There was a morning where I felt like the smallest human being on earth. It was a morning spent in the OR, where it seemed like I could do nothing right. I placed the Foley incorrectly on my first attempt, and then ended up removing it incorrectly as well. I nonchalantly brushed past the robot we were using for the case, which was already draped and prepped, and whose sterility I came inches away from breaking. As my resident asked me one anatomy question after another, I found myself saying, “I don’t know” more times than was excusable. And later, when we went to meet our next patient, I once again faltered — remembering the details of our patient’s diagnosis and surgery, but blanking when my resident asked about our patient’s past medical and surgical history.
When I left the OR around noon to head to clinic, I felt dazed, my mind filled with remorse over the mistakes I had made and anxiety over the fact that there was a possibility that the same thing might happen all over again the following day.
Then something happened in clinic that made me forget all about the OR.
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