How Do You Find Joy in Surgery When You’re in Pain?
Let’s be honest—some days it’s hard to love this job. The back hurts, the schedule’s packed, the patient’s being difficult, and the suction just died mid-procedure. You want to radiate calm, collected confidence…but inside, you’re just trying not to swear into your mask.
And yet—have you ever noticed how some people still glow?
They walk into chaos, and somehow, everyone else starts breathing easier. They carry that invisible hum of positive energy that draws others in, like gravity.
It’s real. You can feel it when it’s there—and you can definitely feel it when it’s gone.
The Gravity of Positivity
In physics, planets don’t try to attract smaller objects. Their mass literally bends space-time so that other things fall into orbit. It’s automatic. It’s natural.
I think positive energy works the same way.
When you bring genuine joy, curiosity, or even just a steady kindness into your operatory, you change the mental fabric of the room. You alter its gravitational field. Assistants start matching your tone. The nervous patient relaxes. The front desk chaos softens.
Before you know it, everyone’s orbiting around something better.
But here’s the kicker: what happens when the planet—you—is cracked and aching? When you’ve had three surgeries before lunch and your neck feels like it’s holding up a bowling ball? When your favorite assistant’s out and the temp doesn’t know how to load the handpiece?
How do you stay that positive force then?
Brother Jake and Uncle Joe
I think about my younger brother, and dear friend, Jake—a brand-new oral surgeon. He’s in that early-career stage where the lights are still bright and the music’s loud. His office environment is far from perfect each day, but he’s thrilled to be doing surgery.
He reminds me of that feeling when you first got to make an incision and do a surgery in residency and thought, I can’t believe they’re letting me do this – this is awesome!
Then there’s my other relative, who I’ll call Uncle Joe. He’s older, beat up from years of work, multiple failed back surgeries deep. The guy should’ve retired already, but life didn’t go that way. He drags himself to work every morning, not because he wants to—but because he has to. And it shows. He’s exhausted, cynical, worn thin.
The difference between brother Jake and uncle Joe isn’t talent or training. It’s energy. It’s what they’re radiating into the space around them.
And I have to ask myself—on a bad day, which one am I?
When Pain Changes the Orbit
When my back or neck is hurting, I can feel a negative aura around me. If I’m not intentional about dealing with that, I can become a black hole—pulling everyone down with me. Negativity has gravity too. It’s heavier, denser, harder to escape.
But when I’m surrounded by great assistants—people like Lilly, Juan, or Ginny—it’s like the whole system shifts. Suddenly, I’m not fighting the workday; I’m flowing through it. We’re laughing in between cases. Patients sense that. They leave lighter, happier. It’s contagious.
So what’s the difference?
Sometimes it’s just awareness. The choice to step back, take a breath, and realize: I’m warping this room right now—one way or another.
If we can create a positive gravitational pull even when we’re hurting, that’s the real magic trick. Not faking happiness—but finding small truths that remind us why we’re here. A patient’s gratitude. A perfectly placed suture. That assistant who nails the timing on suction without you saying a word.
Those are tiny orbits of joy, and they matter.
A Challenge for the Week
Try this:
Write down what parts of your work tend to drag your energy down. Be honest—maybe it’s the constant admin errors, or the patient who knows too much because they’re a nurse and want to narrate your every move. (We’ve all been there.)
Then write what fills you back up.
Maybe it’s mentoring a resident, or getting that clean flap closure, or hearing your playlist kick in right as the drill starts.
Pick just one thing this week that you can do to tip the scale toward the positive.
Then—watch what happens.
Watch how your team’s mood shifts, how patients respond, and how you feel walking out of the office at the end of the day.
Because Here’s the Truth
We don’t find joy when the pain disappears.
We find it while we’re in pain—when we decide to bend the space around us toward something lighter.
Pain will visit again. So will bad patients, broken autoclaves, and late referrals. But joy? Joy is built right into the physics of how we show up.
So the real question isn’t “How do I avoid pain?”
It’s “What kind of gravity am I creating while I’m in it?”