Cruising Altitude

I've always liked to write in my journal at cruising altitude, especially if I'm traveling alone. Its the point at which half the plane is asleep, the beverages and snacks have been passed out and all you can see out of the window is a sea of clouds. It has always seemed to me like the perfect time to stop and reflect. So last week, after flying out to go and procure an organ for a tranplant, I reflected at cruising altitude on the way home.

I am thrilled to be on my way to becoming a surgeon. I have loved the operating room since my first visit. A a student I looked on often standing on my tip toes just to get a glimpse, just hoping that maybe I'd get to touch something, or clip some suture string. Every action, no matter how small was a little gift. And now I'm finally not a student and flying out to do my first big case and I'm sort of emotionless. When I make it to the operating room, the joy of being able to touch something is overtaken by the constant state of nervous anxiety, so strong at first I almost want the operation to just be over. Every cut, every tie, every move with the bovie is made by me. I will my normally steady hands to be still. I mentally try and lower by heart rate and stay calm and be accurate and be good, and at the end, I feel almost as though I'd done nothing. Its amazing that one small insignificant tasks as a student can feel huge, such an honor, such a step forward. However, as an intern, each step is carefully shown to me, each move dictated.  The focus is no longer on the chance to do a tasks, but instead a constant attempt to perform actions correctly, it feels so different than I would have expected. As a student I would have given anything to be the intern actually doing all of the steps, it looked so amazing. Now, I realize that the goal always lies one step ahead. It truly is the attending surgeon leading the operation who actually does the operation, I'm just carrying out each request.