In the high-stakes environment of the operating room, clear communication is as vital as the steady hand of a surgeon. But what happens when the usual means of communication are obstructed, not by choice, but by necessity?
Years ago, I was tasked with teaching neurosurgery principles to a surgical resident who had significant hearing loss. His ability to lip-read was extraordinary, allowing him to fully grasp the lectures. However, when it came to the practical sessions in the operating theater, we faced a challenge. Both of us were required to wear full sterile surgical attire, including face masks, which made communication through lip-reading impossible.
What followed was a lesson in adaptability and empathy, leading to an unconventional solution that not only bridged the communication gap but also taught me something profound about inclusion.
We came up with a solution. Surgical masks with a transparent window at the front. This way, I could simply tap his hand during surgery, and he could read my lips through the transparent mask.
It was the perfect solution.
As we began prepping for surgery, I couldn’t help but notice that the resident, standing next to me at the scrub sink, also was wearing a transparent mask.
I didn’t say anything at the time, uncertain of his reasoning.
After the surgery, curiosity got the better of me. I asked him, “Why were you wearing a transparent mask? I can’t read your lips. I don’t know how.”
His response was both unexpected and touching: “Because I didn’t want to be different from everyone else.”
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