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How I got into Orthopaedics
EDUCATION
How I got into Orthopaedics: Simon Fleming Simon Fleming Foreword It is the pleasure of the BOTA committee to produce these pieces on how we were inspired to become orthopaedic trainees. It is our hope that these tales will turn around the issue of recruitment and retention in T&O, an issue we feel very passionately about. Each person who was kind and honest enough to share their personal journey has walked an individual path. They have all overcome their own challenges and setbacks. No one person’s story is quite the same and hopefully, for those who have yet to choose their future career, one will ring true. Without the contributors’ open and passionate narratives, we would not have this amazing body of work and for that, we are grateful. More importantly, for those of you who are not yet surgical or T&O trainees, I hope that you read these and think that maybe, just maybe, if we can do it.so can you. A
My story: Simon Fleming
orthopods. Suddenly, not the knuckle dragging apes I had always though of them as, but instead the decisive, practical, focused, surgeons that I instantly aspired to. From then on, it was orthopaedics or bust. And to be honest, it was a bust. Foundation orthopaedics was a four-month block in a district general hospital, on the wards, being bumped off my theatre slots by more senior SHOs. Similarly in core training, I spent a huge amount of time on the wards and, because, of the lack of team structure, when I did get to theatres, it was always with a new boss or SpR, so they would never let me do much, because they didn’t know if I knew the pointy end of a scalpel from my elbow. Yet, through it all, I knew it was worth it. I knew the ward work would pay off, because not only was it useful for my MRCS revision, but I wanted to be the kind of SpR who knew how to care for his ward patients and who could support his juniors with more than “call the medics”. After Core training came a year of academia and teaching, which I absolutely loved. While I was anatomy demonstrating and getting my MSc (based on the afore mentioned 7/7 bombings), I found that, amongst the long lunches and 9e5, I missed orthopaedics. I missed the challenge, the patients and the surgery. Hell, I even missed the wards and accident and emergency. So, it was with a heavy heart, and even heavier hand luggage, that I went to Australia. For a year, I toiled in a semi-rural hospital, living in my beachfront penthouse and operating to my heart’s content. The money was great, the weather even better and I loved every second. My exposure there showed me something else e the orthopaedic training in the UK is second to none. Australia opened my eyes to a simple fact; I wanted to be a UK trained orthopaedic surgeon. So I went for a number. And failed. Entirely my own fault. I didn’t prepare anywhere near hard enough. I had never struggled at interview and assumed this would be the same. So I bluffed it. I failed. Shocker. But I was lucky enough to land on my feet with a CT3, based at Stanmore and Chelsea, which was a blessing. Stanmore is an inspirational place if ever there was one, but there was the misery that was eight months on the wards, in a hospital
Simon Fleming
“You’ll never be a doctor.” Those were the words said to me by my Housemaster at school and were the beginnings of a glamorous and glorious career in medicine. I have always taken the road less travelled and after proving that teacher wrong, and a few others, I was lucky enough to get into Barts and The London, the finest medical school in East London. My first real ‘light bulb’ moment was July 7th 2005. By this stage, I had been in medical school for a few years and at least knew I wasn’t going to be a medic. I was too impatient and like the perceived “there is a problem, I shall fix the problem” mentality of surgeons. Then, on July 7th, London underwent a huge terrorist attack. I was a medical student at the Royal London and couldn’t, for the life of me, work out why I suddenly didn’t have mobile signal or why our tutor was late. Amongst cries of “pub”, we ventured to the London to discover that 15 minutes prior, a Major Incident had been declared. A third of my year bolted. A third of my year went into shock. The rest of us rolled up our sleeves and were sucked into one of the single weirdest and best days I had ever had on firms . and there, amongst the chaos, in their own niche in Majors, were the
Simon Fleming MBBS MRCS M.Sc FRSA MAcadMEd MFSTEd AFHEA Vice President, British Orthopaedic Trainees Association, Queens Hospital, Rom Valley Way, Romford, Essex, UK. Conflicts of interest: none declared.
