Women Surgeons Quotes

MAKE STATEMENTS also applies to us women: Speak in statements instead of apologetic questions. No one wants to go to a doctor who says, “I’m going to be your surgeon? I’m here to talk to you about your procedure? I was first in my class at Johns Hopkins, so?” Make statements, with your actions and your voice.

The surgeons' market is imaginary, since there is nothing wrong with women's faces or bodies that social change won't cure; so the surgeons depend for their income on warping female self-perception and multiplying female self-hatred.

The surgeons are playing on the myth's double standard for the function of the body. A man's thigh is for walking, but a woman's is for walking and looking "beautiful." If women can walk but believe our limbs look wrong, we feel that our bodies cannot do what they are meant to do; we feel as genuinely deformed and disabled as the unwilling Victorian hypochondriac felt ill.

Cosmetic surgery is not "cosmetic," and human flesh is not "plastic." Even the names trivialize what it is. It's not like ironing wrinkles in fabric, or tuning up a car, or altering outmoded clothes, the current metaphors. Trivialization and infantilization pervade the surgeons' language when they speak to women: "a nip," a "tummy tuck."...Surgery changes one forever, the mind as well as the body. If we don't start to speak of it as serious, the millennium of the man-made woman will be upon us, and we will have had no choice.

What Rizzoli thought, staring at her own image, was that she hated Elizabeth Hurley for giving women false hope. The brutal truth was, there are some women who will never be beautiful, and Rizzoli was one of them.

Thank goodness women aren’t as superficial as men. Where would a guy like me be if all women cared about were looks? The plastic surgeon’s office, that’s where.

Today, women have access to the technological capacity to do anything to our bodies in the struggle for "beauty", but we have yet to evolve a mentality beyond the old rules, to let them imagine that this combat among women is not inevitable. Surgeons can now do anything. We have not yet reached the age in which we can defend ourselves with an unwillingness to have "anything" done. This is a dangerous time. New possibilities for women quickly become new obligations.

The U.S. Surgeon General has declared that attacks by male partners are the number one cause of injury to women between the ages of fifteen and forty-four.

Where woman do not fit the Iron Maiden [societal expectations/assumptions about women's bodies], we are now being called monstrous, and the Iron Maiden is exactly that which no woman fits, or fits forever. A woman is being asked to feel like a monster now though she is whole and fully physically functional. The surgeons are playing on the myth's double standard for the function of the body. A man's thigh is for walking, but a woman's is for walking and looking "beautiful." If women can walk but believe our limbs look wrong, we feel that our bodies cannot do what they are meant to do; we feel as genuinely deformed and disabled as the unwilling Victorian hypochondriac felt ill.

The hoopoe said: 'Your heart's congealed like ice; When will you free yourself from cowardice? Since you have such a short time to live here, What difference does it make? What should you fear? The world is filth and sin, and homeless men Must enter it and homeless leave again. They die, as worms, in squalid pain; if we Must perish in this quest, that, certainly, Is better than a life of filth and grief. If this great search is vain, if my belief Is groundless, it is right that I should die. So many errors throng the world - then why Should we not risk this quest? To suffer blame For love is better than a life of shame. No one has reached this goal, so why appeal To those whose blindness claims it is unreal? I'd rather die deceived by dreams than give My heart to home and trade and never live. We've been and heard so much - what have we learned? Not for one moment has the self been spurned; Fools gather round and hinder our release. When will their stale, insistent whining cease? We have no freedom to achieve our goal Until from Self and fools we free the soul. To be admitted past the veil you must Be dead to all the crowd considers just. Once past the veil you understand the Way From which the crowd's glib courtiers blindly stray. If you have any will, leave women's stories, And even if this search for hidden glories Proves blasphemy at last, be sure our quest Is not mere talk but an exacting test. The fruit of love's great tree is poverty; Whoever knows this knows humility. When love has pitched his tent in someone's breast, That man despairs of life and knows no rest. Love's pain will murder him and blandly ask A surgeon's fee for managing the task - The water that he drinks brings pain, his bread Is turned to blood immediately shed; Though he is weak, faint, feebler than an ant, Love forces him to be her combatant; He cannot take one mouthful unaware That he is floundering in a sea of care.

A woman who cleaned their homes had such a naturally fine body while they stretched themselves taut with the finest surgeons in South Florida and didn't look half as good. It wasn't fair. Money was supposed to make things fair.

Modern cosmetic surgeons have a direct financial interest in a social role for women that requires them to feel ugly. They do not simply advertise for a share of a market that already exists: Their advertisements create new markets. It is a boom industry because it is influentially placed to create its own demand through the pairing of text with ads in women's magazines. The industry takes out ads and gets coverage; women get cut open. They pay their money and they takes their chances. As surgeons grow richer, they are able to command larger and brighter ad spaces.

