It was definitely the smell of the bone saw.

I’d gotten up early, driven an hour in gray January, and eaten a mushy biscuit, but it was definitely the acrid smoke curling up from that reciprocating blade that made me ill.

Afterall, I’d never sat in on a CABG surgery before. Undergrad junior classmen rarely do. But no one else seemed bothered by the smoke. The perfusionist was oblivious, nose buried in a newspaper (that tells you how long ago this has been), the anaesthesologist was reorganizing his tiny bottles, again, for the third time, and the nurses were standing masked and ready.

The sternum popped open with a light cracking sound, and the heart was exposed. I was far from ready. I had to back up a little.

“Is something wrong?” I muttered to the anesthesiologist under my breath.

He gave the chest cavity a sharp-eyed glance, then replied, “What do you mean?”

“The heart’s yellow, I said “Covered with fat.”

“Normal,” he said.

“Not according to the illustrations in my textbook,” I muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Within seconds, I’d forgotten anyway, because the surgeon was mesmerizing. Even among talented painters or pianists, I hadn’t seen such fine dexterity. He traded forceps, scalpels, and needles; clamping, cutting, and stitching with the grace of a songbird threading branches.

One might be tempted to say it was mechanically precise, but it was more than mechanical, because a patient is more than a biological machine. A patient is alive and dynamic, and the surgeon adapted to every minute change so instantly and fluidly that I wondered if I had only imagined that anything had changed.

CABG surgery takes hours, but it seemed like only minutes before the surgeon said, “Off pump,” and the operation began to wrap up. He’d saved a person’s life and made it look like a waltz. Maybe that’s why we call it an “operating theater.”

Also, maybe the bone saw wasn’t really the problem. Perhaps… if I’m being really honest… I just didn’t think I could give what surgery would require of me. I left medical school shortly thereafter.

So that’s why I definitely shouldn’t be a cardiothoracic surgeon…

But maybe, if you have the focus and determination, it’s exactly why you should.

Thanks for reading,

                Transonic Systems, Inc

                                  The Measure of Better Results