Transplant Surgeon Quotes

So animated are these freestanding hearts that surgeons have been known to drop them. “We wash them off and they do just fine,” replied New York heart transplant surgeon Mehmet Oz when I asked him about it. I imagined the heart slipping across the linoleum, the looks exchanged, the rush to retrieve it and clean it off, like a bratwurst that’s rolled off the plate in a restaurant kitchen.

the dumbest kidney is smarter than the smartest doctor.

The sick suffer alone, they undergo procedures and surgeries alone, and in the end, they die alone. Transplant is different. Transplant is all about having someone else join you in your illness. It may be in the form of an organ from a recently deceased donor, a selfless gift given by someone has never met you, or a kidney or liver from a relative, friend or acquaintance. In every case, someone is saying, in effect, “Let me join you in the recovery, your suffering, your fear of the unknown, your desire to become healthy, to get your life back. Let me bear some of your risk with you.

How many concealed suicides were committed by deliberate drug discontinuance is not known. These deaths almost always were classed as being caused by "noncompliance." Doctors, like all other people, do not like to admit imperfections or failure. It was better to blame the patients for their own demise.

Since under the circumstances a person is no longer conscious of their own body, we of course shouldn’t interpret the reflex reactions of the spinal cord that occur when a surgeon removes organs from a brain-dead patient as an expression of pain. That’s easily said, but it’s quite a different thing for the surgeon who sees the body respond when he makes an incision to remove its organs. In the United Kingdom, anesthesia is administered for this procedure. The Dutch association of anesthetists finds this nonsensical, and scientifically speaking they’re right. In such cases an anesthetic is given to preserve not brain-dead patients but rather transplant surgeons from discomfort.

We also had some fun with another hard-drinking and know-it-all reporter from one of the ‘red top’ tabloids. I solemnly informed him that his luck was in, because one of our trainee surgeons was a real wizard at organ transplantion. We told him that, if he was shot through the belly, we would try to exchange his worn-out liver for a new one – and then he could start his prodigious drinking career all over again. While that was sinking in, we even asked if he had any objection to receiving an Argentine donor organ if one became available. It was all a bit of military black humour of course, but the poor chap went white-faced, and tried to make me swear on the Bible that I’d never arrange such a procedure, and would finish him off with a lethal injection instead. Transplant surgery in a Forward Dressing Station? Come alongside, Jack…

When we put a new liver in her, this simply reset the clock. It didn’t do anything to treat her disease. In some ways, this is a microcosm of how our whole health care system works. We celebrate, and pay for, the big, sexy interventions—the operation, the cardiac catheterization, the heroic treatment that is technically challenging and potentially risky. But what really matters, and yet what our health care system doesn’t prioritize, is the day-to-day caring for chronic disease, the incremental, preventative care that can avert transplant altogether. Alcoholism is never actually cured. It can be managed, it can go into remission, but it is always there.

Our plastic susceptibility to forces of technocapitalism as well as different explosions in the streets and in our neighbourhoods (if not in our houses) is an opportunity for the revolutionary subject of trauma. If capitalism and terrorism are transplanted within us with such ease that we can no longer see them as threat to the plasticity of our brains, so do the other traumas from which capitalism, state and religion run away. As opposed to capitalism, the state and other grounding systems which preserve their verity by isolating fields of trauma in order to protect themselves against syntheses of the universal absolute, the brain has the ability to reconnect all isolated traumas within its plastic field and expand along the mediating functions of trauma. The obligation of the revolutionary subject with regard to exporting the revolution is not to shun traumas of capitalism and fundamentalism, since this refusal or disavowal contributes to the strategy of capitalism and fundamentalism in isolating traumas, forces and resources in order to govern and monopolize them within this or that world. On the contrary, the obligation of the revolutionary subject is to absorb and interiorize traumas so as to expose ‘isolated traumas’ (this or that regional world), interconnect them to its regional horizon and widen them across the geocosmic continuum and deep into the cosmic exteriority. Modern man is a surgeon who does not amputate himself from the worlds of capitalism and religion. Instead, he transplants himself and these worlds inside each other in order to reconnect his actual regional horizon (cohabited with capitalism and fundamentalism) once again to the freedom of absolute depths. To this end, the revolution on the geocosmic continuum that is the revolution rekindled out of the Copernican commune should not be paved on the politico- philosophical corpus of those who impose on us wanton discrepancies and excesses of the earthly life but those who delude us with the axiomatic verity of ourselves and reform the ground of the terrestrial thought in one way or another.

