Going Under a Knife to Mold a Surgeon

I must admit, I become a bit compulsive and anxious whenever someone close to me gets sick or needs to undergo a surgical procedure.

In our family, I am the only medically knowledgeable person. Being “the medical guy” in the family carries a tremendous amount of responsibility. Yes, it does.

The surgeries my mom and sister went through, along with the countless times other family members became sick, have taken a heavy toll on my stress reserves. Of course, medical training helps — especially the part where you learn to put on an emotionless face and maintain a calm composure. As surgeons, we need steady hands. Calm hands. Hands that can heal.

But this time, not even my medical training could completely hide the stress. Ironically, being a doctor can make things harder. Medical training fine-tunes your senses and pushes you to become more compulsive about every small detail when someone you love becomes the patient.

Why?

Frankly, I don’t know.

As one good surgeon mentor once told me:

“You can never be a real surgeon unless you go through the knife yourself.”

Then it suddenly made sense. The closest thing for me to personally going under the knife was watching someone closest to me go through it.

And now, for another time, my mom was about to undergo surgery.

Her previous surgeries were emergencies. The decisions were urgent. Preparation time was short. Options were limited. You make the best decision available and pray everything turns out well.

So you might think cataract surgery is minor.

But if you have seen an almost blind elderly patient being guided toward the operating room, you might think differently.

Better preparation, more choices, and lower risks? Maybe. But having more time also brings more responsibility. It means having more chances to check every detail and making sure nothing is missed.

After everything is prepared, it is still surgery.

And when your mother is the one on the operating table, nothing feels minor.

Never mind that my mom is diabetic with beginning retinopathy. Never mind that she has already survived several major surgeries and hospital admissions before.

When someone you love is the patient, every surgery carries weight.

Especially when your mom is the one receiving the surgeon’s knife.

So I continue with my usual attention to detail — the repeated reminders, the extra questions, and the things some people might consider unnecessary.

Maybe it is excessive.

But if I were the patient, I would want my surgeon to do the same thing for me.

Take the extra step.

That additional effort gives me confidence that my surgeon cares about me, not only my disease.

This is one of the lessons I learned from my mother’s surgeries: feel for your patients, put yourself in their situation, and imagine what kind of care you would want if you were the person lying on the operating table.

I try to apply this with my patients. I teach this to my residents.

Stressful? Yes.

But who said the life of a surgeon was easy?

So thank you, Mom.

For going under the knife for me.

You helped mold a better surgeon.

Update: I know my mom’s surgeon probably will not read this, but I have nothing but praise for him. He did not just make an extra effort for my mom. Everything he did reflected his skill and care.

Thank you.

empathy family responsibility surgery

Last modified: July 9, 2026