Surgeons: Medical Profession's Gunslingers

Eight days before my long-overdue hip replacement operation the surgeon scrubbed the procedure.  The C-word virus was blamed for the hasty decision.  It was unexpected since my operation was to be performed at a surgical hospital with no other patients.  That's the new reality we live in.

The way the news was communicated to me is typical of surgeons.  An underling called to deliver the devastating revelation.  Having dealt with three surgeons in the last three years, I have discovered these brilliant medical specialists are a peculiar breed like none other in the profession.

I compare them to gunslingers in the old Western movies I grew up watching.  They are brusque, closed-mouthed, unsociable but darn good at what they do best.  They ride to the rescue wielding scalpels when duty calls.  But you wouldn't want your daughter to ride a horse with one. 

For one thing, surgeons are never on time.  If you schedule an office visit with a surgeon, the time you were given is just a guess on when he or she might show up.  Like a dope, I arrived early for appointments only to wait an hour or more.  Do these people not own watches?

Surgeons always have an excuse for their tardiness.  "Hey, sorry about the delay, but I was just finishing sewing up a patient in OR," they will plead.  What are you supposed to say?  "Hey doc, sounds like a job for an intern?"  Too insensitive.  You just politely nod and grit your teeth.

Even the day of surgery you can expect a delay.  I was summoned to arrive 5 a.m. for my neck fusion.  The surgery was scheduled for 8:30 a.m.  I twiddled my thumbs and drank vodka tonics until almost 11 a.m. before being wheeled into the operating room.  At least I didn't need anesthesia. 

Unlike primary care doctors, surgeons have the bedside manner of a butcher at your local grocer  meat department. They whisk into the exam room during your first appointment seemingly in a big rush.  They rattle off scant details about the surgery.  Then sprint to the adjoining exam room.

You are left dumbfounded staring at the diagrams of anatomical views of hips on their exam room walls. Any questions you have are left for a medical assistant or some temp at the front desk.  I scoured the web for most answers, where I found a trove of information that was helpful.

And if you ever have a second appointment before the surgery, don't expect the surgeon to remember your name or case particulars.  They can only identify you by an X-Ray.  If you have a chance meeting with your surgeon at a party, carry an X-Ray with you just in case.

My least favorite tactic of surgeons is when they ask about your pain level.  Some have charts on their exam room walls with Smiley Faces ranging from Happy to Teary Grimace.  I never know how to translate my pain into a Smiley Face.  What a ridiculous, sophomoric tool.

If surgeons are going to insist on some visual aid, then I have a suggestion. Use photos of animals.  For example, a lion would be a symbol you feel like a king.  A skunk would infer you are feeling stinky. For pain that is at neither end of that spectrum, how about a goat?  Preferably an old one.

And, while I am on a rant, can we just all agree that surgeon's offices should no longer use an automated answering system?  The first option always is: "If this is a medical emergency, please hang up and call 9-1-1."  This is demeaning because it suggests you are too stupid to know that.

If I am laying in a heap on the floor a home, I darn sure am not calling a surgeon's office where I will have to listen to 42-voice prompts before I get dumped into a recording.  Give me a break.  I would be shaking hands with St. Peter by then.   Loose the 9-1-1 message and hire a real human.

Let's face it.  Surgeons view patients as just another lumpy body that allows they to do what they enjoy best.  Cutting open people with sharp objects and probing their innards.  Who likes a job that involves blood?  I grew faint dissecting fetal pigs in college biology.  Humans?  No way.

My suggestion is that if you are forced to see a surgeon do fact finding in advance.  Does he have a personality?  Has she ever spoken in complete sentences?  Does his photo online feature a prominent furrowed brow?  Who cares if she is board certified?  Give me a surgeon who smiles occasionally.

In hindsight, I guess being somber is a good quality for a surgeon.  After all, you don't want your surgeon  putting a whoopee cushion underneath your bottom just before drawing a scalpel from the holster on his hip. The anesthesiologist might unleash a belly laugh and forget to put you under.