Guest Post: A Day-in-the-Life of a Surgeon Mom

I am pleased to share this post detailing a day in Dr. Jessica Schnur’s life. She is a general surgeon with a subspecialty in minimally invasive surgery at Stony Brook University Hospital. Despite her humor and talent for writing, I’m sure it will be quite apparent that her job and career require astounding commitment and sacrifice. While I have heard it said that the average person underestimates his/her free time, this statement couldn’t be further from the truth for dedicated physicians like Dr. Schnur. We are all searching for the balance that will allow us to do the jobs we love and use our talents to help our patients while loving our families the best way we can.

The last 6 weeks for me has been complete madness, between work and family I feel I have barely been able to stay afloat. I wrote this as a compilation of the combination of things that happen simultaneously every day. The amount of emotional and intellectual energy one must dedicate to taking care of your patients, your family and your friends is at times exhausting. We all became physicians because we want to help people, but the risk of burnout is real and while I have read many articles advocating for remedies to it I have yet to see anything significant be done about it. Dr. Jessica Schnur

My alarm goes off, it’s 4:40am. I flail around trying to turn it off so I don’t wake up my husband. Find it! I close my eyes for a second and pass out instantly, open my eyes to find that 15 precious minutes have passed. I debate whether I have enough time to exercise and still leave for work on time. I have an hour and 15 minutes. I can do it. It’s never happened before, but today it’s going to. I go downstairs, take my coffee and sit on the couch in the dark to enjoy my few minutes of peace for the day. My mind wanders until my phone goes off. Ping ping! I look over, my junior colleague was on call last night, he is letting me know there are a few new patients for today, two gallbladders. Maybe three.  Also a patient with a decubitus ulcer.  He is leaving town now for a “conference,” would I mind taking care of all that? Of course, I write, my freakin pleasure. I start to feel some unrest in my bowels, a combination of the rocket-fuel grade coffee I made and rage against my lazy co-worker. It’s been ten minutes and I need to get ready to work out. I go back into the kitchen to wash the dishes from dinner last night. I didn’t cook, so I do the dishes. Can I do this in 30 seconds? 100% More unrest from my bowels, I abandon my dishwashing and run to the bathroom. I finally get my workout in, inhale breakfast and jump in the shower. When I get out I see I have 11 minutes before I have to leave the house. Plenty of time. I look in the mirror at the pale bloated face looking back at me, pimples and wrinkles that need covering, significantly greying hair that needs to be blow-dried so I don’t look like Albert Einstein. Various creams, concealers, highlighters, blush… check the clock again. One minute left. Mascara flies on, blow dry my hair for 60 seconds, good enough. Compression stockings, scrubs, find a sweatshirt that doesn’t have too much dog drool and marker on it. Ready to go! Should have left the house 15 minutes ago but what else is new.

I arrive at work, tires squealing in the parking lot like I’m running from the cops. My phone rings, it’s my chief resident.  We have an intraoperative consult from GYN, they have run into some difficult adhesions and are requesting help, can I meet her there?  Ummmm, I’m not even in the building yet but sure.  Run up to my office and try to find somewhere to throw my stuff. It looks like a tornado hit, papers everywhere, dirty scrubs in piles on the chairs, multiple empty water bottles. I sort through the madness and am about to head down to the Operating Room when I realize I am wearing slippers. This is disappointing, but there is nothing to be done.

About an hour later we are finishing up the first case and my phone starts going off again. Ping Ping! Ping! Ping Ping Ping! It’s my husband, my little one peed all over her bed. He’s annoyed. The text message is multiple screens long and involves some talk about how we are going to sleep train her. After a few paragraphs, “Where are you?” I write back a frowny face. I have to round, still have four cases to do. I come out of the OR and find my intern and PA to start rounding. My intern is pale, sweating, looks like he might be in heart failure. I try to console him, it’s ok buddy, we will get through this day. He actually might not, but we must move on.

We go see a patient I operated on a few days ago, “Hello, sir! How are you feeling?” He’s a very nice elderly man, looks like he’s doing well. “I want to eat!” Fantastic! “That’s great! You can eat!” He looks thrilled, asks me if I can tell his doctor he can eat. I debate whether to point out to him that I am his doctor, decide to go for it. This may have been a mistake, he stares at me wide eyed, speechless. Was it the slippers? It is best to leave at this point. “See you later!” I say cheerily.

I battle my way through the rest of rounds, some more consults and admissions, a few cases. I get my phone to dictate my last case and there are multiple missed text messages and a missed call from my daughter’s school. I panic momentarily about the school phone call but it is just a robot announcement. We have told the school as well as any other place our children or dog goes to call my husband with issues because he stays at home but they still call me. Every. Single. Time. The texts are from two of my friends and my husband again. One friend wants to know if we can get together for a playdate tomorrow afternoon at 3, which is Friday. I say I will ask my husband if he can bring the kids over and then lose the motivation to relay this information to him. The next is from another friend who is seeing the latest greatest nutritionist among the other moms who magically helps you become thin and fit and full of energy. He had sent off a panel of blood work and told her she may have a gallbladder issue. She sends me three pages of lab results and asks me what I think. I think I really can’t look at this right now. Finally my husband. He is unhappy with the light fixture in our younger daughter’s room, it is apparently flickering, which may or may not be true. He is debating on how to rewire the fixture and switch to fix this. He is not an electrician and refuses to call one. I only ask that he not burn the house down while the kids are home.

At some point I realize I’m starving. It’s 5pm and I forgot to eat lunch. Or drink water. I don’t think I’ve peed since I left the house this morning. I go to the recovery room to get some water and graham crackers, but there are no cups. Or crackers. I ask one of the staff for a cup, he points out the cups really are supposed to be for the patients, reluctantly shows me where they are hidden. I apologize profusely for being a human being and take my water.

One more consult to see. Ping Ping! Husband again, apparently my younger daughter is “very angry” at me because she misses me and wants to know when I’m coming home. I’m on till 6, but things are looking good. Just one more patient to see, I tell him. We go to the ED to see a middle aged man that was suspected of having a bowel obstruction. He is there with his wife and mother, all look extremely concerned. He has been constipated for a week, very bloated. I listen intently to the tale of his failed attempts to poop this week. We look at his labs, imaging, he has no bowel obstruction, he is simply constipated. We recommend some laxatives and stool softeners, fiber, etc but his family catches us as we are leaving and wants to talk more about constipation. It is now well after 6. I have received a video from my husband of my four year old angrily telling me I have to come home and she is very mad. I extract myself from the ED and head back to my office to gather my things to leave.

I get home around 7:30, dinner has been had, my husband tells me he gave the kids a bath, but they washed themselves. He is proud of them. I’m concerned about their hygiene but too tired to look into it. He tells me to eat dinner quickly before we put the kids to bed but at this point my priority is the glass of wine that I am going to pound before story time. Teeth get brushed, stories read, I lie down next to my 4 year old to rub her head while she goes to sleep and pass out before she does. I wake up because she is kicking me in the face. I get up and look at my watch, 12:30 am. I crawl into my own bed and prepare for another day of complete insanity.

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