As I step into the blue stretched out around me, there is a peaceful intensity.
There is just the sound of breath echoing through a device, filling this sacred space.
So few people have the chance in their lifetime to venture into this mysterious realm. It is a terrifying privelege to be here.
To do this - to be here - requires study, dedication, and fearlessness. As I step in, I feel the weight of this gear, this funny costume on my body, gear which I rely on to keep me safe and alive here.
Time reigns supreme in this world.
Utter reliance on the clock, your partner in the blue, and the air supply.
Suddenly, inevitably, there is a moment of claustrophobia that washes over me as some part of my brain recognizes what is happening and feels inescapably trapped behind goggles and a mask that cover my mouth.
“Breathe,” I say softly to myself.
“Breathe,” says the whoosing echo of inspiration and expiration.
“Breathe,” says your partner/teacher/guide’s eyes as they stare into yours.
My focus sharpens and time disappears.
I am here.
My hands rest at my chest, in stillness, allowing everything to move around me like some unique choreographed dance that I join in, once appropriate.
And off into the depths of the blue we venture.
______________________________________
My reflections from week 1 in the operating room during my surgical rotation. The parallels between surgery and scuba diving were profound for me...
My attending physician told us before we started that if we feel like we are dizzy or going to pass out when we step up to the operating table, we needed to step away and leave the room immediately.
My first surgery, scrubbing in and standing at the sterile field, blue all around me, the scalpel piercing the skin of the abdomen releasing a slow ooze of bright red blood, I felt a swell of familiar anxiety - a mix of claustrophobia, fear, and somewhere deep down there, excitement for this journey into the unknown. I immediately thought I needed to leave, but quickly recognized the feeling. It is the exact feeling I get the first time I scuba dive on a trip. I know how to deal with that.
Breathe.
Breathe again.
Allow the focus to sharpen like the tip of a 10 blade..
And then it all opens up.
The OR is not for me. I am way too sensitive. Also, I came into medicine to interact with patients and there is something removed, stoic, and almost disengaged about the OR. Empathy feels absent. The patient is wheeled in, slightly sedated. Doctors, nurses, students and scrub techs gather around the bed and unceremoniously shout out roles, finals checks, supplies, patient identification and BAM the patient is injected with anesthesia and they are almost instantaneously under. Within moments, their eyes are taped shut, a drape is pulled over their face and suddenly they have become a bag of organs surrounded in sheets of blue paper, demarcating the sterile field, to be avoided like lava for those not scrubbed in, so as not to contaminate the field. Lights, camera, action - the patient’s body is opened and the exquisitely skilled surgeons go to work with their talented scrub techs who anticipate every move that the surgeon will make, every utensil needed. They swim through the room with deliberate, meticulous grace. Like a symphony - each musician plays his part. The crescendos of the surgery marked by increased intensity, rather than noise - which dulls to a hush. Though when it ends, there is no applause. There is no curtain call. The anesthesia wears off, the tape is ripped from the eyelids and a radio calls for transport.
Surgery is phenomenal, necessary, life saving. And 100% not why I just spent 7 years and $150,000 going to school. I honor it, I respect it, and I cannot WAIT for this rotation to be over.
There is just the sound of breath echoing through a device, filling this sacred space.
So few people have the chance in their lifetime to venture into this mysterious realm. It is a terrifying privelege to be here.
To do this - to be here - requires study, dedication, and fearlessness. As I step in, I feel the weight of this gear, this funny costume on my body, gear which I rely on to keep me safe and alive here.
Time reigns supreme in this world.
Utter reliance on the clock, your partner in the blue, and the air supply.
Suddenly, inevitably, there is a moment of claustrophobia that washes over me as some part of my brain recognizes what is happening and feels inescapably trapped behind goggles and a mask that cover my mouth.
“Breathe,” I say softly to myself.
“Breathe,” says the whoosing echo of inspiration and expiration.
“Breathe,” says your partner/teacher/guide’s eyes as they stare into yours.
My focus sharpens and time disappears.
I am here.
My hands rest at my chest, in stillness, allowing everything to move around me like some unique choreographed dance that I join in, once appropriate.
And off into the depths of the blue we venture.
______________________________________
My reflections from week 1 in the operating room during my surgical rotation. The parallels between surgery and scuba diving were profound for me...
My attending physician told us before we started that if we feel like we are dizzy or going to pass out when we step up to the operating table, we needed to step away and leave the room immediately.
My first surgery, scrubbing in and standing at the sterile field, blue all around me, the scalpel piercing the skin of the abdomen releasing a slow ooze of bright red blood, I felt a swell of familiar anxiety - a mix of claustrophobia, fear, and somewhere deep down there, excitement for this journey into the unknown. I immediately thought I needed to leave, but quickly recognized the feeling. It is the exact feeling I get the first time I scuba dive on a trip. I know how to deal with that.
Breathe.
Breathe again.
Allow the focus to sharpen like the tip of a 10 blade..
And then it all opens up.
The OR is not for me. I am way too sensitive. Also, I came into medicine to interact with patients and there is something removed, stoic, and almost disengaged about the OR. Empathy feels absent. The patient is wheeled in, slightly sedated. Doctors, nurses, students and scrub techs gather around the bed and unceremoniously shout out roles, finals checks, supplies, patient identification and BAM the patient is injected with anesthesia and they are almost instantaneously under. Within moments, their eyes are taped shut, a drape is pulled over their face and suddenly they have become a bag of organs surrounded in sheets of blue paper, demarcating the sterile field, to be avoided like lava for those not scrubbed in, so as not to contaminate the field. Lights, camera, action - the patient’s body is opened and the exquisitely skilled surgeons go to work with their talented scrub techs who anticipate every move that the surgeon will make, every utensil needed. They swim through the room with deliberate, meticulous grace. Like a symphony - each musician plays his part. The crescendos of the surgery marked by increased intensity, rather than noise - which dulls to a hush. Though when it ends, there is no applause. There is no curtain call. The anesthesia wears off, the tape is ripped from the eyelids and a radio calls for transport.
Surgery is phenomenal, necessary, life saving. And 100% not why I just spent 7 years and $150,000 going to school. I honor it, I respect it, and I cannot WAIT for this rotation to be over.
 |
| This is not my photo... I grabbed it from google. ...But this is the blue of an operating room. |
No comments:
Post a Comment