ORTHOPAEDICS AND TRAUMA 30:2
164
How I got into Orthopaedics: Simon Fleming Simon Fleming Foreword It is the pleasure of the BOTA committee to produce these pieces on how we were inspired to become orthopaedic trainees. It is our hope that these tales will turn around the issue of recruitment and retention in T&O, an issue we feel very passionately about. Each person who was kind and honest enough to share their personal journey has walked an individual path. They have all overcome their own challenges and setbacks. No one person’s story is quite the same and hopefully, for those who have yet to choose their future career, one will ring true. Without the contributors’ open and passionate narratives, we would not have this amazing body of work and for that, we are grateful. More importantly, for those of you who are not yet surgical or T&O trainees, I hope that you read these and think that maybe, just maybe, if we can do it.so can you. A
My story: Simon Fleming
orthopods. Suddenly, not the knuckle dragging apes I had always though of them as, but instead the decisive, practical, focused, surgeons that I instantly aspired to. From then on, it was orthopaedics or bust. And to be honest, it was a bust. Foundation orthopaedics was a four-month block in a district general hospital, on the wards, being bumped off my theatre slots by more senior SHOs. Similarly in core training, I spent a huge amount of time on the wards and, because, of the lack of team structure, when I did get to theatres, it was always with a new boss or SpR, so they would never let me do much, because they didn’t know if I knew the pointy end of a scalpel from my elbow. Yet, through it all, I knew it was worth it. I knew the ward work would pay off, because not only was it useful for my MRCS revision, but I wanted to be the kind of SpR who knew how to care for his ward patients and who could support his juniors with more than “call the medics”. After Core training came a year of academia and teaching, which I absolutely loved. While I was anatomy demonstrating and getting my MSc (based on the afore mentioned 7/7 bombings), I found that, amongst the long lunches and 9e5, I missed orthopaedics. I missed the challenge, the patients and the surgery. Hell, I even missed the wards and accident and emergency. So, it was with a heavy heart, and even heavier hand luggage, that I went to Australia. For a year, I toiled in a semi-rural hospital, living in my beachfront penthouse and operating to my heart’s content. The money was great, the weather even better and I loved every second. My exposure there showed me something else e the orthopaedic training in the UK is second to none. Australia opened my eyes to a simple fact; I wanted to be a UK trained orthopaedic surgeon. So I went for a number. And failed. Entirely my own fault. I didn’t prepare anywhere near hard enough. I had never struggled at interview and assumed this would be the same. So I bluffed it. I failed. Shocker. But I was lucky enough to land on my feet with a CT3, based at Stanmore and Chelsea, which was a blessing. Stanmore is an inspirational place if ever there was one, but there was the misery that was eight months on the wards, in a hospital
Simon Fleming
“You’ll never be a doctor.” Those were the words said to me by my Housemaster at school and were the beginnings of a glamorous and glorious career in medicine. I have always taken the road less travelled and after proving that teacher wrong, and a few others, I was lucky enough to get into Barts and The London, the finest medical school in East London. My first real ‘light bulb’ moment was July 7th 2005. By this stage, I had been in medical school for a few years and at least knew I wasn’t going to be a medic. I was too impatient and like the perceived “there is a problem, I shall fix the problem” mentality of surgeons. Then, on July 7th, London underwent a huge terrorist attack. I was a medical student at the Royal London and couldn’t, for the life of me, work out why I suddenly didn’t have mobile signal or why our tutor was late. Amongst cries of “pub”, we ventured to the London to discover that 15 minutes prior, a Major Incident had been declared. A third of my year bolted. A third of my year went into shock. The rest of us rolled up our sleeves and were sucked into one of the single weirdest and best days I had ever had on firms . and there, amongst the chaos, in their own niche in Majors, were the
Simon Fleming MBBS MRCS M.Sc FRSA MAcadMEd MFSTEd AFHEA Vice President, British Orthopaedic Trainees Association, Queens Hospital, Rom Valley Way, Romford, Essex, UK. Conflicts of interest: none declared.
ORTHOPAEDICS AND TRAUMA 30:2
164