Dr. Betty MacRae was the first female neurosurgeon in Canada. After 28 years working in the field, and many sacrifices, she's retiring from Foothills Medical Centre.
Dr. Elizabeth (Betty) MacRae had two strikes against her when she decided to become a neurosurgeon.
At 36, she was "too old." Worse, she was a woman.
In the 1970s, most female doctors in Canada entered family medicine or else opted for careers in specialties like pediatrics and obstetrics. They didn't operate on brains.
"My father told me I was taking a job away from a man," recalls MacRae. "Surgery wasn't a place for a woman."
Undaunted, she would go on to become the first female neurosurgeon to train and practice in Canada.
MacRae officially retires June 30 after 28 years performing delicate repairs to nerves and treating skull injuries at Calgary's Foothills Medical Centre.
Oddly enough, she doesn't consider herself a trailblazer.
"I guess I was breaking new ground but I never thought of it that way. I just thought, 'I want to do this, so why shouldn't I?' "
It's a philosophy MacRae lives by. When she's not with patients, the avid outdoorswoman turns to heliskiing, mountain climbing and skydiving for fun.
But surgery is MacRae's first -- and lifelong -- passion.
At three years old, the Quebec native informed her parents she planned to become a doctor. By the age of 12, one of her biggest heroes was Dr. Wilder Penfield, the founder of the Montreal Neurological Institute.
After high school, Mac-Rae studied physical education at the University of Toronto -- where she was a varsity athlete -- before graduating from medical school in 1968.
She then completed a residency in endocrinology, followed by a year in internal medicine and a few years in family practice.
Her life changed dramatically one Sunday morning in 1977. MacRae was near the end of a neurology residency when she was asked to assist on a challenging brain surgery.
"We clipped the aneurysm, the patient did well and I walked out of that operating room and said, 'I'm doing the wrong thing with my life,' " recalls MacRae.
But the road to surgery was not without roadblocks. "I was told, 'Betty, you're 36. You've got a checkerboard career. Besides, you're female and we've never trained a female before,' " MacRae says.
But with the support of the University of Toronto's then chairman of neurosurgery, MacRae picked up a scalpel and never looked back.
The life of a neurosurgeon is often gruelling. Twelve to 14-hour work days are not unheard of, and there are weekends and evenings on call.
And then there's the pressure. Minutes can make a difference between life and death; a split-second decision in surgery can have significant consequences.
"If you cut a bowel in the operating room, you sew it up. If you cut a nerve or something vital in the brain, it doesn't repair," says MacRae.
"You learn early to be cautious, not terrified."
In 1982, a friend told MacRae about a
career opportunity with the neurosurgery team at Foothills Medical Centre. Single, ambitious and thrilled at the
prospect of living so close to the Rockies--a place to indulge
her love of skiing, golfing and hiking -- the doctor packed up and headed west.
It proved an auspicious move. In Calgary, MacRae found supportive colleagues, intriguing surgeries and the love of her life, prominent psychiatrist Dr. David Miyauchi.
At 36, she was "too old." Worse, she was a woman.
In the 1970s, most female doctors in Canada entered family medicine or else opted for careers in specialties like pediatrics and obstetrics. They didn't operate on brains.
"My father told me I was taking a job away from a man," recalls MacRae. "Surgery wasn't a place for a woman."
Undaunted, she would go on to become the first female neurosurgeon to train and practice in Canada.
MacRae officially retires June 30 after 28 years performing delicate repairs to nerves and treating skull injuries at Calgary's Foothills Medical Centre.
Oddly enough, she doesn't consider herself a trailblazer.
"I guess I was breaking new ground but I never thought of it that way. I just thought, 'I want to do this, so why shouldn't I?' "
It's a philosophy MacRae lives by. When she's not with patients, the avid outdoorswoman turns to heliskiing, mountain climbing and skydiving for fun.
But surgery is MacRae's first -- and lifelong -- passion.
