The Surgeon and the Earthquake

I was driving through the village on a Sunday morning and I noticed the doctor’s office was open. I had injured myself some three months earlier and a wound on my chin was not healing.  So I stopped in.

There was no one in the waiting room or reception if you could call it that.  It was a room with a few chairs, a desk, a computer, a few diplomas on the wall and a picture of who I assumed was a doctor.

The door opened to the back room and a slight man walked out and greeted me.  He did not look like the Doctor in the picture.

There was dandruff on his coat and his hands were shaking terribly.  I assumed he was on drugs or had an alcohol problem.

I showed him my injury and he looked at it and said it should be operated on.  The other doctor would do it if I would care to wait.

He put me in the back room in a dentist’s chair and reclined it and started prepping me while we waited.  He frittered about from one cabinet to another and kept saying “OK, OK.” in his quest for things.

Then he asked me if I could handle pain.  I thought to myself they probably wanted to save on anesthetic.   I was so tired of the wound I was prepared to go without the drug.

“No,” he laughed, “I was concerned the needle may disturb you.  I want you to be comfortable.”

I would have been more comfortable with the other doctor.

He called  the doctor but he was running late, so he decided to do it himself.

I felt him shaking as he steadied himself on my chest as he removed a foreign object from my chin and sewed me up.

After it was done we stood outside and talked.  I asked him why he shook so much.

“Remember Mexico city in 1985, the earthquake?” he asked.

“Yes”

“I was a trauma surgeon then.  My team and I were performing surgery when the hospital collapsed.  I was buried under the rubble for three days on top of the dead patient.  I was the only one who survived.  The pain and stench was excruciating and I kept losing consciousness.  I heard the jack hammers looking for survivors and the only thing that kept me alive was the thought of my two young boys who needed me.  I’ll never operate again except for minor surgeries like yours.”

There was something about the experience and the Surgeon that made my day.  You can never judge a person by apearance can you?

I left feeling so good about life and people.  It was an experience one cannot truly describe.