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It takes more than a white coat to be a doctor

By ERNEST HOOPER
Published February 18, 2005

It was inevitable.

No matter how hard the Tampa General Hospital Foundation folks tried to make me look like a man of medicine, they could not mask my dearth of knowledge or stop me from making a silly statement.

And they did try.

Three times a year, the foundation's White Coat Mini-Internship Program allows business VIPs and community leaders (I don't know how I got in, either) to spend the day shadowing a doctor at the hospital. The idea is to raise awareness of the great things going on at TGH.

On Wednesday morning, I strolled into the hospital in a white coat - my named stitched on the front - looking every bit the part. But my masquerading attempts went awry when I witnessed an amazing heart transplant at the hospital's Cardiac Institute of Florida.

Without thinking, I blurted, "His chest is wide open."

I wouldn't have been surprised if the surgeon and host, Dr. Michael Albrink, retorted with "Duh, Ernest, it's a heart transplant." But he kindly explained the whole procedure without calling me an idiot.

Still, it really was eye-popping. The guy's breast bones were spread so far apart you could have put a football inside the hole.

I wasn't in the room during the most critical moments when Dr. Cedric Sheffield, surgical director of the Heart Transplant program, removed the artificial heart and connected the new heart.

It was still amazing, however, to look over his shoulder as he and his team disconnected the machine and let the heart beat on its own.

Taking part in the White Coat Program, I figured I'd get to see a few routine surgeries, maybe chill out in the doctors' lounge. But I never thought I would be inches behind a cardiac surgeon, looking at a thumping heart give a patient new life.

Would Jon Gruden let me stand behind him as he called plays? Would Pam Iorio let me look over her shoulder as she negotiated some complex deal?

Overall, awe was the operative word of the day. Not only was it fascinating to witness surgeries, but it was impressive to see that passion was as important as any surgical tool.

We started shortly after 8 a.m. when Albrink performed hernia surgery. Assisting and watching were an anesthesiologist, four nurses, two residents, an intern and a third-year medical student.

There was also Hermes, a computer that assists in laparoscopic surgeries. Three plasma televisions surrounded the operating table and a fourth hung on the wall, all providing a view of the procedure inside the lower abdomen. Albrink donned a headset and microphone and called out commands to Hermes.

If Albrink needed the scope to provide more light, he asked Hermes. If he wanted a pointer on the screen to aim at a specific region, he asked Hermes. If he desired a compliment, he asked Hermes.

"You are a great surgeon," the computer said in a smooth tone. "You are a great OR staff."

I'm sure Albrink doesn't need computerized compliments to get joy out of his job. His passion is palpable.

Albrink grew up in Ironton, Ohio, on the West Virginia border. His grandfather, who died when he was 6, was a general practitioner who delivered him, his mom, his dad and a bunch of other people in Ironton. That inspiration led him into the medical field. Being part of a teaching hospital helps keep him there.

"An appendix can be routine, but when someone across from you thinks it's the coolest thing they could ever do, it's delightful," Albrink said. "The enthusiasm of youth is contagious."

On Wednesday, Albrink taught me that the greatest challenge for the TGH doctors and nurses is not academic duties or overcoming squeamishness at the sight of blood and intestines.

It is dealing with the psychological toll of someone's suffering and dying. Visiting the intensive care unit, I could tell that the staff aches for patients while silently absorbing all the reminders of their own mortality.

When code blue echoed over the PA system moments later, Albrink noted that one of the people we had just seen in ICU was battling to survive.

"A famous doctor, William Osler, once said, "If a part of you dies with each patient, there will soon be nothing left of you,"' Albrink said. "That's the part that's hard."

Clearly, it takes far more than a white coat to be a doctor.

That's all I'm saying.

[Last modified February 18, 2005, 00:14:17]