Today, I had my 6 month post-op with Dr. Fung, my corneal surgeon. It’s not like this was anything formal- I have probably seen him roughly 6 times since the surgery. Today was important, though, because this is officially 6 months post-op. At 6 months post-procedure, things should be happening if everything went well. I did the same stuff as usual- they checked my eye pressure, checked my vision in both eyes, looked at the surface in the microscope. One fun thing that happens is when they poke my eye with different-length sticks to check my sensation.
All of the above looked good- my sensation is at about 80%, and the surface of my eye looks about as good as it possibly could. I could care less about the sensation, but the health of my cornea means that the surgery has been successful in the critical areas. I didn’t realize how worried I had been about it until I felt the relief- positive surgical experiences have been pretty hit or miss for me, so this is a huge win.
I had come to the appointment straight from work, and only one eye was made up, as is usual for my makeup routine. We were talking about the next steps over the coming months, when Dr. Fung said something that nearly made me cry. He looked me in the eye(s) and told me that I should wear makeup on my right eye. Not because I needed to, but because I shouldn’t be feeling like my right eye doesn’t get to participate in the rest of my face. It was certainly observant, but I would expect that attention to detail from a world-class eye surgeon. The empathy is what blew me away- all I needed to be was another successful case, another pat on the back for himself. But he sees me, the young woman trying to navigate my self-esteem and droopy face and find a sense of normalcy.
This empathy, this humanity- this is what my own experiences will allow me to give to my patients, and the impact it had on me being on the receiving end is something that will stick with me as I move further towards becoming a physician. I think that I can say with confidence that I have been cared for by some of the most talented doctors and surgeons that exist today, but the things that I remember are not how they treated me but how they treated me. Talent is unquestionably half the battle, but the difference between a phenomenal surgeon and a phenomenal caregiver is the ability to remember that the scans, test results, charts, numbers that one is examining belong to a human being.