When my co-chair asked me to write this tome, I thought, “What is a giant?” In the dictionary, a giant is “an imaginary or mythical being of human form but superhuman size.” In astronomy, it is a star of relatively great size and luminosity compared with ordinary stars of the main sequence and 10 to 100 times the diameter of the sun. The harder question is, “Who is a giant?” An image blazed through my mind of Deborah J. Graham, MD, FACS, or “Debbie” as she is known to her colleagues and senior residents, my late program director and chief of surgery at the Cleveland VA Medical Center, Cleveland, OH.
In my mind, I often escape to the summer of 2002, my introductory meeting with Dr. Graham. I found her stern but kind, approachable and professional, exuding confidence, resilience, and valor as a role model. I aspired to be like her.
I had the opportunity of joining her crew of residents. I recall my first operation with her. It wasn’t simply a learning experience but an exulting time. “Hiba, as you sweep your hand from left to right, the first structure to catch your finger is the ligament of Treitz.” As I learned from her how to operate that day, she also taught me another invaluable lesson. When she noticed that we were all females in the operating room, she giggled, “We are chicks in charge.” I felt empowered, as were all her residents. To Debbie we weren’t males and females, we were all the same. She didn’t judge us by gender or other preconceptions. All that mattered to her was putting in your sweat equity. It was simple mathematics— your best effort, commitment to patient care, and dedication to your program.
Debbie prided herself in helping her residents to the maximum. She utilized her position for service, her power for empowering others, and her past hardships for shaping a brighter future for us. When I requested time off to care for my two toddlers, she immediately obliged saying, “Hiba, I’m glad to help you, I don’t have kids, but if I did, this wouldn’t have been possible during my residency.” She petitioned the American Board of Surgery to extend my training by one year. And that wasn’t the only time she supported her mom residents. That was Debbie, caring to a fault, loving as a mom, supportive with her entire being, strong beyond description, fearlessly protective, endlessly trusting. She lived for her residents. We were her life.
Not only did she have an open-door policy, but her heart was always open to us. No appointment was needed; we walked in, and she listened. We were her first priority. She reveled in our triumphs and cherished our achievements. Debbie set us up for success, once advising me in her maternal tone, “Hiba, prepare well for Dr. X’s cases. He is powerful and others listen to him.”
