November 22, 2024

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JIM McCUTCHON

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It was 1955 and time for a change.

 

I had fallen in love with surgery during the summer of 1952 when I was working in the operating room at Nix Hospital in San Antonio. I was between my junior and senior years in med school, and I rode a bus to Corpus Christi each Friday after work and then back on Sunday night. Jeanne was in Corpus Christi, and we were engaged and in love. Surgery became my other love as the doctors at Nix were kind to this 22-year-old kid. They answered my questions, of which there were many, and taught me sterile technique and how to cut and sew.

 

My love of surgery must have been obvious because Fruma Ginsberg, the OG-GYN resident mentoring me as an intern asked me if I would like to do a C. Section. I was only 23 years old and out of med school only one month. I was overwhelmed with joy and gratitude. I did the operation flawlessly with Fruma as my assistant. I will never forget her kindness.

 

Back to 1955.

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Jeanne and I had married and started our family, and I had started on my chosen career as a Fellow in General Surgery at Ochsner Foundation Hospital in New Orleans. I began to have doubts about my career choice as I saw Expl. Lap. listed on the surgery schedule. I knew what that meant. As the operating surgeon put it when asked what he was going to do: “I’ll open the belly, find out what’s wrong and fix it.” At that hospital, with world class general surgeons, he always did just that, but it made me uneasy. Here is why: During my internship, I could work around the clock and be fresh for the next day as long as I was on a surgery month. However, when I was on Receiving Ward duty, I was exhausted after an 8-hour shift. The problem was my insecurity. When I was at Philadelphia General Hospital, Receiving Ward functioned as a combination Emergency Room and Walk-In Clinic, and I dreaded the possibility that the next patient to walk in would have a condition that I would not be fully prepared for. I might miss the diagnosis, miss the proper treatment and be responsible for the death of my patient.  I didn’t relish the idea of doing an Expl. Lap. without having a clear plan before I picked up the scalpel.

 

I talked to Jeanne about it. She was wonderfully supportive, but she also knew that she was not equipped to give me advice. I considered multiple options without finding a solution. I still wanted to do surgery. I really thought I was destined for that, but none of the surgical specialties appealed to me. Then, as though God had made the decision for me, there was an announcement at a monthly general staff meeting: “The incoming Urology Fellow will be six weeks late arriving. Would any Surgery Fellow volunteer to take a rotation in Urology?”

 

I had my hand up before the announcement was finished. I visualized a time to think and decide. It turned out to be much more than that.

 

Edgar Burns, M. D. was the Professor of Urology at Tulane and a worldwide leader in the field. After all, he was one of the founders of the Ochsner Clinic and Hospital, a past President of the American Urology Association and current President of the American Board of Urology. I knew only that he was to be my chief for 3 months. Dr. Burns was 6’ 4” tall. He stood poker straight, and he looked down at mere mortals and called the Fellows on his service “Boy”.  He didn’t intimidate me. I was only going to be his “boy” for 3 months while I pondered my problem of what to do next.

 

What a Godsend Edgar Burns turned out to be. I knew nothing of Urology when I started, but I questioned him daily, and I even challenged him when I thought it was warranted. The senior Fellow told me, “You can’t talk to Dr. Burns like that”. I didn’t care. As it turned out, Dr. Burns was a pussy cat in a tiger costume. He loved being challenged, and he respected me for doing it. I was rewarded by getting one of his compliments, “That fellow has a lot of bulldog in him.” As a bonus, I found out that Urologists had an array of diagnostic tools enabling them to know what they were facing BEFORE picking up the scalpel. I was hooked, but there was no opening at Ochsner for another Fellow. God stepped in again. There was an opening on the Tulane Service at Charity Hospital. How could that be? A residency under Edgar Burns was highly valued, but there it was.

 

Dr. Burns offered me the slot, and I gladly filled it. The answer to my prayer and my dilemma.

 

I must tell one story about my relationship with Dr. Burns.

 

Jeanne and I had Sunday dinner with my parents each Sunday when I was not on duty at the hospital. By chance or by Divine Plan, our route took us directly by the home of Dr. Burns on State Street to where my parents lived on Prytania between State and Nashville.

 

One day, Dr. Burns told me, “Boy, I’m going to put a carport on my house.” I was horrified. Where I lived, a carport consisted of upright 4X4s and a corrugated plastic roof. His house was like him, dignified and classic. I blurted out, “You can’t put a carport on that house. It will look terrible.” He kindly ignored my rudeness. His only comment was, “Wait until you see it.”

 

Fast forward a few weeks. The carport had been completed, and it looked nothing like what I had visualized. It was on the side of the house straddling the driveway, and it had wrought iron pillars at the corners. The roof matched the roof of the house. Perfect.

 

On Monday morning, Dr. Burns asked me, “How do you like my carport?”

 

“That’s NOT a carport.”

 

“Well what is it?”

 

“Dr. Burns, that’s a porte cochère.”

 

“Yes.”

 

In New Orleans with its French heritage and tradition, a portre cochère is a well known fixture on distinguished houses. I smiled to myself as I thought about him going home to tell his wife, “Don’t call it a carport anymore.” 

 

The end of the story of my relationship with Edgar Burns is that he offered me a staff position in the Urology Department at Tulane. I was tempted, but I declined. I told him that such a position would put me in a position to become - possibly - the next Professor of Urology, and If that happened, it would be a great honor. However, it would not be a good fit for me or for Tulane. I said, “You will retire in a few years, and the next Professor should be a man who loves research and would bring large grant money to the school. I love teaching, but I hate research.” Dr. Burns did retire two years later, and Tulane hired Jorgen Schlegl, M.D., PhD., a well-trained Urologist and researcher.

 

I went to Corpus Christi. I have no regrets. Except one. Jeanne asked me one day, “When my friends ask me what you do, I have said, ‘He’s a surgeon.’ What do I say now?” That was just one of the times I have disappointed my beloved wife. She never complained.

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