Six witnesses affirmed that Jacoba had cured them, even after numerous doctors had given up, and one patient declared that she was wiser in the art of surgery and medicine than any master physician or surgeon in Paris. But these testimonials were used against her, for the charge was not that she was incompetent, but that—as a woman—she dared to cure at all.

The women were quiet. Blazing Knight checked her computing jobs on the net. A plastic surgeon was found. She could go any time and offer him a chance to repair her rotten parts, to reconstruct her again to a beautiful young female.

But still these days I've often wondered, Who in the world am I? And very seriously at that. If you took away my career as a plastic surgeon, & the happy environment I'm living in, & threw me out in the world, with no explanation, & with everything stripped away - what in the world would I be?

He became a surgeon because he was afraid of knives. He got married because he was afraid of women. He had a child because he was afraid of responsibility. Now, his marriage over and his child no longer speaking to him, he turned off all the lights in the house because he was afraid of the dark

They passed a table with five women. Margot waved but didn't stop to chat. "They look alike. Are they sisters?" "No. they just go to the same plastic surgeon," she deadpanned.

You are impossible,” Magdalena said and sniffed. A patch of damp grew on Nora’s right shoulder. “Don’t ever stop. There aren’t enough impossible women.

Don’t ever stop. There aren’t enough impossible women.

Empowered by her strong sense of mission, Cumming was undaunted by male opposition. "It is useless," she proclaimed, "to say the surgeons will not allow us; we have our rights, and if asserted properly will get them. This is our right and ours alone.

As I was editing this chapter, a survey of more than thirty-five hundred Australian surgeons revealed a culture rife with bullying, discrimination, and sexual harassment, against women especially (although men weren’t untouched either). To give you a flavor of professional life as a woman in this field, female trainees and junior surgeons “reported feeling obliged to give their supervisors sexual favours to keep their jobs”; endured flagrantly illegal hostility toward the notion of combining career with motherhood; contended with “boys’ clubs”; and experienced entrenched sexism at all levels and “a culture of fear and reprisal, with known bullies in senior positions seen as untouchable.”68 I came back to this chapter on the very day that news broke in the state of Victoria, Australia, where I live, of a Victorian Equal Opportunity and Human Rights Commission report revealing that sexual discrimination and harassment is also shockingly prevalent in the Victorian Police, which unlawfully failed to provide an equal and safe working environment.69 I understand that attempts to identify the psychological factors that underlie sex inequalities in the workplace are well-meaning. And, of course, we shouldn’t shy away from naming (supposedly) politically unpalatable causes of those inequalities. But when you consider the women who enter and persist in highly competitive and risky occupations like surgery and policing—despite the odds stacked against them by largely unfettered sex discrimination and harassment—casual scholarly suggestions that women are relatively few in number, particularly in the higher echelons, because they’re less geared to compete in the workplace, start to seem almost offensive. Testosterone

In the 1980s and 1990s, the plastic surgery industry, including the association of plastic surgeons, led a campaign to convince women that having small breasts was actually a physical deficiency. According to the American Society of Plastic and Reconstructive Surgeons, small breasts are not only a deformity but “a disease which in most patients results in feelings of inadequacy.” Thus millions of women have been led to change their breasts, not their image of themselves.

The slaves destroyed tirelessly. Like the peasants in the Jacquerie or the Luddite wreckers, they were seeking their salvation in the most obvious way, the destruction of what they knew was the cause of their sufferings; and if they destroyed much it was because they had suffered much. [...] Now that they held power they did as they had been taught. In the frenzy of the first encounters they killed all. Yet they spared the priests whom they feared and the surgeons who had been kind to them. They, whose women had undergone countless violations, violated all the women who fell into their hands, often on the bodies of their still bleeding husbands, fathers and brothers. “Vengeance ! Vengeance” was their war-cry, and one of them carried a white child on a pike as a standard. And yet they were surprisingly moderate, then and afterwards, far more humane than their masters had been or would ever be to them. [...] Compared with what their masters had done to them in cold blood, what they did was negligible, and they were spurred on by the ferocity with which the whites in Le Cap treated all slave prisoners who fell into their hands.

I am here because you vivisected my ancestral country in two. In 1945, two fumbling mid-ranking American officers who knew nothing about the country used a National Geographic map as reference to arbitrarily cut a border to make North and South Korea, a division that eventually separated millions of families, including my own grandmother from her family. Later, under the flag of liberation, the United States dropped more bombs and napalm in our tiny country than during the entire Pacific campaign against Japan during World War II. A fascinating little-known fact about the Korean War is that an American surgeon, David Ralph Millard, stationed there to treat burn victims, invented a double-eyelid surgical procedure to make Asian eyes look Western, which he ended up testing on Korean sex workers so they could be more attractive to GIs. Now, it’s the most popular surgical procedure for women in South Korea. My ancestral country is just one small example of the millions of lives and resources you have sucked from the Philippines, Cambodia, Honduras, Mexico, Iraq, Afghanistan, Nigeria, El Salvador, and many, many other nations through your forever wars and transnational capitalism that have mostly enriched shareholders in the States. Don’t talk to me about gratitude.

