I grasp the tool of my trade. The scalpel is always the first step. My breast is filled with anticipation, not fear. I am part of a tradition that began when man first walked the earth. Perhaps on the plains of Mesopotamia, an ancient healer took a sharp stone and lanced a boil on the skin of his patient. That was the beginning of my profession.
Even after a lifetime as a surgeon, I still consider it a mystery and a privilege. One of my role models, Francis D. Moore, titled his autobiography, A Miracle And A Privilege.
To me, a mystery is more apt, more personal, more palpable. No diagnostic test, no imaging study ever provides the definitive diagnosis. The mystery prevails until I enter the abdomen. The scalpel incises the skin and the layers begin to separate not in violence, but in kindness. The discovery of the extent and nature of the disease follows, as it has for every surgeon for centuries.
Then comes the privilege. The anxious family members await the news. Good or bad, I am the messenger. It is the trust that has been placed in me that is the privilege. Unlike for the athlete or performer, there are no lights, no cameras. It is personal; it is private. I am simply the custodian of the profession of healers. A mystery and privilege, indeed.
Kevin R. Loughlin MD, MBA is a retired urologic surgeon and an emeritus professor at Harvard Medical School. He enjoys swimming, walking his dogs and writing.
