I’m looking up at the operating room light, it’s so bright it hurts. It’s hour 18 of my day. I’ve been working since 4am, and now it’s close to 11pm. My neurosurgeon attending is telling me that the surgery will take at least another hour. I’m so tired, and sleepy. In my mind, I go over the things that are not perfect in my life. I start thinking about the rec letters that need to be done, the residency apps, not having enough honors in my third year, maybe I won’t get into my top 3 choices for residency, maybe I picked the wrong career. In my daze and exhaustion, I went over all my inadequacies, and my insecurities.
Then I stopped. There on the OR table is my patient. She is 20yrs old, a college student, riding her bike at 7am that morning. I wondered what she was thinking about, the dreams that she had, if her morning always started off with lots of hope, or a list of things to do. I wondered what she was thinking about as a trolley slammed into her, and threw her off her bike. 2hrs later, she woke up, unable to move anything below her shoulder, but knowing everything. She looked so scared with all those tubes, all the doctors. Her parents are there in the next hour, asking us questions, questions that we don’t want to answer. “can she move again?” “is she going to die?” “why aren’t you guys doing her surgery damn it!”
Medical school teaches us all about science. So technically, she has a complete spinal cord transection at C5. She will be a quadriplegic from now on, if she’s lucky, she’ll breathe on her own. Literature says she has 9yrs more to live with this type of injury, there’s no hope for recovery. She’ll eventually die from an infection, ulcers, or pneumonia. Surgery will stabilize her spine, but will not change her paralysis.
It’s 11:30pm, I’m standing over the table thinking about the imperfections of my life. Yet, my patient will never walk again, write again, breathe on her own again. She will never ride her bike again. Chances are, she will never get married, have a family. She will never get to travel, or use her education. All of this is gone, because of a 2 second impact, a little fracture of that vertebrae.
It’s all about perspective, it’s close to midnight, and I am grateful for my life. For the fact that today, I can breathe, and eat, and walk, and think, and love. Today, I have the ability to still give my all and make a little difference in this world.
Today is a beautiful day and
“we are the lucky ones” Rent