The ball rolled awkwardly on the turf and the words “incomplete pass” casually reverberated throughout the 94,000 plus seats at Darrell K. Royal Memorial Stadium, followed by the resounding collectively and expletives from the crowd. The sea of orange had waited silently, teetering on the verge of their seats, like a singer anticipating his/her cue, and then all at once, as if signaled by the gaffe in precision, catapulted their bellows of disappointment towards those on the field. It is a scenario that has occurred thousands of times on those blades of grass inside that massive structure of concrete, so much so that the faceless voice on the other end of the PA system probably thought nothing of it. It was just another insignificant, ultimately inconsequential play to him, to those in the stands, to the countless viewers at home. Yet, to Blaine Irby, the young man who dropped the pass, this is a play that will forever be engraved in his mind, for it was his mistake that caused the stadium to erupt with dissatisfaction, and it was his ensuing and horrific injury that caused the stadium to endure a deafening silence.
DKR MEMORIAL FIELD
On the play, Blaine was unfortunate enough to plant his foot at the exact time that a defender rocketed into his knee, causing it to violently hyperextend and, consequently, dislocate, ending his season before he even hit the ground. As he was carted off the field, knee immobilized by the tight compression brace, horns in the air, determined not to show an ounce of agony, not knowing if that will be the last time he ever gets to see the arena from such a perspective, I could not help but feel compelled-obligated- to help him. I do not know why. I have no idea who this kid is; we have never met. To me, up until this point, he was nothing more than a name on the stat sheet; no more tangible than the pixels on my computer screen. Even though I possess not even the most rudimentary medical skills, and not to mention that I stood about three hundred feet above him, I, for some reason, could not suppress the impulse that I knew I could help him. As the game went on and more yards were gained and points were scored and bodies were collided, my attempt to stay in the moment, in the present setting, was futile, as Blaine continued to possess my thoughts. While his teammates and friends continued to play and his backup was inserted into the game, much like a constituent on an assembly line, he was most likely being escorted to the nearest hospital with sirens blaring and morphine in his veins. It is in that instant, that tiny blip on my life’s grandiose radar, that I realized my passion for helping others and specifically for striving to do so through medicine.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=seZtmjbvZYQ
CLICK HERE TO WITNESS THE INJURY
I should not, however, give the impression that this particular moment was the first time I sensed such feelings-it was merely the time they were the loudest, the most impossible to ignore. My interest in medicine, but more distinctively my longing to help heal those who are injured, stems from my own personal experience.
It was my sophomore year of high school, and I was playing in just my fifth varsity football game. Finally, after several whirlwind weeks of being ostensibly confident every Friday night, my assignments were becoming reactionary-I was no longer thinking, but instead instinctively heading to where I was programmed to go. The game was slowing down, and the concoction of aggression, fear, and responsibilities was finally brewed to a perfect equilibrium. I was simply playing and having fun. Yet, just a handful of plays into the first quarter, while making a routine tackle, I experienced the most unique sensation in my left leg and in my existence. There was a “pop” and then another and another as bodies, sweat, padding, and earth coalesced into one massive weapon of mass destruction that unleashed on my appendage. It turns out the popping noise actually was the sound of my ankle dislocating, my fibula snapping, my ligaments tearing, and the curtain on my season abruptly closing. Lying there on the turf, beads of sweat or tears (I’m not sure) cascading down my face, I remember attempting to convince myself that it was not as gruesome as I thought, that perhaps it did not even happen. The trainer, with my dangling distorted foot as evidence, was eventually able to persuade me.
MY LEG, POST SURGERY
Preceding this incident, I had never heard of an orthopedic surgeon or even considered being a doctor. Yet, on my countless pilgrimages to the cold, sterile, fluorescently lit fortress that is Baylor Medical Center, I found myself enamored in the whole process, becoming wrapped up in its complexities and its details. I was curious, not just about my own circumstance, but about how they would repair the person in the bed next to me, as well as how they came to be in such a position. I am fascinated, being the sports buff that I am, in how exponentially far sports medicine and surgery has come in such a minute amount time. Twenty years ago, a tear of the ACL was a death sentence for any athlete, but now, it merely signifies six to eight months of rehab before the knee is fully recovered. Except it wasn’t just the other athletes I was interested in; I wanted to know all about the middle-aged woman who wrecked her Harley and about the little boy whose fingers were smashed in a door. I wanted to listen to them, to hear what they had to say, so that maybe, in some convoluted way, I could assist in their recovery.
I MAY NOT KNOW MUCH, BUT I AM WILLING TO LEARN
My yeaning to be a member of such an esteemed society of professionals though, is not based solely on my immense interest in the field. I strongly believe that I can be one of the best at performing an operation, as well as showing the patients compassion, something that was severely lacking in my experience.
