Women in Medicine/Surgery

Pretty in Pink (Rethinking Pink)

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“Isn’t she…isn’t she pretty in pink?” – Psychedelic Furs, Pretty in Pink

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October in New England. The sky is a brilliant blue, the leaves on the trees are turning impossible shades of orange, yellow, and red.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, so in addition to the brilliant fall colors all around, people are wearing pink clothing and pink ribbons, and products on store shelves has been packaged in pink wrappers. Professional sports teams wear pink. Hospital, civic, and community organizations sponsor special Breast Cancer programs and often have pink treats and pink giveaways to reinforce the message.

One’s inner cynic can easily rise to the surface, and it’s easy to unleash a bit of snark at this pink-splashed world every October. From the little annoyances like markups and surcharges on items because they are repackaged in pink, to the big scandals and exposes on breast cancer organizations who support exorbitant CEO salaries or only spend pennies-on-the-dollar on research, support, prevention, or treatment. And really, who isn’t aware of breast cancer already? (Final person has been made aware of Breast Cancer, from this recent satiric post). I’m really not a “pink” kind of girl, studiously avoiding it for most of my life, so I appreciate those who find pink cringe-worthy.

Not that long ago as a young surgeon in-training and later as a young attending, when I wore my pink ribbon pin people would ask me what it meant. Specifically, doctors asked me about it, and more specifically, other surgeons asked about it.  Mostly male surgeons, but then, surgeons were and are still mostly men. Women patients, women physicians, and women surgeons had started to wear the ribbons to raise awareness and show support, but it was relatively small number of people. Breast Cancer was felt to be a women’s disease (although it affects men too), and there were not a lot of options or even challenges to the surgery or for the treatment. Surgeries were deforming, medications made patients quite ill, and outcomes could be depressing and disheartening.

How times have changed.

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I Look Like a Surgeon, and #ILookLikeASurgeon

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“A good surgeon has the eye of an eagle, the heart of a lion, and the hand of a woman…”– 15th Century English Proverb

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#ILookLikeASurgeon, operating

#ILookLikeASurgeon, a new hashtag on Twitter and the movement it has inspired, has resonated deeply with me.

I look like a Surgeon. There is so much more behind this seemingly simple statement of fact. I am not just stating that I have excelled and I have achieved and I am accomplished by being a surgeon. In saying I look like a surgeon, I am saying that it is normal for me to be a surgeon; that it is normal for me to be seen as a surgeon; that it is normal for me to command the respect and authority of a surgeon; and ultimately, that it is normal for others who look like me to aspire to be surgeons.

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A Different Kind of Mentor

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This is my “mentor piece” that was written for the Association of Women Surgeons, and published on their blog April 22. 2015. Click here to link to the original post. The quotes and picture on this version are my own addition, like I always do. Enjoy!

“The greatest good you can do for another is not just to share your riches but to reveal to him his own.” –Benjamin Disraeli

“Have a little faith in me…” – John Hiatt

“If you’re lucky enough to do well, it’s your responsibility to send the elevator back down” – Kevin Spacey

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Swans, Rockport, MA

Mentorship in medicine and surgery was not always formally acknowledged and promoted. Today not only is it acknowledged and promoted, but also the importance of mentorship for professional development through the arc of a career is stressed. However, for many women, the one-to-one relationship of the classic mentor-protégé remains elusive, complicated by gender and generational differences. This has been especially true for the groundbreaking women before me, and for some remains true even today.

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Like a Surgeon: About That Surgical Stereotype

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“A good surgeon also has to have compassion and humanity, and not be someone who is arrogant and difficult to deal with.” – Dr. Thomas J. Russel (former Executive Director of the American College of Surgeons, New York Times interview) 

“Like a Surgeon” – Weird Al Yankovic

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Operating, like a surgeon.

I hear the comments frequently; in fact, I hear them all the time. At work I hear them from staff, from patients — even from non-surgical colleagues. I hear them away from work, when meeting new people who find out that I am a physician and a surgeon. I think many women surgeons hear the same:

       “You’re not like a surgeon. You’re not like other surgeons.”

The comments tend to run along the same lines. You don’t look like a surgeon. You don’t act like a surgeon. You’re too nice, too caring, too compassionate, too thoughtful, too communicative (sometimes, too pretty). Most of the time, the comments are offered as compliments. They are proffered in a context attempting to make me feel welcomed and appreciated.

I understand these comments are meant as compliments, but what do they say about surgeons? And even more specifically, about women who are surgeons?

We all have stereotypes.  They are a shortcut we all use to help us understand the people and world around us, especially the unfamiliar. But the unfamiliar becomes familiar, and people and groups evolve and change. Stereotypes are mired in ignorance and misinformation, and they help us to resist that change. At that point they do not serve any purpose, and in fact, harm rather than help.

These comments and compliments speak to the stereotypes of who we think our doctors are, what surgeons are like, speaking volumes about the image of surgeons. It is an image as unfair to men as it is to women. Continue reading →

What’s in a Name

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A rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet.  Wm. Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliette
A rose is a rose is a rose.  Gertrude Stein

IMG_1551“This is Dr. Hughes” or “Hello, I’m Dr. Kathy Hughes” — This is how I answer the phone, or introduce myself as I walk in to a room.

I think it matters what I am called, how I am addressed. It also matters what I call you, as my patient, and how I address you.

Any Tom, Dick, or Kathy  can be Tom, or Dick, or Kathy. But it conveys a special role and relationship to use one’s title or formal name. Not everyone can be Doctor to you, and especially not Your Doctor. It is a special and particular relationship that I have with you. I’m your Doctor, I’m your Surgeon, I’m Dr. Hughes.

And in addressing my patients as Mr., Mrs., Ms., or Dr. (perhaps only with the exception of the very young and the very old, where stage of development or dementia interfere) I also convey and acknowledge the special relationship they have with me.

I admit, I still call my parents Mom and Dad; my aunts and uncles have likewise retained those titles. And even to their chagrin, I use the formal titles to address my parents’ friends, and my old teachers and professors. It’s not just a reflection of how I was raised, but an acknowledgment of the special bonds and relationships in this part of my life, too.

It is important to acknowledge these relationships and bonds. How you address someone, what you call them, does that. It is like a shorthand, a shortcut, spelling it out. It honors them–the relationship, the bond, the person.

I remember a lot of eye-rolling and joking at the expense of the early feminists in the Sixties and Seventies, when they objected to what they felt were sexist titles and names. So work titles like “Mailman” evolved to “Mailperson” to “Letter Carrier”; first year college classes changed from “Freshmen” to “Freshpersons or Freshwomen” to “Firsties” (at least at some Womens’ Colleges). But as silly as some of this seemed and seems, the feminists had it right–there is power and identity in what you call something or someone, or how you refer to them; power in naming. Likewise, the kind of naming, or failure to name, can do the opposite, diminishing power and instead offering disrespect, even contempt.

I confess that I bristle when I am called by my first name by a patient or their family member if I have not invited them to do so. Continue reading →