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I felt like an idiot.
But soon the patient was wheeled in, and all my discomfort disappeared.
I had no clue what procedure I was about to witness. I knew Piers specialized in cardiac surgery, but I hadn’t been told what exactly we were doing that morning, and nobody seemed inclined to fill me in. The man on the table was older, in his late sixties at least, a thin white man with stark black hair and bushy eyebrows, probably dyed. He looked nervous, but put on a brave smile, likely already on a drug cocktail, and Piers nodded at him, eyes intense and fierce.
“I’ll see you soon, Mr. Short,” he said.
The patient only smiled. The anesthesiologist took over from there, putting Mr. Short under. Once they confirmed everything was prepped and ready, the procedure began.
I’d seen skilled surgeons do their work in med school. I sat in on several intricate procedures, and been impressed with the poise and ability of the men and women doing their jobs. But none of that even came close to what I witnessed with Piers.
It was like watching a pianist at the top of his ability. Each movement was short, exacting, and elegant. His hands moved with incredible precision, and a heavy hush fell over the room as he worked. It took me a bit to understand what was happening, but it became clear that he was placing a stent.
It was a relatively routine operation, though Piers somehow made it seem like a performance. The nurses danced around him, giving him what he needed as he went through each step, working by the book, but doing it in a smooth, fluid manner.
There was a different between a deft touch and a heavy one. A mediocre surgeon could still do most procedures with little or no problems, but it was a whole different thing when a truly exceptional surgeon did his work. Healing times were shorter, complications were much rarer, and patient outcomes were almost always better. A surgeon could hack their way through a body, but a truly gifted technician navigated the human body with the lightest, deftest touch imaginable.
Watching him made me realize why everyone put up with his constant bad attitude.
The man was incredible. It was a simple surgery, but without a doubt the most precise thing I’d ever seen. By the end, I didn’t even realize that I’d been standing for a couple hours, watching with my neck craned. He put the finishing touches on Mr. Short, they made sure he was stable, then wheeled him off to post-op recovery.
Piers looked back at me as the nurses bustled around the room, closing things up. “What did you learn?” he asked.
I stared at him, then blinked rapidly. “I don’t know,” I said stupidly, because I couldn’t choose one thing. There was so much I saw in that surgery, so many tiny things he did just perfect, and I knew that no matter what I did in my entire life, I’d never quite live up to what I just saw.
He seemed disappointed. “Come on then,” he said, and we went into the prep room together. He scrubbed down and got changed and I joined him in the hall.
Outside, he leaned up against the wall and I joined him, still buzzing from the experience of watching him work.
“What did you see in there?” he asked, pressing me again.
I opened my mouth to say something stupid, but then shut it again. The way he looked at me seemed to suggest that there was some correct answer—or maybe he was testing me somehow.
“It was a stent procedure. You placed the—”
“Not what I did,” he said, shaking his head. “What did you see?”
I chewed on my lip, not sure how to answer that. It was like some Zen riddle or something, where I was supposed to find meaning in an otherwise meaningless statement. I saw a lot of things in there, and I wasn’t sure which was important.
As I looked away, I saw the nurses bustling down the hall, and the way the younger girl moved made something click. I didn’t know why, but I thought of the way he’d opened Mr. Short up initially, that very first cut.
“Economy of motion,” I said. “You’re precise. You never go too far.”
He nodded, looking relieved, like somehow, I’d gotten it right. “Never too much, and never too little. That’s the trick in surgery. Anyone can learn the motions of a procedure and be able to get through it, but to do it perfectly, to only take as much as you need and never a bit more, that’s the trick. Too little is as bad as too much, but too much, that’s worse.”
“How do you manage it though? Memorization? Practice?”
“Practice,” he said. “Memorization doesn’t work. Every patient’s different, their bodies are slightly different, their skin thinner, or thicker, or more malleable. Every body’s the same, but every body has its own quirks, and it’s my job to assess those quirks on the spot.”
