Surgery This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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   I remember it clearly. My aunt allowed me to witness and indirectly partake in her surgery. I was there at that observatory deck just before surgery ... the image of my face reflected on the glass dome atop the operating room. This moment would be the prelude to my aspirations of becoming a doctor.

Suddenly a team of assistants entered the operating room followed by him. He was the tall and confident surgeon. He stood there, calm and composed amidst the intensity. I knew that he was in control and I suddenly wanted to be like him. At that moment, the surgical nurse fitted the gloves on him while he glanced caringly at the patient, who lay tranquilly sleeping surrounded by the surgery staff. This is the moment the surgeon recognizes the full weight of intensive years of studying. I understand that it was all his preparation, all the seemingly insignificant information, that led him to perform with grace under pressure.

The procedure began when the surgeon picked up that first scalpel. It was like a conductor leading a symphony orchestra. He was in charge and his every movement was a command in itself. The pressure consistently mounted with every incision. Although it was quiet from above, it seemed to me that I could almost hear the doctor's heart beating simultaneously with mine. I could imagine myself in the surgeon's position and virtually feel the fulfillment of being there and spear-heading the operation. Everything rested in his hands and his skill. The doctor intricately carried out the surgery, orchestrating every movement. He constantly called for the patient's pressure from the anesthesiologist. His fluid actions kept the nurses busy. Above all, everything remained intact for those eight hours. I was there for only half the time and I felt the strain. What could inspire such dedication? That's when I decided I was going to find out.

Two days after the operation, I met him and he was all that I imagined: personable, self-assured and modest. His name was Dr. Daniel Faulkner and he told me that he learned much about me from my aunt. He knew of my aspirations to become a doctor. Dr. Faulkner encouraged me to pursue medicine if I had the patience, the will, and most of all, the desire. He said to me, "The rewards of being a doctor are more than I could ever imagine." I didn't know the full extent of what he meant by this until I saw the results of his work, the patient. -


This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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hrish said...
Jun. 14, 2015 at 11:58 am
Very nice essay and I loved ed the part where you described the doctors movements comapring them with a conducto
 
nkrywucki said...
Feb. 24, 2015 at 5:01 pm
Very inspirational!
 
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