Let me explain: There are all sorts of reasons why women pick one colorist over another. Some will go to you if you have the same kind of dog or because they like the way you look. Some will only go to a man, because they want to feel a man’s hands on them. Then, of course, you have the editorial mongrels, who will go only to whoever is in this month’s Elle or Allure. But no matter what brings them to you in the first place, they’ll drop you cold if you’re not a good colorist. Which means no mistakes. Not ever. Brain surgeons are allowed more mistakes than hair colorists. Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not saying that what I do is brain surgery or in any way important. Between you and me, it’s just hair. But a certain kind of woman cares about her hair. A lot.

Some series teach us that ethnic features must be "fixed," by drastic means if necessary. Plastic surgeons with questionable ethics give insecure women of all ethnicities boob jobs, liposuction, and face-lifts on shows such as Extreme Makeover, The Swan, and Dr. 90210, ignoring medical risks and reinforcing problematic ideas about women's worth. Yet they don't make white surgical candidates feel like their cultural identity should also be on the chopping blocking - or that they'd be so much more attractive and fulfilled if only they didn't look so... Caucasian. In contrast, TV docs' scalpels reduce or remove racial markers on patients of colour. Black women's noses and lips are made smaller. In an increasingly common procedure targeting Asian women, creases are added to Asian women's eyelids.

When they discuss this subject, women lean forward, their voices lower. They tell their terrible secret. It’s my breasts, they say. My hips. It’s my thighs. I hate my stomach. This is not aesthetic distaste, but deep sexual shame. The parts of the body vary. But what each woman who describes it shares is the conviction that that is what the pornography of beauty most fetishizes. Breasts, thighs, buttocks, bellies; the most sexually central parts of women, whose “ugliness” therefore becomes an obsession. Those are the parts most often battered by abusive men. The parts that sex murderers most often mutilate. The parts most often defiled by violent pornography. The parts that beauty surgeons most often cut open. The parts that bear and nurse children and feel sexual. A misogynist culture has succeeded in making women hate what misogynists hate.

When I'm dressed like this, people will say I don't look like a doctor." Garrett paused before continuing wryly. "On the other hand, they already say that, even when I'm wearing a surgeon's cap and gown." Carys, who was playing with the left-over glass beads on the vanity table, volunteered innocently, "You've always looked like a doctor to me." Helen smiled at her little sister. "Did you know, Carys, that Dr. Gibson is the only lady doctor in England?" Carys shook her head, regarding Garrett with round-eyed interest. "Why aren't there others?" Garrett smiled. "Many people believe women aren't suited to work in the medical profession." "But women can be nurses," Carys said with a child's clear-eyed logic. "Why can't they be doctors?" "There are many female doctors, as a matter of fact, in countries such as America and France. Unfortunately, women aren't allowed to earn a medical degree here. Yet." "But that's not fair." Garrett smiled down into the girl's upturned face. "There will always be people who say your dreams are impossible. But they can't stop you unless you agree with them.

For nearly eight centuries, under her Mohammedan rulers, Spain set to all Europe a shining example of a civilized and enlightened State. Her fertile provinces, rendered doubly prolific by the industry and engineering skill of her conquerors, bore fruit an hundredfold. Cities innumerable sprang up in the rich valleys of the Guadelquivir and the Guadiana, whose names, and names only, still commemorate the vanished glories of their past. Art, literature, and science prospered, as they then prospered nowhere else in Europe. Students flocked from France and Germany and England to drink from the fountain of learning which flowed only in the cities of the Moors. The surgeons and doctors of Andalusia were in the van of science: women were encouraged to devote themselves to serious study, and the lady doctor was not unknown among the people of Cordova. Mathematics, astronomy and botany, history, philosophy and jurisprudence were to be mastered in Spain, and Spain alone. The practical work of the field, the scientific methods of irrigation, the arts of fortification and shipbuilding, the highest and most elaborate products of the loom, the graver and the hammer, the potter's wheel and the mason's trowel, were brought to perfection by the Spanish Moors. In the practice of war no less than in the arts of peace they long stood supreme.

