better

So after the rare outpouring of rant and dissatisfaction yesterday, today was infinitely better than all previous days, mostly due to being on pediatric surgery. On a concrete level, the cases are shorter with very quick turnover, especially in the ear nose throat (mostly tonsillectomies) OR I was in, which means that there was a lot more action. It was easier to keep the ventilation mask on children, with their smaller mouths (I didn't realize how hard that is to do on adults until I failed, every time) and was also able to successfully intubate for the first time. In general there are fewer bells and whistles (cords and needles), which meant that after minimal observation I could help and be of use.

Underneath that (or really, overwhelming that) things were more real and honest. Kids are allowed to be expressive and vulnerable, and they show themselves whether through silence or through noise. Silence in adults goes unnoticed and noise underestimated. Having these things, that were present all of last week without anyone paying much attention, out in the open was a relief. It gives you, as a student, more room too. No one questions if you take extra time to comfort children, pat them, talk to them. Instead of patients being wheeled in on beds, the anesthesiologists carried them into the OR in their arms. Little ones make things less serious. Even as there is of course the same level of care and concern, the weight of The Things We Do is lighter; there is less self-importance and more outward generosity, such that protecting their fragility doesn't require forgetting your own.

At one point I placed my hand on top of the blanket, over where I thought the knee might be and felt a foot instead. When I applied to med school I thought I'd want to work with kids, and now I want to work with the elderly. I suppose that since then I've moved from wanting connection with innocence to connection with experience. But moments like those remind me of how much smallness exists, and how much it's worth.