Dr. S and he is the head of anesthesiology at the hospital. He's the person who will be giving you a rotation here if you ever apply for one."
I could only smile wanly. "Pleased to meet you", and I walked down the hall with him staring after me, feeling like the world's biggest idiot.
Later when I was in the operating room the door suddenly opened and Dr. S stuck his head in.
"How's that lippy medical student treating you, Dr. H?!!" came a shout.
Dr. H looked at me surprisedly, because I had been quite demure up to that point.
"Where did you find that foreign student, anyway?!"
"He picked me up at immigration!" I shouted back.
The nurses started to laugh and Dr. S shook his head with a grin and closed the door again. Oh, Heather. You sure got lucky that time.
Dr. H was obviously amused and he offered to take me and another nurse for lunch. When we were on our way back up in the elevator I summoned up enough courage to pop the question.
"Dr. H, if it's not too busy this afternoon, can I scrub in on one of the cases and help out?"
"Sure! No problem." He said kindly.
He went to bring a patient down and I stood in the OR with the scrub nurse and she went over all the names of the surgical instruments with me and I tried to memorize them. Pick-ups. Toothed pick-ups. Snaps. Pott-Smith Scissors. Volkmann's retractors. Needle drivers. Dissecting scissors. Diefenbach blades. It went on and on.
We started the surgery and I stood and held tissue back with a retractor while Dr. H cauterized cut blood vessels. The smell of the sizzling flesh was just like barbeque and I envisioned myself gagging at a summer party next time I tried to eat steak. I swabbed blood and snipped the ends of his stitches and held guide wires for him.
I scrubbed in the next case as well and at the end he sutured the deep layers of fatty tissue and then gave me the fine silk thread to suture the final layer of skin. These were the same type of stitches I had failed to do with Dr. K and as I advanced the needle I tried not to let my fingers shake with nervousness. These particular type of stitches are called subcuticular stitches and they go parallel to the incision, just underneath the very top thin layer of skin. If done correctly, no stitches are visible on the outside of the incision, and more importantly, no puckering of the skin to leave a scar.
Dr. H watched me closely while I sutured, offering no comment, and as I pulled the last few ones through he said,
"You did a beautiful job", and then, "I'll leave you to finish up then."
He walked away, tearing off his gown and the scrub nurse handed me the instruments I needed while I finished with the incision, cleaned it up and then covered it in steri-strips and bandages.
He said I did a beautiful job. I helped transfer the patient to a gurney and washed up, and then floated down the hallway. Dr. H stopped me at the door.
"Thank you for coming today." He said. "It was a pleasure working with you. If you ever need a reference or would like a practicum or something, please don't hesitate to call me."
He said I did a beautiful job.
I changed into my clothes and went out to my car and as I drove down the road I felt a different kind of tears pooling in my eyes.
Over the last few years lots of people have asked me, why don't you just stay being a nurse? What makes you think it's going to be different being a doctor? I honestly haven't been able to give a clear answer, except somehow I believed that if God was calling me to go to medical school, which I truly feel he is, then he would make me love it.
When I woke up this morning my first thought was, yay! I get to go to surgery today! And I leapt out of bed. I wish I was going tomorrow. I wish I was going the next day. I wish I was going the day after that.
Success isn't about making piles of money or having a job with status or looking good (but you never know, I may have all of the above someday in the future). Success is about finding yourself in the center of God's will. I may have a negative balance in the bank and I may be just a lippy medical student and I may look ridiculous in my oversized green scrubs and 30-pound lead apron, but I know that where I am right now is in the center of God's will.
Now if only I could learn to hold my tongue around anesthesiologists, I might just be okay......