At three years old, the Quebec native informed her parents she planned to become a doctor. By the age of 12, one of her biggest heroes was Dr. Wilder Penfield, the founder of the Montreal Neurological Institute.
After high school, Mac-Rae studied physical education at the University of Toronto -- where she was a varsity athlete -- before graduating from medical school in 1968.
She then completed a residency in endocrinology, followed by a year in internal medicine and a few years in family practice.
Her life changed dramatically one Sunday morning in 1977. MacRae was near the end of a neurology residency when she was asked to assist on a challenging brain surgery.
"We clipped the aneurysm, the patient did well and I walked out of that operating room and said, 'I'm doing the wrong thing with my life,' " recalls MacRae.
But the road to surgery was not without roadblocks. "I was told, 'Betty, you're 36. You've got a checkerboard career. Besides, you're female and we've never trained a female before,' " MacRae says.
But with the support of the University of Toronto's then chairman of neurosurgery, MacRae picked up a scalpel and never looked back.
The life of a neurosurgeon is often gruelling. Twelve to 14-hour work days are not unheard of, and there are weekends and evenings on call.
And then there's the pressure. Minutes can make a difference between life and death; a split-second decision in surgery can have significant consequences.
"If you cut a bowel in the operating room, you sew it up. If you cut a nerve or something vital in the brain, it doesn't repair," says MacRae.
"You learn early to be cautious, not terrified."
In 1982, a friend told MacRae about a
career opportunity with the neurosurgery team at Foothills Medical Centre. Single, ambitious and thrilled at the
prospect of living so close to the Rockies--a place to indulge
her love of skiing, golfing and hiking -- the doctor packed up and headed west.
It proved an auspicious move. In Calgary, MacRae found supportive colleagues, intriguing surgeries and the love of her life, prominent psychiatrist Dr. David Miyauchi.
At 69, MacRae doesn't regret a single minute spent in the operating room. But she's not surprised there are so few women like her.
"The training is vigorous. We used to put in 80, 90 even 100-hour weeks -- absolutely ridiculous hours," she says.
It can be a powerful deterrent to a young woman who hopes to combine a career in medicine with motherhood.
According to an article published in the September 2008 issue of the Journal of Neurosurgery, only "small strides" have been made in attracting women to such demanding surgical specialties as orthopedics, thoracic surgery and neurosurgery.
The long working hours are a turnoff, but so is the length of training, which typically occurs during a woman's child-bearing years.
The Journal of Neurosurgery study found that female neurosurgeons account for only six per cent of full-time faculty in the United States. As late as the 1990s, some 30 per cent of neurological residency programs had never graduated a female student.
It's a similar story this side of the border, where fewer than 10 per cent of the country's neurosurgeons are female.
Yet specialties that have traditionally attracted woman are more popular than ever, according to recent statistics from the Canadian Medical Association.
Three-quarters of residents in obstetrics/ gynecology, as well as two-thirds of residents in family and pediatrics, are women. Female residents are also the majority in psychiatry and geriatric medicine.
The irony, says MacRae, is that women tend to make excellent brain surgeons.
"A lot of the fellows end up in spine surgery, which is a bit rougher, like carpentry. But females have a delicate touch in the brain . . . they are well suited for the precision of the work."
The punishing hours, however, can make it challenging to spend time with a husband and children, she concedes. "I had to make a choice and I don't regret it. But there has to be a way to make it easier."
The good news is that today, many women do in fact juggle the demands of the job with marriage, a family and outside interests, says Calgary neurosurgeon Zelma Kiss.
But in a specialty in which women continue to represent a disproportionately small segment of the workforce, MacRae is an excellent role model for the newest batch of young females considering a career in medicine.
She's the best kind of teacher and mentor, says Kiss -- one who nurtures and encourages others to achieve their best.
"Betty has had an enormous impact on patient care, obviously, but also in mentoring students, residents, even non-neurosurgeons."
