Free Another Day in the Frontal Lobe by Katrina Firlik Page A

about to undergo spine surgery. The models are always women.
    Residents get to eat well at these meetings, which is much appreciated in the context of a chronic hospital cafeteria diet. Dinners at the best restaurants are sponsored every night, either by our academic department or by a company representative. Expensive steak-houses are favorites. As a petite woman, I usually can’t finish the entire piece of steak, but it never goes to waste. There is always at least one guy in the pack who is willing to wolf down the rest. Someone asked me once whether there were any particular advantages to being a woman in the male-dominated field of neurosurgery. I mentioned this one.
    The scientific information at an annual meeting is presented in various formats. The studies deemed most important, like the results of large, multicenter trials on aneurysms, brain tumors, or spine surgery, are presented in the biggest rooms during exclusive times when nothing else is going on, so the maximum number of people can attend. Talks that are deemed important, but a little less important, are also granted time slots, but the talks are shorter and have to compete for attention among the other sessions. Everything else is presented in poster format. Apparently, most posters that are submitted are accepted; relatively few are rejected. This ensures maximum attendance, as a potential presenter might skip the meeting if his poster is rejected, leaving the organization with one less registration fee. I didn’t know this when my first poster was accepted. I was thrilled that it had surfaced to the top of what I had envisioned was a highly competitive weeding-out process.
    A poster always presents a dilemma: What do you do with it when the meeting is over? Some departments are willing to devote some hallway space to it, but if not, it’s a toss-up whether or not to haul the unwieldy tube back home on the plane. After the devotion of so many hours, it seems a waste to throw it out. That’s probably the best option, though, because few spouses would encourage its display in the living room or bedroom.
    The slogan at my first annual meeting was “Winds of Change.” It was displayed in large print on banners and on the cover of our meeting programs. The slogan was fitting, given the constant evolution of our profession and the host city of Chicago. The society president gave an uplifting talk at the opening of the meeting, reflecting on the recent unique “winds of change” in our profession. I was proud to be a new member of the society, sitting among thousands of other residents and neurosurgeons from around the world.
    On the last day of the meeting, I walked through the length of the convention center on my way back to the hotel. I could see that a national hardware chain was preparing for their own annual meeting, scheduled to follow ours. As I walked, I noticed more and more name tags bearing the logo of the hardware chain, while the neurosurgery badges thinned out. They were taking over the space I had come to consider ours. Upon leaving the building, I saw their banner hanging proudly at the main entrance. I paused when I saw their slogan: “Winds of Change.” I imagined their opening talk to be equally uplifting.

SIX
    Routine
    “Don’t go into neurosurgery unless there’s
absolutely nothing else
you could ever see yourself doing.” In other words, unless you’re fanatical about it, it’s not worth the sacrifice. I received this advice from elders in the field, as did other medical students hoping to enter the specialty. For some, the advice triggers introspection, which is the whole point. For others, the gravity of the message and the solemnity of the delivery only enhance the aura of exclusivity surrounding the profession. For those starry-eyed medical students, the thought of joining a tribe of devoted and single-minded practitioners—a tribe that others are not passionate or qualified enough to join—makes the decision even