My surgeon’s name was Dr. Marymont, probably one of the top national , if not international, experts of his craft.. He was a man who was able to answer any query I had to the fullest extent; however, he did not always seem entirely pleased to do so, or that he even enjoyed being at work. To him, I felt like I was just a patient number- the equivalent of some cadaver he probably studied in medical school- rather than a person. He did not “see patients as a whole patient.”[1] Now, the man was an excellent surgeon who repaired my leg better than I ever could have fathomed, which is, after all, what he is paid to do, but when you work with people, especially those who are vulnerable and both physically and mentally damaged, it is necessary to possess the “ability to sense how others feel and to understand their perspectives.” [2]. Instead, I was operated on, routinely arrived for check-ups, and was told that if I wanted to play sports I should pick up golf (I returned to the field, eight months later, as a starter). “Leaders who are adept at cultivating people’s abilities show a genuine interest in those they are helping along, understanding their goals, strengths, and weaknesses,”[3] yet I often left his office discouraged and uninspired. What I think he may not have understood is that being a surgeon is not just about knowing how to restore some mangled body part or understanding an abundance of science- “it doesn’t make you a better doctor to know how fast a mass falls from a tree.” [4] While these are obviously essential components, it is equally vital to “cultivate an atmosphere of cooperation and trust,” [5] with the patient, so that they know they will be taken care of-that they are more than a ten thousand dollar check.
This is where I believe I can gain an edge, and be a leader, over modern surgeons. I can’t claim or gloat about any prestigious scientific study I have been apart of. I have never done any lab work, I haven’t had any impressive internships, and in all honesty, I seriously doubt I will revolutionize the field with some groundbreaking innovation. I didn’t even really enjoy science until I arrived at the University of Texas. These are things though, that I am confident will come with time, diligence, and an inner drive. However, one attribute that I posses that most others probably do not is that I have been in the patients shoes (or cast, I should say). I know what it is like to not know what the future holds; whether running or even walking without a limp will be possible. I know what it is like to have an activity, a passion, stolen in an instant for a reason unknown, left to wonder if it will ever return. I know what it is like to be confined to a couch so long that a groove is formed, having to pee in a container, living vicodin to vicodin. I know the strength of the butterflies’ flutter that fills the stomach the hour before the body is cut open. I know the frustration that begins to seep into the mind about six months into the monotonous rehab when progress is slowing, perhaps even momentarily stalling. And I know, most importantly, how reassuring it would be to have the authority who holds the keys to physical well-being say that these circumstances can be overcome. I understand the importance of painting a bright recovery, a possibility, rather than a bleak, pessimistic result that equates to a lesser self. Now, obviously, not all doctors are as dry or static as Dr. Marymont, and I am not making the generalization that they are. It is just that I feel a constant desire to help these people because I know how truly terrible and helpless one can get. I can be a “leader who inspires…with a shared mission,” for I “embody what [I] ask of others (my patients).” [6]I can offer them hope, as I am living proof that odds can be beaten, that there are very few obstacles that determination and perseverance cannot conquer.
DR. JOHN MARYMONT, OF BAYLOR MEDICAL CENTER
EMPATHY:BEING ABLE TO SENSE HOW OTHERS FEEL
There are times that I feel like I was meant to become a surgeon, that I suffered for a reason. I feel that many take up this profession because they have a love for science or big salaries; yet, my motivation for doing so would stem from the fact that my passion for medicine, for healing, is the offspring of my first passion, which began this whole wild odyssey: sports. While I cannot promise that by being a compassionate, concerned doctor I will change the world, I find great joy in the fact that I will one day assist, motivate, inspire, and positively reinforce those going through a traumatic time in their lives. I hope to not only enthuse my future patients, but my colleagues as well “by continually reminding [them] of the larger purpose of their work.” [7] In guiding by example, I hope to set the standard of how to treat patients for what they truly are: people. Orthopedic surgery is, after all, truly a part of my life, a part of my anatomy, a part of who I am-my passion.
Works Cited:
1) Miki Rifkin, as cited saying in "Well-Rounded Docs" by Sarah Kliff (X328B)
2) Daniel Goleman's "Primal Leadership: Realizing the Power of Emotional Intelligence" (X65)
3) Daniel Goleman's "Primal Leadership: Realizing the Power of Emotional Intelligence" (X69)
4) Gail Morrison, as cited saying in "Well-Rounded Docs" by Sarah Kliff (X328B)
5) Daniel Goleman's "Primal Leadership: Realizing the Power of Emotional Intelligence" (X64)
6) Daniel Goleman's "Primal Leadership: Realizing the Power of Emotional Intelligence" (X69)
7)Daniel Goleman's "Primal Leadership: Realizing the Power of Emotional Intelligence" (X65)
TOTAL WORD COUNT: 1,902
WORD COUNT WITHOUT QUOTES: 1811
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