We have seriously considered doing the procedure in humans,” Lower said, but “because of the fact that we considered it an extremely high risk and untried, unproven procedure in humans, I think we decided it would be reserved only for extreme circumstances in humans.”3 As he explained his thinking, Lower added that it “should be used only when death of a patient seemed imminent.” It should be used to save a life, he said, but not to create what he called “cardiac cripples.” Though his self-examination drew scant notice at the time, it showed the surgeon’s awareness of the inherent risks that came with bringing heart patients back from the edge of the abyss.

Ось за що я люблю трансплантологію! Від початку, коли мені довелося мати справу з дуже хворими людьми, я зрозумів, що один із найтяжчих аспектів важкої хвороби - це розлука з тими, кого любиш. Навіть коли родина віддано піклується про пацієнта, недуга відокремлює здорових від хворих. Хворі самотні у своєму стражданні, самотні у проходженні процедур та операцій, самотні у смерті. Трансплантація все змінює. Аби вона відбулась, хтось мусить долучитися до тебе у твоїх стражданнях. Це може бути орган нещодавно загиблого - альтруїстичний дар від того, кого ти ніколи не зустрічав, або ж нирка чи фрагмент печінки від родича, друга або знайомого. У будь-якому разі хтось своїм рішенням каже: "Дозволь мені бути поруч із тобою у твоїх стражданнях, у твоєму одужанні, страху перед невідомим, у твоєму бажанні одужати, повернутися до звичайного життя. Дозволь мені розділити з тобою ризик".

Cardiac surgery, to me, is very black and white. If you do a good job, the patients do fine. If you don’t, they die.

Po powrocie do Oxfordu Medawar skupił się całkowicie na sprawdzeniu hipotezy, że odrzucanie przeszczepu allogenicznego jest zjawiskiem immunologicznym.

There’s one looming danger, though: the stalk of the gallbladder is a branch off the liver’s only conduit for sending bile to the intestines for the digestion of fats. And if you accidentally injure this main bile duct, the bile backs up and starts to destroy the liver. Between 10 and 20 percent of the patients to whom this happens will die. Those who survive often have permanent liver damage and can go on to require liver transplantation.

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The first transplant recipients did not die because their new kidneys failed, but rather because their bodies would not be fooled. Though the new kidney cells looked and acted in every respect like the old ones, they did not belong. Transplant surgeons must now give the recipient immunosuppressant drugs for the rest of the patient’s life

Jane knew he was telling the truth, just as she knew that Nick was a surgeon when it came to transplanting his ideas onto other people’s tongues.

It is impossible to think of a story about Ronald Read performing a heart transplant better than a Harvard-trained surgeon. Or designing a skyscraper superior to the best-trained architects. There will never be a story of a janitor outperforming the world’s top nuclear engineers. But these stories do happen in investing.

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This is why I love the field of transplant. Since I began taking care of sick people, I have noticed that one of the hardest things about getting sick, really sick, is that you are separated from the people you love. Even when families are dedicated to the patient, illness separates the well from the sick. The sick suffer alone, they undergo procedures and surgeries alone, and in the end, they die alone. Transplant is different. Transplant is all about having someone else join you in your illness. It may be in the form of an organ from a recently deceased donor, a selfless gift given by someone who has never met you, or a kidney or liver from a relative, friend, or acquaintance. In every case, someone is saying, in effect, “Let me join you in your recovery, your suffering, your fear of the unknown, your desire to become healthy, to get your life back. Let me bear some of your risk with you.

Again, everything needs to be perfect. It doesn’t matter how tired or distracted you are, how many things might be going on with other patients or with your boss or your lab or in your personal life. It needs to be perfect. Otherwise, the patient will pay a huge price, the donor won’t have given the gift of life, and you will be woken in the middle of the night by a shrill pager letting you know you’ve screwed up, it is your fault, and now you have to deal with it. That’s a kidney transplant. No big deal, but one of the best things we do in health care.

