As I finished surgery on a beautiful ten year
old girl from a local orphanage with a secondary cleft lip deformity, I did not
realize how this tiny little Philippino girl was about to humanize me and my
entire team involved in her care. When I
met her the day before with her caretaker from the orphanage, it was obvious
that she had a beautiful disposition.
But like a technician, I came to the Philippines to perform cleft lip
and palate surgeries to restore form and function, not get emotionally
attached.
This girl was just one of many on a long list
of patients in the middle of a busy week.
My responsibilty was to create a smile only on her face, but little did I know, this little orphaned girl’s
simple innocent actions the next day would be responsible for creating smiles
on an entire team of doctors, nurses, surgical technicians and countless others
with whom she came in contact. I have
heard many times that I am a miracle worker, that our team is miraculous in what
we are doing. This could not be further
from the truth as this little girl was about to teach me.
I glanced over at the table next to me and saw
my colleagues Scott Mosser, MD, a San Francisco based plastic surgeon and
Raquel Redtfelt, MD, an ENT surgeon from Arizona working on another girl
roughly the same age. This is a typical
scene on our medical missions to the Philippines, two operating beds in one
operating room. We were working to
correct a cleft lip, a congenital deformity where the structures of the lip do
not completely form leaving a defect in the face. Over the past few years, Scott and I have
done hundreds of cleft lips surgeries as part of Destination Hope, a non-profit
organization started and maintained by him.
This year Scott assembled the best of best
from the US, who traveled to the small town of Tarlac City in northern
Philippines from January 20-24, 2014. Aside
from us three surgeons, our plastic surgery team comprised of Drs. Vernon Huang
and Susan Wong, two amazing anesthesiologists from the Bay Area in Northern
California. Also included were Dr.
Lawrence Lipana, a meticulous compassionate pediatric resident doctor from
Southern California, Tania Di Re, Elizabeth DeGuzman, Alberto Enriquez, and Juyon
Yi, amazingly gifted and most kind-hearted OR nurses from Northern California. I took a moment to appreciate this fine
collection of like-minded professionals dedicated to their craft and dedicated
to help those with less. Soon thereafter,
I noticed Scott and Raquel finished surgery on their little girl.
Both the girls had no problems after
surgery. The three of us were pleased
with the outcome of the surgeries on these girls. They did well during their immediate recovery
phase and were admitted to the hospital for overnight observation. The following morning we made rounds to check
on the patients that we operated on the day before. This is a routine mundane, but necessary, part
of what we do as surgeons. This involves
an entire entourage of doctors, nurses and all ancillary staff, including
translators, who go from room to room, patient to patient, to make sure they
are recovering.
Our two older girls from the previous day, though
strangers to each other, were placed in the same ward in adjacent beds. As we approached their beds, I saw that they
were already interacting with each other as if they knew each other. They did after all share a common problem,
which connected them beyond any ordinary bond.
In general our patients are babies ; these two girls were older. They were able to appreciate the events that
brought them to this point in their random lives. This was a meeting point for these two
strangers, who shared a common bond that they could not have imagined the day
before. These two strangers were about
to touch me and my entire team in a profound way.
As I watched the two children interact, I felt
the sudden urge welling up that no surgeon likes ; I was struggling to
hold back my tears. Surgeons don’t get
emotional, we are technicians who put things together without getting emotionally
invested. These two kids were old enough
to realize the monumental change that had just occured. I handed each girl a hand-held mirror so they
could see the change for themselves.
Where there once was a shapeless hole in the middle of their face, now
there is tissue and structure. Where
once they looked like outcasts, monsters, now there is a normal looking face
staring back from the mirror. Where once
there was no smile, now there is a gorgeous warm infectious smile. They now looked like all their friends. Perhaps now they can leave their home to
wander outside, perhaps now people will no longer stare, perhaps now they can
live a normal existence.
The two girls smiled at each other staring
into the hand held mirror exchanging small sheepish glances with each other and
with the rest of the strangers standing around them. Then the two girls turned the mirror simultaneously
towards each other’s faces to show the other her new face. They were gleaming in excitement, as I felt emotions
welling up again. I glanced at my entire
team and noticed they were all smiling in admiration and appreciation. I reminded myself, surgeons don’t get
emotional.
With this simple gesture, these girls
succeeded in creating smiles in all those standing near them. It was a pivotal moment, the jolting
realization that for this moment I was not a surgeon, I was a fellow human
being sharing in the private joy of these two little girls and their care
takers. I was part of that great moment
for this orphan, who I just met yesterday, but will not forget for the rest of
my life. She reconfirmed for me why I do
this every year. In a moment of clarity,
behind my concealed tears, I realized something even greater. This little orphaned girl from a remote village
in the Philippines was the miracle, she was the teacher, she was the technician
who knew how to create smiles better than any surgeon. She was our unlikely smile maker.