Looking across the restaurant table, I could see the sadness in my mother's eyes. A good friend of hers had just gone through a bitter divorce. Suddenly, after more than three decades of marriage to a wealthy surgeon, the friend now found herself living in a tiny apartment, struggling to make ends meet as a $25,000-a-year secretary. Like many formerly well-o women, she had never paid much attention to her family's finances, and as a result her estranged husband was able to run rings around her in the settlement talks. It was a terrible thing—all the more so because it could have been prevented so easily— and it made me wonder if my mother was similarly in the dark

Despite all this bad news, there is real-world evidence that groups do confront bullies as a group—and it works! A shining example is the “Code Pink” technique used by surgical nurses. These highly skilled professionals are often berated and belittled by pompous surgeons, both men and women. In some hospitals, whenever a bullying surgeon steps over the line into mistreatment, “Code Pink” is called by the targeted nurse. Immediately, supportive nurses form a circle around the physician. Together, they declare their unwillingness to assist that person with current and future patients, if an apology is not given with a promise to behave in a civil manner. The interdependent nature of surgery makes the surgeon powerless without the help of the team in the operating room. All work stops and the physician is accountable for her or his bullying. It is the physician who is responsible for the patient’s life. “Code Pink” is the group displaying its power to the bully, demanding cooperation instead of controlling games.

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Picture the lobby of a hotel. [...] Now fill up the lobby with dentists and superheroes. Men and women, oral surgeons, eighth-dimensional entities, mutants, and freaks who want to save your teeth, save the world, and maybe end up with a television show, too. [...] Boards in the lobby list panels on advances in cosmetic dentistry, effective strategies for minimizing liability in cases of bystander hazard, presentations with titles like “Spandex or Bulletproof? What Look Is Right For You?

A great deal of the American medical community’s resources is geared to addressing the cosmetic needs of both women and men whom fear that by showing the deleterious effects of aging their marital relationship is in jeopardy. The most ethical plastic surgeons decline to perform impetuous work; the less ethical, but often the wealthiest professionals, perform all requested work irrespective of the long-term viability of the services rendered. The plastic surgeon’s sales pitch is predictable: everyone can receive the face that he or she can afford.

The healer is right, you know. This is far too dangerous to allow you to do. I do not know what I was thinking.” “The healer can mind his own business.” Shea sent Jacques a haughty, over-the-shoulder glare. “The healer may be an intelligent miracle-worker, but he does not know the first thing about women. Don’t make the mistake of listening to him in that particular department. Even with your memory lost, you know far more than that idiot.” Jacques found himself laughing again. His mouth brushed the nape of her neck, sent a shiver rushing the length of her spine. “How easily you get around me.” He couldn’t help the surge of possessive triumph sweeping through him. Shea might admire the healer for his abilities, might even wish to learn from him, but his attitude definitely grated on her independent nature. Jacques found he was particularly fond of that independent streak in her. “You’re a mere man, what do you expect?” she asked straight-faced. “I, however, am a brilliant surgeon and a woman of many talents.” “The bats are beginning to get very nervous. I am not certain I can keep them from charging us,” he teased wickedly. An involuntary shiver ran through her, but she simply tugged at his hand, assuring herself he was close, and returned to the matter before them. “Think of where we can take Byron when we find him.” “The cabin is too dangerous. It will have to be a cave or the ground itself. We can turn him over to the healer and find a safe place to rest, perhaps make it back here.” “That thrills me, it truly does.

Man has protected woman by placing her in the home by the children. Men approach the outside realm, bearing the burden of facing the unknown or dangerous world. Man tries to hide this from woman. It is hard to put into words this concern and the desire to protect them from seeing the indifferent universe for what it is. Yes, you may believe in an all-powerful God, but God's will is not often your will. Women have grown to resent this, yet the resentment is found in ignorance of the great void of indifference. Only now, female surgeons that realize their fertility window is closed and 40 more lonely years stare at them understand this horror. Only after losing that chance do they understand how protective the old arrangement was.

She knew Ranjit wanted to marry a doctor so she could take care of his family, while he could focus on being a surgeon.

A Louisiana surgeon perfected the cesarean section by experimenting on the enslaved women he had access to in the 1830s.

This tense situation exploded early one January morning in 1917 when a group of Mexican women mounted an angry revolt against the immigration officials stationed along the El Paso, Texas–Ciudad Juárez, Mexico, border. They earned their living by day cooking and cleaning in the homes of well-to-do Texans, and each night returned to their homes in Ciudad Juárez. But this particular morning, instead of quietly waiting to cross the border so that they could begin their workdays, the women became enraged over a newly established quarantine against the possible entry of typhus fever. The ironclad measure was established by edict of the surgeon general of the United States. It applied to every Mexican— both immigrants and dayworkers each time they crossed the border into the United States—and included physical examinations, mandatory disinfection of all baggage and personal belongings, and delousing baths with a mixture of kerosene, gasoline, and vinegar. Most intolerable to the Mexicans was the inherent danger of bathing in flammable and noxious agents like gasoline and kerosene. Only nine months earlier, a group of twenty-six Mexicans incarcerated in the El Paso jail underwent a similar disinfection procedure and, soon after a newly arrived prisoner lit a cigarette, were burned to death. While this practice offended and frightened those who were to be subjected to the baths, its dangerous nature seemed to be all but lost on the Americans ordering them.

