Why I decided against anesthesiology

Over the past few weeks, I have been "trying on" anesthesiology as a career. I started collating a list of anesthesiology programs I would be interested in, I attended an anesthesiology information session during the clinical interlude week, and I networked with some anesthesiologists.

Specifically, I talked with a neuroanesthesiologist, since concentrating in neuroanesthesiology is the direction in which I would want to take my new career. He was very encouraging, in fact excited, about my neuroanesthesiology interest and strong research background. We talked about a scholarship program designed for anesthesiology residents interested in research, and he helped me sketch out a plan for applying and getting accepted to the Colorado program. Wow, things couldn't be better!

I left that meeting with the neuroanesthesiologist, my spirits high, to complete a standardized patient encounter. The purpose of this exercise was to hold a family meeting about a patient at the end of her life. Although these conversations can be especially difficult and emotionally taxing, the patient-actor gave me remarkably positive feedback: "I am glad that you're going to be a doctor. No matter what field you go into, you're going to need to use these skills to talk with patients, and you're a natural at it." These words meant all the more to me because patient-actors are known to be very liberal in their criticisms.

Through the flush of receiving such high praise, I noted with a pang in my stomach that I wouldn't need to use these skills often, if ever, as an anesthesiologist.

More confusion, bred from conflict of what I wanted anesthesiology to be versus its reality. When thinking about the prospect of following through with applying to anesthesiology residency programs, which all of a sudden seemed much more real, I felt a heaviness in my shoulders, a shortness of breath, a quickened heart rate. All of these symptoms were so slight, subliminal, easy to dismiss as a normal reaction to thinking about an uncertain future.

A good friend and classmate, sensing this inner conflict, asked me a simple question: "Why wouldn't you want to be an anesthesiologist?" He kept quiet and listened, allowing me to verbalize thoughts that until then I wasn't ready to consciously recognize.

When you get down to it, anesthesiologists have a different kind of relationship with their patients. It's condensed down to 5-10 minutes during which the anesthesiologist obtains informed consent and reassures the patient about the upcoming procedure. Sure, there's a little room there to insert your personality, but that's about the extent of the relationship. Talking to patients is something that I both enjoy and am actually good at; plus, it is something that can make a lasting difference in people's lives. It would be a shame to waste that talent in a field with minimal patient interaction.

Relief. Having finally verbalized my concerns about anesthesiology, it was impossible to ignore the fact that lack of meaningful long-term doctor-patient relationships is a deal-breaker for me.