Life lessons from the operating room

Surgery rotations are one-of-a-kind experiences.

Although it is mainly an educational experience, in some ways, it can feel like an endurance race. Each rotation is usually a month long and requires long work hours. It can also feel like an audition, because you are trying to impress the team and hopefully convince them that you are cut out to be a surgeon.

Some of the lessons I’ve taken away from these experiences have also changed the way I approach my life.

I observe what’s going on in the operating room with all of the curiosity and respect it deserves.

I knew that to succeed in these rotations, I needed to give it all I have, but I came to realize that I need to do so in a way that is sustainable and fulfilling. After all, this is the rest of my life.

So, even if it’s tempting to start out with an all-out sprint, I now recall that it is a marathon. I settle into a pace that allows me to feel challenged, but also leaves me some reserve to feel content, and push harder when the opportunity comes.

Veteran surgeons don’t care so much about whether you’re naturally talented, so long as you can accept feedback and use it to improve your technique.

My first surgical rotation reminded me of when I immigrated to the United States from South Korea. Surgery has its own language, culture, and code of behavior. I had to respect the fact that I was entering a new community and be open to absorbing its ways before I could meaningfully suggest change or impose my own style.

Whenever I enter a new environment, I still remember my first time entering the operating room. I observe what’s going on with all of the curiosity and respect it deserves.

In medicine, there’s always a sense of urgency to get ahead. When I first started surgery rotations, I wanted to impress others by knowing and performing the fancy tasks.

But I now know that there is nothing more impressive than someone who strives to perfect the basics, and then to consistently build upon them.

So now, no matter how small the task, whether it’s closing an incision or placing dressings, I just focus on giving it my best.

Surgery, at its best, is a silent choreography because everyone understands each other’s roles and needs.

Veteran surgeons don’t care so much about whether you’re naturally talented, so long as you can accept feedback and use it to improve your technique.

At first, it was tempting to block it out if someone told me that I was doing something wrong because it meant I wasn’t already perfect. But now, I write it down, and try my absolute best to get it right the next time. Sometimes, I’m able to demonstrate my growth to the surgeon who corrected me the next day. Other times, I never get the chance.

Regardless, I try to never waste an opportunity to grow when people have gone out of their way to share with me a bit of their own expertise. I have found that other surgeons are more likely to want to help me improve further when I show that I’m listening and taking to heart their suggestions.

This last one isn’t so much a life lesson as a life philosophy:

Surgery, at its best, is a silent choreography because everyone understands each other’s roles and needs.

It may seem paradoxical, but the most accomplished surgeons do not necessarily move fast or in a showy manner. They move efficiently and purposefully.

They do not try to stand out or race ahead. They anticipate others’ needs and respond appropriately. There is no ego.

Jason Han is a cardiac surgery resident at a Philadelphia hospital and contributor to The Inquirer’s Health section.