I do housework,” she said, “and I mend clothes. I’d do a proper job if I could. I’d have been a surgeon, like my father, except it’s not allowed.” He frowned. “It isn’t?” “Of course not. Women can’t be surgeons or clerks or lawyers or lecturers at Temple or merchants. There’s not actually a law, but there doesn’t have to be. People wouldn’t stand for it.

Not so long ago surgeons had hacked away at women’s chest muscles to remove their breast cancer. Was it less chauvinistic to believe you could beat an illness out of a woman? At least the mullah admitted to the power of what could not be seen or known.

Yet even that number understates the horror of the disease, a horror contained in other data. Normally influenza chiefly kills the elderly and infants, but in the 1918 pandemic roughly half of those who died were young men and women in the prime of their life, in their twenties and thirties. Harvey Cushing, then a brilliant young surgeon who would go on to great fame—and who himself fell desperately ill with influenza and never fully recovered from what was likely a complication—would call these victims “doubly dead in that they died so young.

Gender is a race in which some of the runners compete only for the bronze medal. True, a handful of women have made it to the alpha position, such as Cleopatra of Egypt, Empress Wu Zetian of China (c. AD 700) and Elizabeth I of England. Yet they are the exceptions that prove the rule. Throughout Elizabeth’s forty-five-year reign, all Members of Parliament were men, all officers in the Royal Navy and army were men, all judges and lawyers were men, all bishops and archbishops were men, all theologians and priests were men, all doctors and surgeons were men, all students and professors in all universities and colleges were men, all mayors and sheriffs were men, and almost all the writers, architects, poets, philosophers, painters, musicians and scientists were men. Patriarchy has been the norm in almost all agricultural and industrial societies.

Pornography, Lloyd points out, exposes us to idealized, highly selective images, making women needlessly self-conscious (and labia-reduction surgeons rich).

Gradually the beep of the EKG slowed. Against the steady rhythm of that heartbeat, the two women gazed at each other. If Catherine had recognized a part of herself in Nina’s eyes, so, too, did Nina seem to recognize herself in Catherine’s. The silent sisterhood of victims. There are more of us than anyone will ever know.  

Given the fact that the goal of rehabilitation was to find disabled men gainful employment, it is noteworthy that the United States did not take the path of the St. Dunstan’s Hostel in London, where blinded soldiers were retrained to work as masseurs and employed by the Crown.16 Despite such examples, the US Medical Department, and orthopedic surgeons more specifically, opposed the idea of training men as physiotherapists.17 Orthopedists never made their rationale for hiring female physiotherapists explicit. They knew, of course, that the military needed men on the front lines and could not spare too many of them for hospital work. They also knew that women were cheap.

Perhaps most important, orthopedic surgeons knew that female assistants would pose less of a threat to their male-dominated professional authority than male physiotherapist would. In short, as one orthopedist put it: “The work could be best performed by women.”18

So many women have cancer now. Do you think a new esthetic can develop? Cancer beauty? I mean, if there could be heroin chic, the esthetic of the death-wishing drug addict? Will non-cancerous women be begging their cosmetic surgeons to give them fake node implants under their chins and around their necks? Under their arms? In their groins? So sexy, that fullness. And it works so well as an anti-aging technique, to fill out that sagging turkey neck. Who wouldn't want it? And the jewelry, the titanium pellets piercing those tits. So S&M/bondage." Dunja kept talking in Nathan's head as he segued into a parallel inner dialogue with her about health and evolution, about the theory that concepts of beauty were not just concepts, but perceptions of indicators of reproductive potential and therefore of youth, about selfish genes using our bodies as vehicles only to perpetuate themselves, about how perhaps cancer genes could begin to make their own case for reproductive immortality as well, and so they too would put immense pressure on cultural acceptance of formerly taboo concepts of beauty, concepts which used to indicate disease and nearness to death but now mesmerized and seduced and mimicked youth and ripeness and health, and so her little fantasy of a culture forming around her own dire straits could theoretically... Nathan could only just manage to keep looking into her searching eyes, feeling at that moment very sentimental and ordinary, and therefore mute. Could he really say anything about classical concepts of art, and therefore beauty, based on harmony, as opposed to modern theories, post-industrial-revolution, post-psychoanalysis, based on sickness and dysfunction? Could he make a case for her new, diseased self as the most avant-garde form of womanly beauty? He didn't dare, but she did.

