The Parable of the Surgeon

One evening, after a long day in the operating room, a tired surgeon was traversing the backwoods road that lead to his country home. As he rounded a blind curve, he could see taillights and smoke in the distance. Coming closer, his headlights illuminated a sporty car smashed head-on into a large oak tree. He quickly pulled behind the car and, after a quick call to 911, ran towards the scene. Behind the steering wheel was a young woman, unconscious and bleeding profusely from an undetermined wound. His medical training immediately kicked in and he began a medical assessment to determine the extent of her injuries. Airway? Clear. Breathing? Check. Heartbeat? Faint, but palpable. Starting with her head and moving down, he felt for anything out of the ordinary: bones out of place, mushiness where it should be firm, open wounds, etc.. Her right hand was crushed and pinned between the steering wheel and some part of the car that was no longer recognizable. It was ugly, but not life-threatening. As he reached her inner thigh, his heart sank. A gaping wound located near her femoral artery was bleeding heavily. If her femoral artery was lacerated he knew she would bleed out and die. Time was not on her side, and even a medi-vac helicopter would take some time to arrive this far out of the city. He had to get her out of that car and up into his headlights so he could attempt to stop the bleeding. Fortunately, as a doctor, he always carried an emergency medical kit in his car for just such occasions, never dreaming he’d ever need to use it.

Undoing her seatbelt, he grabbed her left arm and tried to tug her out of the car, but her right hand could not be budged from its grotesque vice. No matter how hard he tried, no matter what angle he pulled from, it was not moving. He was left with no choice: he must cut off her hand. For a moment he paused and looked at the woman’s face. “She’s so young. She’s got her whole life ahead of her. How negatively will having only one hand affect her life? What if she’s an athlete? What if she’s a mother? How will she care for and hold her children?” These sympathetic thoughts quickly gave way to reason and years of medical knowledge, “If I don’t do it, she won’t have a life; she will die right here.”
So, he quickly ran to his car and returned with the medical kit. “Thank God she’s unconscious” he thought, as he sawed through the bones. Finally freeing her, he carried her limp body to the light and did his best to slow the bleeding until EMS arrived. He said a prayer for the unknown woman as the sirens disappeared in the direction of the medical center.

The next morning at work, he asked the on-call surgeon how the woman was doing. “She lost a lot of blood, but she is in stable condition. If she had gotten here any later, she probably wouldn’t have made it. You did the right thing removing her hand: it saved her life.”

Over the next several days, the surgeon continued to check on the young woman. He met her family and they thanked him for saving her life. Eventually, the woman awoke and was told what had happened. The next time the doctor came to see her, she gave him a big smile and expressed sincere gratitude for his action.

As days turned to weeks, and recovery turned into rehab, the reality of not having a right hand began to sink in. Simple tasks – things she used to take for granted - such as writing, brushing her hair, or buttoning a blouse, had to be relearned. Frustration and doubt filled her mind. Well-intentioned friends and family had made comments earlier on: “Did he really have to cut off your hand?” “Don’t you think he went a little too far?” “I’m not a doctor, but I’m sure he could have saved you without such extreme actions.” At first, while the accident was still fresh in her mind, she defended the surgeon’s actions, knowing he only did what he had to do. But now, weeks removed from danger and struggling to learn how to live without a hand, she began to have her own questions. “Maybe he did take things too far.” “Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as he made it out to be.” “He was wrong to remove my hand.”

The woman wasn’t the only one second-guessing. The surgeon, seeing how difficult her rehab was going, also questioned his decision. He rehearsed the accident scene over and over in his head, wondering if he could have done things differently. “Maybe I overreacted.” “Perhaps she wasn’t in as much jeopardy as I thought.” “I could have waited for EMS to pry the steering wheel off her hand.” He took his thoughts to the man he trusted more than anyone: the chief surgeon of the hospital. This man had all the answers. After all, he wrote most of the textbooks the surgeon had used in medical school. He was the surgeon of surgeons; a trainer of surgeons. He was also a trusted friend. The surgeon shared his concerns with the chief surgeon, who assured him he did what was necessary to save her life. The chief surgeon would have done the same thing.

Assured in his mind, and affirmed by the chief surgeon, the doctor went down to visit the woman, who was about to be discharged and was surrounded by family. As he entered the room, the warm greeting he was accustomed to was replaced with a cold, “What are you doing here?” Stunned, he stumbled for his words, “I…uh…came to see…” “She doesn’t want to see you anymore! You’ve scarred her for life with your careless and insensitive act.” “But, I was trying to save her life.” “What you did was unnecessary. There had to be a better way. Now, look at the harm you’ve caused her. That hand will never grow back.” “But, she would have died…” “That’s your opinion. We may not be doctors, but we think she would have survived. Now, kindly turn around and leave. Go practice your brand of medicine somewhere else.”

Saddened and heartbroken, the surgeon slowly turned and walked away. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t be practicing medicine anywhere. Maybe I should leave medicine all together and pursue a different career; one where life and death decisions don’t have to be made.”

Confused and distraught, he hopped in his car and started the long trek home. On his way, he rounded a corner and saw a car smashed into a tree. He kept driving.

*If you haven’t already guessed, this story is a sad analogy about the perils and pains of church discipline. The surgeon is a pastor; the woman/family a church; the hand represents a sinning member under discipline. You can figure out who the Chief Surgeon is!