Neurosurgery

Abstract

Dr. F. is a 27-year-old, unmarried, second-year resident in neurosurgery. He is the second of six children. His father is a “medical architect” specializing in hospitals and medical office buildings. He is from the Southwest, where he went to college and medical school. He carries himself like a West Point cadet, erect and with a walk that suggests someone was counting cadence quietly in his ear. Scrub suits never fit well, but somehow, his did, despite his wiry physique. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly, so that it was difficult to be sure when he was smiling. It is a Mona Lisa mouth. During the session, he volunteered almost nothing. There was no reaching out. I had to come to him. Self-containment most nearly describes his mode of interpersonal transaction. He was not a subject for an inexperienced interviewer. Several times, as we talked, I pictured him 35 or 40 years from now, a crusty curmudgeon, chewing out house officers for minor transgressions—with relish.