By Michael N. Nakashian, MD

It is Thursday May 7th, as I sit here at my desk at home in New Jersey. Just having finished off an afternoon of Telehealth visits, I reflect on how much my job has changed. It is a time of questions without answers, leaving surgeons like us at a loss to predict the future for our patients.

“Should I go to physical therapy? Is it safe?” one patient asks. “I really don’t know, it’s certainly an exposure risk” is my standard answer.

“Well, when is my surgery going to be scheduled? I’ve been waiting for over a month…” on the next call. “I’m so sorry, but the restriction on elective surgery in our state has just been extended, so I have no idea when your surgery will happen.”

 I feel like a broken record, but find solace in that most patients expect as much. Sometimes I can see patients on my screen while other patients have technical difficulties, and I speak to an impersonal voice on the other end of the phone. Without a face to provide recognition it takes a lot of the personality away from the experience, and I realize how important that part of the job is to me. I absolutely love the personal touch of practicing medicine and getting to know my patients. It has been hard to keep that going, and I find the experience looking through the screen to be much less satisfying.

I work at a fairly large private orthopedic practice and am used to a very busy office day. But now, my list of patients waiting for surgery far exceeds the number of patients on the surgery schedule, and the office feels like a ghost town. It is a struggle we are all faced with at this time. How am I coping? By focusing on the silver lining.

With so much more free time, I’m trying to get back to my roots. There are many personal avocations that had become low priority due to the busy lifestyle of practicing medicine and raising a family with young kids. One thing I’ve realized is how little time I was spending with my family during those pre-pandemic days of long hours in the office and operating room. Now, I’m spending all that extra time with my wife and two boys, and loving every minute of it.

One morning last week I was getting ready to leave for just one single operation for the day. Normally I leave before anyone is awake, and come home in the evening, but these days I’m only gone for a few hours. I excitedly told my kids that I would be back soon and at least I got to see them this morning! “Dad,” my 7 year old said to me, “that’s not much of a silver lining.” I don’t think he quite gets the concept yet . . . but the best I can do is make that silver lining shine.