own in years until that morning. We had a good laugh, and she told me the real world was nothing like TV. She was right.
I traded my sweatshirt for scrubs and met her in the hallway to review the surgical board. She walked me through the lineup of surgeries ahead, beginning with an exploratory laparotomy on a patient living with metastatic melanoma. We entered the pre-op room, and I instantly recognized the look in the patient’ s eyes. She was in pain and fearful, but also hopeful for some relief. Dr. Williams sat down next to her, introduced herself, went through the necessary information and then paused to ask the patient if she had any questions. After several seconds of intense silence, Dr. Williams took her hand and said,“ We’ ve got you.” In that instant, I saw a bit of fear melt away and trust take over. It was a magical moment, surreal to experience from a new perspective.
After checking on a few other patients in pre-op, Dr. Williams took me into the operating room where the exploratory lap was in progress. The patient’ s transverse colon was out, and the general surgeon was working through her abdomen identifying evidence of metastatic disease: pink flesh littered with black dots. In that moment I felt both anger and awe.
Working on the psychosocial side of oncology care at Gilda’ s Club Kentuckiana, I was used to talking about cancer, hearing stories and sharing my own. Standing feet away from an open abdomen, seeing cancer for the first time, shifted how I serve. At Gilda’ s Club we treat the symptoms of cancer that chemotherapy, radiation, immunotherapy and surgery cannot. The anxiety, isolation, fear and confusion that come with a cancer diagnosis all feel heavy. Practical support in the context of community with others who understand what you’ re going through brings comfort, improves outcomes and lightens the load. Before that day, I would separate the disease from the person, focusing on the impact of illness, but that’ s no longer possible. Every new person who walks through our big red doors is the patient on that table. I see them and I see the cancer, an inextricable pair. We don’ t use the word“ battle” in our work, but I feel a war cry rise up in me every day, fueling my purpose, to ensure no one faces cancer alone.
I was allowed to remain in that OR for over an hour, watching carefully as the surgeons worked, being coached on how to monitor vitals, hang blood and stay vigilant to respond as needed. When Dr. Williams returned after checking on the other residents and APRNs she was supervising, she asked what I was thinking and I couldn’ t even find the words. In truth, I didn’ t talk nearly as much as usual over the next eight hours, despite a million things running through my head. I saw parts of nine surgeries before the end of my first shadow shift; the lap, an aneurysm clipping, an open reduction and internal fixation, two robotic assisted hysterectomies and multiple C-sections. It was overwhelming, inspiring and exhilarating.
I returned for a second shift one month later; with every case I grew more and more amazed by Dr. Williams. She taught with confidence and clarity. She approached every patient with respect. When language was a barrier and an interpreter was present, she treated it like every other pre-op check-in. She never broke eye contact with her patient, always taking the time to thank the interpreter for their work before leaving the room. She moved fast, and responded quickly, meeting the needs of her patients and raising the skill level of her students. She comforted soon-to-be mothers receiving an epidural and celebrated with them when the first cries of new life rang through the room. In one case, a combative emergent patient cursed in her face, pushing away the vital oxygen she offered, but she never lost her cool, because every patient deserved her best, regardless of what they gave her.
I am forever grateful to the Greater Louisville Medical Society for this behind-the-scenes look at the medical profession and to Dr. Williams for welcoming me to watch as she and the surgical teams changed lives together. Two days of“ Wearing the White Coat” tore my world wide open, made me wish I’ d gone to medical school and left me more grateful for the many sets of skilled hands who had helped me heal over the years. Most of all, it prepared me for my 17th( and hopefully final) surgery, a total hysterectomy that took place on December 8 of last year.
Checking into Baptist Hospital East that morning I felt complete peace. For the first time, there was no need for fear. I had seen the exact surgery I was about to have from start to finish. I remembered the instruments on the screen, carefully removing endometriosis, separating organ from scar tissue, removing the uterus, while leaving the patient with just a few small incisions as evidence. I was ready … because I had spent time on the other side of the table.
If you’ re ever invited to wear that white coat, say yes, and get ready for a life-changing experience.
Lori Mangum is Vice President for Community Engagement at Gilda’ s Club Kentuckiana.( non-member)
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