“Congratulations! Today is your day. You’re off to great places! You’re off and away!”
As a mother to a 3-year-old girl, I’ve spent a remarkable amount of time reading these delightful words from Dr. Seuss’ Oh, The Places You’ll Go! Although Dr. Seuss’ books have come under recent criticism, the advice in Oh, The Places You’ll Go! is still relevant. As a new ophthalmology resident, it applies so well to the journey you have each taken on.
I am grateful for the pearls of wisdom from this column’s predecessors, all of which I heartily endorse: Dr. Thomas A. Oetting from the University of Iowa encourages you to read voraciously; Dr. Shahzad I. Mian from the University of Michigan sets you up for success as a surgeon; Dr. I. Michael Siatkowski from the Dean McGee Eye Institute exhorts finding balance to avoid burnout; Dr. Evan L. Waxman from the University of Pittsburgh advises the resident “Cornea Waterboy” to embrace the role as a learner; Dr. Laura K. Green from the Krieger Eye Institute reminds you to ask questions and cultivate wonder.
But as I read through each of these, I couldn’t help but think that there’s another thing. Something that is not often heard on the road to individual excellence. Allow me to let you in on this “secret.”
It’s not all about you.
Truly successful residents, the ones who faculty praise behind closed doors, the ones we go to great lengths to write glowing recommendations for, are not necessarily the ones who scored 99th percentile on the OKAPs, or the ones who were the best surgeons out of the gate. Truly great residents are those who understand the fundamental idea that medicine is a profession of service — to patients, to the community, to the team.
These residents — the ones we all rave about — are the ones who pick up extra shifts when their co-resident has a family emergency, without any expectation that they will be paid back. They are the young doctors who take the time to sit down at eye level with the parents of a child with an eye injury, while the unfinished charts are building up outside. They are the courageous PGY-2s who, at the beginning of the pandemic, amidst so much uncertainty, step up to care for COVID-19 patients on the medicine floors. They are those already-too-busy chief residents who coordinate the much-needed resident happy hours in the dead of winter.
They are the residents who quietly organize the wet lab without being asked because they know that others will benefit from knowing where the instruments are. They are the ones who will hustle to see their post-ops even if it costs them an opportunity to participate in a novel surgery, because they know that surgical patients are particularly vulnerable and need to have their questions addressed by their trusted surgeon.
It’s not all about you.
But wait, you might say. How can I handle everything I need to do and be that kind of resident and still stay sane and well?
There are no easy answers to this. But one thing to understand is that it’s not that these residents work harder; it’s that they approach the work with a spirit of generosity and gratitude and a growth mindset that allows their work to transcend themselves. I believe that this generosity you share with your patients and your colleagues is what cheers you on when you’re, in Dr. Seuss’ words, “on your way up … soar[ing] to high heights!” And this generosity will carry you through “when you don’t, because sometimes you won’t.”
On those days, I lean on a second secret to thriving in this profession. It’s a phrase that I first heard my husband use (he himself quoted someone else, although we are all fuzzy on the original source):
Forgive yourself every night. Recommit every morning.
It is the single best advice I have heard not only for being a physician, but also for all the worthwhile things in life: Forgive yourself every night. Recommit every morning.
Nearly 20 years after medical school, I still have those days. Those days when I walk out of the operating room feeling defeated, because despite our best efforts, the patient develops a complication. Those days when I feel like I’m a bad parent because after a full day taking care of patients, I have no more patience for my toddler who won’t sleep through the night. Those days when I feel like a bad daughter because I have no more energy to care for my elderly mother with dementia. Those days when I couldn’t draw up the courage to stand up to the patient who said he wasn’t sure he should see a “Chinese doctor.”
On those days, I take a deep breath, bathe in the pure squeals of my daughter’s laughter and take a moment to forgive myself. And in the morning, I recommit.
I will leave you with the wise words of Dr. Seuss: “And will you succeed? Yes! You will, indeed! (98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed).”
And for that last 1.25%, remember to forgive yourself … and to recommit to the incredible honor it is to be an ophthalmologist in service of others.
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Dr. Sun meets with the Cornell residency program on Zoom. Top row (L- R): Drs. Grace Sun, Kyle Godfrey, Stephanie Engelhard, William Foulsham, Pooja Pendri, Brigette Cole, Michelle Sun; Second row: Drs. Maela Hyder, Beth Wole, Wyatt Smith, Anfei Li; Third row: Drs. Paul Petrakos, James Winebrake, Karina Somohano, Lisa Koenig; Bottom row: Drs. Mahmood Khan, Jason Chien, Christiana Gandy.
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Grace Sun, MD, is president of the Association of University Professors of Ophthalmology (AUPO) Program Director’s Council and the residency program director at New York-Presbyterian Hospital/Weill Cornell Medicine.