Something about dialysis units always reminds me of the film The Matrix—not the part where Neo is able to dodge bullets while moving in slow motion, but the part where people are plugged into the matrix through sockets at the back of their necks. That is more or less how dialysis works, and it seems totally barbaric.

It is truly a miserable process. In addition to being confined to a chair for four hours three times a week, many patients feel lousy during and after the sessions, with symptoms that include fatigue, coldness, headache, and muscle cramps. After dialysis, patients will often spend the rest of that day lying in bed. As many patients have described it to me, dialysis keeps you alive but is no way to live. But then again, what’s the alternative?

The mortality from the failed early trials and that which occurred later did not mean that liver transplantation was causing deaths. These patients were under a death sentence already because of the diseases that had brought them to us. Even now, I continue to receive letters from parents or family members. These always start by saying that they know I won't remember Jimmie or whatever was the patient's name. Then they express thanks for the fact that we had made an effort instead of letting their children die, off in a back room without hope. Those opposed to trying always claimed that these little creatures had been denied the dignity of dying. Their parents believed that they had been given the glory of striving. They were wrong about one thing. That I would not remember.

During those years, the patients were not the only puzzle people who were being forged. The surgeons and physicians also changed not so rapidly, because their own lives were not at stake, but inexorably, because the lives of others were in their hands. Some were corroded or destroyed by the experience, some were sublimated, and none remained the same.

The girls moved aimlessly to and fro, slowly advancing from the trees toward the slope, laughing, reaching out to touch each other as they came, and talking with gestures as they made fine circles and designs in the air. I wondered what they could be discussing that made them so happy. They looked like Stormie Jones and Jody Plute. I had wanted so much to have these girls grow up, but God froze them in time instead. Embarrassed by my sentimental thoughts, I turned away. When the distraction had passed and I looked up again, the distant figures were gone. There is a strange thing about the dimming vision of aging eyes. What cannot be seen clearly, the mind fills in more vividly than reality. It was almost dark. The time had come to collect the dogs and go home.

By illustrating what it took for me to practice transplantation, and by painting a picture, with the stories of my patients, of how the discipline has touched so many, I hope to highlight the incredible gift transplantation is to all involved, from the donors to the recipients to those of us lucky enough to be the stewards of the organs. I also will show the true courage of the pioneers in transplant, those who had the courage to fail but also the courage to succeed.

I have great respect for the past. If you don’t know where you’ve come from, you don’t know where you’re going. I have respect for the past, but I’m a person of the moment. I’m here, and I do my best to be completely centered at the place I’m at, then I go forward to the next place. —Maya Angelou

The third and most controversial technique was called "cross circulation." In this procedure, Lillehei tapped the circulation from the large vessels of a healthy partner whose normal heart was strong enough to be put "on loan" to support the circulation needs of a sick patient while the patient's heart was opened and repaired. From the observation dome of the human operating room, we witnessed a tragedy during an attempt at cross circulation. The healthy member of the connected pair was accidentally given a large amount of intravenous air from a bottle that had been internally pressurized to increase the rate of fluid infusion. No one had noticed when the bottle became empty of its solution. Moments later, the previously healthy cross-circulation partner who had been pumped full of air had a heart stoppage. Although heart massage was successful, I learned later that the healthy patient had suffered permanent brain injury and ultimately died.

As his brown hair disappeared, friends would say that his head was simply too occupied to grow hair—grass doesn’t grow on a busy street!

Such power, to make someone feel safe in the face of something so scary. I look back now and wonder if I had a sense of that power then.

Eventually I learned that even when the truth becomes evident, it isn’t always relevant.

Jacques Cousteau and that in 1960 he told a reporter for Time magazine, “Under water, man becomes an archangel.

He’d been a full-fledged surgeon in his country but he wanted to do a residency program in the U.S. “Oh, to be the best,” he said.

I figured that if I could stuff a few cigarettes in every pack with loads, my mom would never know which ones might explode or when, and so she’d have to quit out of sheer terror.

As the volume of cases grew, influenced in large part by Medicare approval of the procedure, Pittsburgh became the mecca for liver transplantation. Surgeons from all over the world arrived in droves to learn how we did it.

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Barnard suddenly realized, with gloomy introspection, that “I had the legal system of the United States to thank for the honor of being the first surgeon in the world to have done a heart transplant.

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