The surgery had been long and meticulous-a laparoscopic cholecystectomy on a 52-year-old woman with acute inflammation and a few nasty adhesions. I'd scrubbed in as second assist: holding retractors steady for forty minutes straight until my shoulders screamed, suctioning bile when the gallbladder finally came free, passing instruments before anyone had to ask.

Dr. Otto led with his usual calm precision; the resident (poor guy) kept fumbling the clips until Otto gently took over. By the end my gloves were slick, my back ached, and the patient's vitals were rock-solid.

I stayed behind to help clean up-wiping down the table, bagging sharps, making sure the count was correct. The circulating...