A lot of successful people say that what makes them excel is having a passion for what they do, whether that be singing, playing tennis, whatever. Success follows from that. Is that the case with you, too? Yes, for sure. I love performing operations. If a tennis player mishits, he has another shot straight after. If you make a mistake, a life is ruined. How can you enjoy being on that kind of knife edge? Because you don’t see the operation as a risk; you see it as an opportunity to shape things, to save someone. There is something artistic in what we do. It’s like sculpture. We work in three dimensions, after all, and aesthetics are important. If a heart looks good after reconstruction, it will work well. Don’t you fear making a mistake? Mistakes happen – that’s inevitable. You can keep them to a minimum by thinking of success instead of failure. Stéphane Lambiel, who won figure-skating silver at the 2006 Olympics, was once asked if he was afraid of falling. He said no, that he only thought of the correct movements. To start with, I was amazed he could say such a thing, but then I realised I think the same way. I think of the journey, not the obstacles; of the solution, not the problem. And the complicated cases are not the most dangerous. The most
dangerous thing is when you start thinking nothing can go wrong, when what we call ‘routine’ worms its way in. But over the course of 30 years, you’ve operated on the hearts of around 6,000 children… You have to prepare for every operation as if it was your first, and bring to bear the same level of responsibility, concentration and exertion. That’s crucial. You said earlier that mistakes are inevitable. Can you really say that? You’ve got to be honest. And you must always do everything to the best of your ability. Making a mistake due to a lack of preparation or concentration would be unforgivable. Do you speak to the parents here, in this office? I do. Why do you talk to them yourself? That’s a big burden, isn’t it, knowing their fates and fears? Wouldn’t it be easier for you just to know the facts and to see a bloody walnut that needs to be repaired? I’d still fight in exactly the same way, but something would be missing. Parents entrust their children’s lives to me in this office. It’s a trust I can never betray. It happens extremely rarely, but
“Parents entrust their children’s lives to me. It’s a trust I can never betray”
nonetheless it does happen that we arrive at a situation where there really isn’t any more we can do and there’s no hope. But you still keep fighting and sometimes things do work out for the best. You wouldn’t do that if it was just about walnuts. I remember one case, a really, really difficult one. As a surgeon, you have a big ego, but when these parents wanted a second opinion, I hoped they would choose the other surgeon. But they came back to me. I’d realised during the operation that things weren’t going well. We’d been fighting for hours. It looked hopeless and we were exhausted. I went out into the corridor where the parents were and said, “It’s not going to work. We haven’t got a chance.” The mother broke down. She cried so much it was incredible. The father was despondent… I couldn’t bear the image. I told them we’d give it another go. I went back to the operation and we started again from scratch. It took hours. We were all way beyond our limit. But it worked. How long did the operation take? I can’t remember… 14 hours, maybe. Sometimes you go into theatre in the morning and suddenly it’s midnight. You take that on the chin. Just being professional isn’t enough on its own – it takes heart, too. I want to make people happy. I want to help people, and I have the opportunity to. That’s our privilege. You call it a privilege, but it’s also such a massive responsibility. A child could die… If you jump a red light at a junction, someone might die, too. And you can train your concentration as if it was a muscle. I can keep my focus, because I’ve been doing it every day for 30 years. And I can work on two systems in parallel. My fingers do their job automatically while my brain thinks what to do next. My job is complex, but it’s not a miracle. Have you ever operated on friends or relatives? I once operated on a friend’s mother. It all went well, but there were too many emotions involved. It was an unnecessary risk. I won’t be doing that again. Operations go perfectly smoothly 98 per cent of the time. And yet you’re constantly asked about what can go wrong. Is that annoying? It’s 95 per cent. We have two or 2.5 per cent that end in either mortality or severe complications. And I can understand why you ask. Everyone does.
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THE RED BULLETIN