Studies of the Surgeon General’s office reveal that domestic violence is the leading cause of injury to women between the ages of fifteen and forty-four, more common than automobile accidents, muggings, and cancer deaths combined.

The Uttarakhand BJP president declared similarly that pregnant women could avoid caesarean deliveries if they drank water from a river in the state.94 Prime Minister Narendra Modi himself claimed that India invented reproductive genetics and plastic surgery. In October 2014, he told a gathering of doctors and other professionals at a hospital in Mumbai: “We all read about Karna in the Mahabharata. If we think a little more, we realize that the Mahabharata says Karna was not born from his mother’s womb. This means that genetic science was present at that time. That is why Karna could be born outside his mother’s womb. . . . We worship Lord Ganesha. There must have been some plastic surgeon at that time who got an elephant’s head on the body of a human being and began the practice of plastic surgery.”95 Remarks such as these were met each time with protestation from “rationalists,” a category of intellectuals often affiliated with the communist Left. Three of them, known for their criticism of Hindu nationalist sectarianism and obscurantism, were murdered between 2013 and 2015: Narendra Dabholkar, the founder of the Maharashtra Blind Faith Eradication Committee; Govind Pansare, a long-standing member of the Indian Communist Party; and M. M. Kalburgi, former vice-chancellor of Kannada University in Hampi96 (see chapter 7). For obscurantists (whether they belong to a religious sect or an ethnonationalist movement), rationalists are key targets because they are viewed as blasphemers and pose a threat to their belief system by exposing the myths in which they believe.

One by one the Essence Awards honorees were called onto the stage. First went civil rights leader Jesse Jackson, then movie director Spike Lee, followed by comedian Eddie Murphy, and then Dr. Benjamin S. Carson. Ben stood and walked forward to the stage. It was one of the most surreal moments of his life. He wondered how he belonged in the same category as those around him on the stage. It was hard for him to imagine that he, a pediatric neurosurgeon, was being publicly honored along with the most recognizable African American men and women in the country. As he stood onstage, staring out at the crowd, Ben thought about the path his life had taken. Who could have guessed that he, a poor black boy from a single-parent home in Detroit, would end up a brain surgeon? Certainly not those who had considered him the class dummy back in elementary school. Here he was, not just a brain surgeon, but a brain surgeon being honored for the work he had undertaken—experimental surgeries that gave children a chance at life.

bring up Korea to collapse the proximity between here and there. Or as activists used to say, “I am here because you were there.” I am here because you vivisected my ancestral country in two. In 1945, two fumbling mid-ranking American officers who knew nothing about the country used a National Geographic map as reference to arbitrarily cut a border to make North and South Korea, a division that eventually separated millions of families, including my own grandmother from her family. Later, under the flag of liberation, the United States dropped more bombs and napalm in our tiny country than during the entire Pacific campaign against Japan during World War II. A fascinating little-known fact about the Korean War is that an American surgeon, David Ralph Millard, stationed there to treat burn victims, invented a double-eyelid surgical procedure to make Asian eyes look Western, which he ended up testing on Korean sex workers so they could be more attractive to GIs. Now, it’s the most popular surgical procedure for women in South Korea. My ancestral country is just one small example of the millions of lives and resources you have sucked from the Philippines, Cambodia, Honduras, Mexico, Iraq, Afghanistan, Nigeria, El Salvador, and many, many other nations through your forever wars and transnational capitalism that have mostly enriched shareholders in the States. Don’t talk to me about gratitude.

It is important to note that women are not singularly attracted to men with resources; rather, they can be equally attracted to men who have yet to achieve status but are on a trajectory of social ascendancy. Accordingly, cues of intelligence, ambition, drive, and focus can be equally intoxicating to women. Unique talents that are socially valued, including those possessed by successful artists, singers, athletes, and actors, are typically desired by women. Ceteris paribus, professors, politicians, business executives, lawyers, and surgeons make for attractive long-term male partners. This point demonstrates that Darwinian principles are not deterministic.

The fact that women can achieve social ascent by their own efforts far more strongly than in the past is also reflected on the marriage market. Surgeons no longer pursue nurses, but rather anaesthetists or other surgeons. Academic women marry men with similar qualifications and status.104 This educational homogamy is a side effect of women’s increased qualification levels and their improved status on the labour market. It also constitutes an emancipatory gain when women rise by avenues other than a socially asymmetrical marriage, yet it means at the same time that a social closure takes place on the marriage market.

Is it any coincidence that the plastic surgeons most interested in pushing breast reconstruction and most involved in the superficial aspects of women’s breasts speak the language of sexist pigs?

