I Was Thinking About…Why the O.R. Still Takes My Breath Away
By Andy Lee
Another sunrise, another scrub cap cinched on and instruments laid out precisely as surgeons glove up. Years in and 2 a.m. call times still cue that familiar adrenaline rush as we prepare to alter lives through incisions allowing healing. The surgery bug bit during my first witness of aorta valve replacements done flawlessly thanks to synchronized talent. This room proves part battleground, part sanctuary for skirmishes against disease or trauma unveiling daily. And I can’t imagine vowing allegiance anywhere else but this illuminated arena where drama unfolds soundtracked by steady monitors beeping life’s resilience.
My role? First Assistant. While lead surgeons wield scalpels with visionary accuracy, my hands provide an extra set pulling back flesh gently so they might peek deeper towards restorative possibilities. As nurses keep watchful stats eyes on screens, I focus on the red and blue terrain revealed, sponging vivid landscapes to survey next suturing checkpoints. And where anesthetists track vital signs responding to slumber’s booms and busts, my vigilance interrogates wounds for untold stories where healing hopes lay.
Together our well-timed choreography clears infection, reshapes anatomy’s infrastructure back to smooth functionality. Incisions tell tales ripe with meaning once you learn their language. Mitral valve prolapses. Gangrenous limbs. Adrenal tumors and colon polyps. Listen closely as skin and fascia unzip, revelation echoes diagnosis data. This is holy work.
True, some days the chaos wears – urgent admissions upending schedules, cranky surgeons with exacting demands that discount support staff stamina, must intertwine for true healing. But when counting blessings as I untie my mask, gaze lingering on anesthesia still wearing off, what sustains me glows in cherished glimpses behind the curtain.
Like glimpsing young parents cradling newborns no longer impaired by hereditary defects thanks to science’s savvy and Heaven’s grace. Recognizing elderly church friends now navigating grocery aisles solo again just months post spinal fusion liberation. Even passing unassuming middle-aged accountants whose insides once filled my gloves attempting to removed a diseased kidney.
Few beyond this sanctuary’s vaulted walls know or would recognize my face. Yet kindred purpose bonds all who enter. For a brief while, we know patients skinned bare to muscle and marrow as family, so vulnerable, so trusting and depending on this surgical team who they do not know. Depending on us to expertly remove the tumor causing problems or to transplant a kidney, all to restore their health. And in uniting forces towards a shared finish line – health regained, organs realigned, bodies baptized anew in possibility’s restoration – isn’t this simply what community was designed for? Witnessing life emerging and re-emerging. Again and again and again.
Stay purposeful, keep steadfast! ⚕️
I was thinking about... 