In the three decades MacRae has spent in the field, she's watched imaging technology completely change the way brain surgery is performed.
Take the now commonplace CT scan -- a super-sharp X-ray that helps doctors diagnose or rule out injuries or diseases.
It didn't even exist when she started in medicine. "I still learn something everyday. I'm not tired of this career, but at 69, I need something different to do."
This fall, MacRae is headed to Nepal as part of a charitable mission to distribute multivitamins and folic acid to pregnant women in remote villages.
She also hopes to improve her photography skills and take university classes in "something artsy," like architectural history.
There are travel plans to look forward to with her husband and family time with stepchildren and a much beloved grandchild.
Once the busiest neurosurgeon in the city, she will miss the operating room and the adrenalin rush that comes with saving a life. But even trailblazers need to move on.
" I'm not an academic. I haven't written papers and I never wanted to climb a professional ladder. What I am is a hands-on clinical person, and when a patient tells me I've made a difference in their life, that's the biggest reward I could ever get," she says.
"The training is vigorous. We used to put in 80, 90 even 100-hour weeks -- absolutely ridiculous hours," she says.
It can be a powerful deterrent to a young woman who hopes to combine a career in medicine with motherhood.
According to an article published in the September 2008 issue of the Journal of Neurosurgery, only "small strides" have been made in attracting women to such demanding surgical specialties as orthopedics, thoracic surgery and neurosurgery.
The long working hours are a turnoff, but so is the length of training, which typically occurs during a woman's child-bearing years.
The Journal of Neurosurgery study found that female neurosurgeons account for only six per cent of full-time faculty in the United States. As late as the 1990s, some 30 per cent of neurological residency programs had never graduated a female student.
It's a similar story this side of the border, where fewer than 10 per cent of the country's neurosurgeons are female.
Yet specialties that have traditionally attracted woman are more popular than ever, according to recent statistics from the Canadian Medical Association.
Three-quarters of residents in obstetrics/ gynecology, as well as two-thirds of residents in family and pediatrics, are women. Female residents are also the majority in psychiatry and geriatric medicine.
The irony, says MacRae, is that women tend to make excellent brain surgeons.
"A lot of the fellows end up in spine surgery, which is a bit rougher, like carpentry. But females have a delicate touch in the brain . . . they are well suited for the precision of the work."
The punishing hours, however, can make it challenging to spend time with a husband and children, she concedes. "I had to make a choice and I don't regret it. But there has to be a way to make it easier."
The good news is that today, many women do in fact juggle the demands of the job with marriage, a family and outside interests, says Calgary neurosurgeon Zelma Kiss.
But in a specialty in which women continue to represent a disproportionately small segment of the workforce, MacRae is an excellent role model for the newest batch of young females considering a career in medicine.
She's the best kind of teacher and mentor, says Kiss -- one who nurtures and encourages others to achieve their best.
"Betty has had an enormous impact on patient care, obviously, but also in mentoring students, residents, even non-neurosurgeons."
In the three decades MacRae has spent in the field, she's watched imaging technology completely change the way brain surgery is performed.
Take the now commonplace CT scan -- a super-sharp X-ray that helps doctors diagnose or rule out injuries or diseases.
It didn't even exist when she started in medicine. "I still learn something everyday. I'm not tired of this career, but at 69, I need something different to do."
This fall, MacRae is headed to Nepal as part of a charitable mission to distribute multivitamins and folic acid to pregnant women in remote villages.
She also hopes to improve her photography skills and take university classes in "something artsy," like architectural history.
There are travel plans to look forward to with her husband and family time with stepchildren and a much beloved grandchild.
Once the busiest neurosurgeon in the city, she will miss the operating room and the adrenalin rush that comes with saving a life. But even trailblazers need to move on.
" I'm not an academic. I haven't written papers and I never wanted to climb a professional ladder. What I am is a hands-on clinical person, and when a patient tells me I've made a difference in their life, that's the biggest reward I could ever get," she says.
No comments:
Post a Comment