Surgeons

He was never my buddy, nor would I consider him a friend, exactly. He never looked down on me, but we were not on the same level, just the same team. His responsibilities were more, his skill awesome, his demeanor unflappable. He liked my jokes, laughed, and had trouble remembering how to tell them again. He treated me with respect for my position, my duties, my training, my abilities. He visibly relaxed when he knew I would be his nurse on a long, complex day. This took a while to notice, through the reserve.

I trusted him to be on time for the first case. I knew what he liked, what he needed, and trusted him to give me a heads up for anything out of his reliable routine. He sometimes went missing to start subsequent cases when he got caught long doing procedures in endo, but even that was rare enough. I trusted his temperament, he only showed his irritation with others by eye rolling, not readily noticed by those not familiar with him. More likely, I would hear him mutter at himself, exasperated at his imperfections. He would warn himself, calling his own name threateningly. He was a patient and thorough teacher, to med students, surgical residents and new scrub techs alike.

He was incredibly self sufficient, and had worked out techniques for plugging in the camera and cords himself, often using his feet. He seemed bemused when I called him Twinkle Toes. I considered it a good day when I got to all the attachments before he had to slip his clog off.

He loves being a surgeon. He speaks well of his wife, and children. I would recommend him to anyone needing his services without hesitation.

His partner, and near equal, more personable and funnier, certainly with less hair, is perhaps better with talking with his patients. I enjoyed days with him more, but was also more wary of his crankiness. Both were calm in crisis, attentive wells of competence. The best days were when they worked together, supporting and enhancing each other's talents while teasing like brothers.

I miss them both, miss knowing them by heart, and dancing through a long day with them. I miss watching them work.



(Lest you think all surgeons are screaming prima dons. Most are intelligent, skilled professionals, with varying degrees of personality. They work closely with the same people for hours and days at a stretch. The dreadful ones are much the exception, though given the volume, it's hard to remember that.)