Right at this moment, I’m rereading The Winter Sea by Susanna Kearsley, which I love, and listening to Ben Philippe’s Sure, I’ll Be Your Black Friend. I just finished the The Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman and can’t wait for the sequel, which releases next month. And at the end of this month, Helen Hoang’s next book, The Heart Principle, comes out, and I’ve been looking forward to that one, too. I’m also midway through Why They Marched by Susan Ware, and next I’m diving into Rebel Girls: How Votes for Women Changed Edwardian Lives by Jill Liddington. R:

How did you come to live in Amsterdam?” I ask her. “Did you study there?” She twists a strand of hair around her fingers, staring out over the rail and across the water. “No, I studied medicine in Algiers, then earned my doctoral degree in Italy. Then spent several years as a ship’s surgeon because I couldn’t find professional work on the continent.” She squints, counting the years backward in her head. “Then I was hired to assist at the Hortus Medicus—the botanical garden in Amsterdam that cultivates medicinal plants from around the world. They’re funded by the university, and most of the physicians do at least some of their training there. I started teaching as a substitute when the male professors were traveling or unwell, and eventually they gave me my own classes and let me do my own research.” “Do you speak Dutch?” I ask. She nods. “And Italian. And Arabic, and some of the Berber dialects, though not fluently.” “And you’re a doctor,” I say, trying to make it a statement rather than a question though the concept still seems outlandish, not because women don’t have the capacity for medical professions, but because I’ve simply never heard of any reaching such a recognized level of achievement. “A real doctor.” She gives me a half smile. “Improbable as it may seem, I am.” “Felicity Primrose Montague!” I exclaim. Monty throws back his head and laughs. Felicity rolls her eyes. “Oh good, now there are two of you.” “You’re incredible,” I say to her. She looks down at her hands, color rising in her cheeks. “That’s very kind, thank you.” “You are!” I say. “You’re a doctor! And a professor! At a university!” “It really is bloody impressive, Fel,” Monty adds. “And a pirate!” I say. “You’re like an adventure-novel heroine! I wish I could introduce you to my fiancée. She’d go mad over you.” “Is she interested in medicine or piracy?” Felicity asks. “Neither in particular,” I say. “But she’s very interested in women who cast off societal expectations and work for change despite the men who endeavor to stand in their way.

He and the doctor spent the next hour talking about everything from Colton growing up in the Territory, to his training at Howard Medical School under Dr. Alexander T. Augusta, the famous Colored Civil War surgeon.

The healer is right, you know. This is far too dangerous to allow you to do. I do not know what I was thinking.” “The healer can mind his own business.” Shea sent Jacques a haughty, over-the-shoulder glare. “The healer may be an intelligent miracle-worker, but he does not know the first thing about women. Don’t make the mistake of listening to him in that particular department. Even with your memory lost, you know far more than that idiot.” Jacques found himself laughing again. His mouth brushed the nape of her neck, sent a shiver rushing the length of her spine. “How easily you get around me.” He couldn’t help the surge of possessive triumph sweeping through him. Shea might admire the healer for his abilities, might even wish to learn from him, but his attitude definitely grated on her independent nature. Jacques found he was particularly fond of that independent streak in her. “You’re a mere man, what do you expect?” she asked straight-faced. “I, however, am a brilliant surgeon and a woman of many talents.” “The bats are beginning to get very nervous. I am not certain I can keep them from charging us,” he teased wickedly.

They knew that as long as these plantations stood their lot would be to labour on them until they dropped. The only thing was to destroy them. From their masters they had known rape, torture, degradation, and, at the slightest provocation, death. They returned in kind. For two centuries the higher civilisation had shown them that power was used for wreaking your will on those whom you controlled. Now that they held power they did as they had been taught. In the frenzy of the first encounters they killed all, yet they spared the priests whom they feared and the surgeons who had been kind to them. They, whose women had undergone countless violations, violated all the women who fell into their hands, often on the bodies of their still bleeding husbands, fathers and brothers. “Vengeance! Vengeance!” was their war-cry, and one of them carried a white child on a pike as a standard.

The royal borough of Chucky Stanes, like every other town of the kind, enjoys an undue proportion of ladies in a state of single blessedness. The house I rented there belonged to Miss Beenie Needles, a venerable damsel of that description. Her father, far back in the last century, had held the dignity of Provost. In the plenitude of his magisterial pomp, he erected the edifice,where Miss Beeny, with her niece, Mrs, Greenknowe, the widow of a much respected surgeon, held court, or, more properly, sat in expectation of being courted.

Skilled orthopedic surgeons and sports medicine experts. Specialized care for shoulder, elbow, hand injuries, and sports-related injuries.

