One of the many perks of growing up in Washington, D.C., was getting to read Thomas Boswell's editorials in the Sports section of the Washington Post. Boswell wrote on a variety of topics, but his true love was baseball, and all aspects of it. Of particular interest to him was what, exactly, made baseball America's pastime despite it's poor translation to television. Boswell points out that simply going to the ballpark makes for a completely different experience than viewing the game on TV, in large part because it allows one to hear all the chatter that can only be appreciated in person. There is the chatter in the stands, of course, about what is going on on the field, but there is also the chatter in the dugouts, in the bullpens, and chatter among players on the field, and chatter with the umpires. And all of it, amazingly, is about the game. Baseball allows, or even cultivates, a chatty environment that uniquely defines and even enhances the game itself.
Many people may not realize that the operating room is full of chatter as well. In a stadium of sorts, while the patient is nervously falling asleep, the anesthesiologist is chatting to the nurse anesthetist about the necessary drugs; the scrub tech is talking with the nurse manager to make sure the supplies are all correct; the attending surgeon is speaking with the residents and students about what will all take place. And all of it, even though it may seem chaotic, is all ultimately about the patient. The operating room needs this kind of atmosphere to make sure patient care is supreme.
And so it's funny that both baseball and surgery have this talkative environment in common. So even now, as the Phillies push for the playoffs and I apply to surgery residencies, I wonder: why is it that I'm attracted to chatty environments? There is just something amazing about a periphery of noise that is ultimately about improving the task at hand -- if it's made a pastime for baseball, surely it can make a future for me.
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