Young feminists often speak of finding a third way between feminist extremism, on the one hand, and social conservatism on the other. Like Katie Roiphe or Naomi Wolf, they insist that women don't - or shouldn't have to compromise their independence in marriage or when they become mothers. We should be able to keep all the perks of modern female life along with all the perks of the traditional. But this notion is not sustainable. We must understand the trade-off of every action we take. If we want to be heart surgeons or presidents, we will have to accept that we may not be the mothers we want to be, or may not be mothers at all. If we are unwilling to trust men, we might not have the marriage we want. If we refuse to give ourselves over to our families, we cannot expect much from our families in return. If we wish to live for ourselves and think only about ourselves, we will manage to retain our independence but little else.

She envied the confidence and poise of the women she saw behind the desk.

and it’s no accident that seven times as many women as men have had the operation.

(two of the most expensive things with which men may entertain themselves being war and women).

Dr. Satcher was responding to the high incidence of sexually transmitted diseases as well as other concerns about sex in the United States: that nearly half of all pregnancies were unintended, the highest rate among the developed countries; that almost one in four women and one in five men have been victims of forced sex; and that more than a hundred thousand children a year are victims of sexual abuse. Noting that each of these problems has lifelong consequences not just for the individuals but also for their families, their communities, and the entire nation, Satcher was prompted to seek out scientific research and to explore public health strategies to address these issues. The result was a thin booklet, published in 2001 as The Surgeon General’s Call to Action to Promote Sexual Health and Responsible Sexual Behavior. In it he wrote, Sexual health is inextricably bound to both physical and mental health. . . . Sexual health is not limited to the absence of disease or dysfunction, nor is its importance confined to just the reproductive years. . . . It includes freedom from sexual abuse and discrimination and the ability of individuals to integrate their sexuality into their lives, derive pleasure from it, and to reproduce if they so choose.

In 1990, the Journal of the American Medical Association reported, “Studies of the Surgeon General’s office reveal that domestic violence is the leading cause of injury to women between the ages of fifteen and forty-four, more common than automobile accidents, muggings, and cancer deaths combined.

For years I had convinced myself that, as a doctor, I sacrificed moments with friends, family, and my husband for the greater good. The call to heal the sick and tend the injured superseded all else. The Lord heaped blessings upon me, and I hurled them back in the name of “service” to him. I’m a woman surgeon, I would snap. You made me this way. I have a legacy to carry on... The prospect of abandoning a secure position with excellent prospects for advancement terrified me. I spent many nights agonizing that, despite the Lord’s call, my decision to leave medicine was reckless or irresponsible. Such fears are normal and expected, but reflect our own limited understanding, rather than an enduring faith in the Lord. God is sovereign over our lives, and whatever doubts we have, we may trust that he knows the path and is in command over all. Christ has already overcome, and so we have nothing to fear. From Proverbs: “The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps” (Proverbs 16:9), and “trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths” (Proverbs 3:5–6)... From 1 Thessalonians 1:3: We remember “before our God and Father your work of faith and labor of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ.” Christ died and rose victorious over death and sin to free us, so that we may have the hope and fulfillment that comes from living in him.

The surgeon also reminded me that I had no family history of breast cancer. Only later would I learn that 80 percent of women diagnosed with breast cancer have no family history of the disease. I

In 1993, Bill Clinton appointed Joycelyn Elders, an outspoken advocate of humane drug laws and abortion rights, as Surgeon General of the United States. The following year, at a United Nations conference on AIDS, Elders caused a scandal by voicing her support of teaching masturbation as part of sex education. It was a perfectly sane message, especially in the context of the AIDS epidemic. But so freighted was Elders’s simple advocacy of independent sexual pleasure, achievable without a partner and with no chance of procreation, that the president who had appointed her asked her to resign. It

Some people (a-holes) might say that surgeons are given too much glory or have a God complex. That’s exactly what I want in a surgeon! I’m INTO them feeling like God, because until this moment, no one has made any alterations on my body since God. I’m pro having reverential confidence in anyone cutting open my body. And I will take two badass, chill-AF women for my surgery. Please.

He cuts out the one thing that makes them women.

It’s an unusual question, though not as unusual as you might think amongst women who have had children. Once you’ve been slit open by a surgeon or taken a shit in a birthing tub, a whole glittering world of conversational topics emerges.

Chiltern Medical Clinic is run by Dr Niall Munnelly and his supportive team consisting of highly experienced medical aesthetic doctors, surgeons, nurses and laser therapists. We have two clinics, located in Goring-on-Thames and Reading that are both modern and friendly aesthetics clinics and regulated by the Care Quality Commission. They deliver a number of cutting-edge treatments that can only be offered by a registered doctor. All of our treatments are suitable for both men and women alike.