Show Up for Yourself: A Message to Women Surgeons Living with Disability

By Dr. Elizabeth Perazza

Imagine ringing in the New Year, celebrating 25 years as a successful surgeon. You place a ruby-studded tiara on your head, proud to be 55 years old, 30 pounds lighter, and stepping into your power as Queen Bee—the new sheriff in town. Among over 100 surgeons, OR nurses, and technicians, you stand tall as the next Chief of Surgery.

Then, six months later, everything changes.

You begin to feel as though you’re slipping away—paralyzed, bedridden, and mentally foggy. You’re dizzy even while lying down. A tingling sensation creeps from your mouth to your toes. Your eyes hurt to open, and you feel exhausted just from breathing. You’re disoriented whether your eyes are open or closed. You undergo a spinal tap, waiting anxiously for results.

Then the diagnosis comes: Multiple Sclerosis. Positive oligoclonal bands confirm it. That day, I became another name on the list of those eligible for disability under Social Security.

I felt disabled—not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually. As a wife, mother, neighbor, surgeon, and colleague, I was shaken. But my neurologist—my guardian angel on this earth—looked me in the eye and said, “Elizabeth, please don’t worry. I know everything will be okay. We’re going to get through this.”

We began high-dose steroids at home. Miraculously, I experienced no adverse effects.

That weekend, I attended Sunday Mass. Though I couldn’t walk straight enough to receive the Eucharist, I was able to kneel before my Lord and Savior. That moment marked the beginning of my recovery.

The path has been tortuous, but filled with grace. I’ve been lifted by the kindness of others—my husband, my primary angel, transformed our home. He bought only organic food, replaced Teflon cookware with stainless steel, and swapped plastic containers for glass.

My clinics transitioned to virtual care. I continued supporting my patients remotely discussing results, planning treatments, and referring surgical cases to trusted colleagues. Thankfully, I work in a group practice as a full-time employee.

Two months after starting steroids, I returned to the OR, performing low-risk outpatient procedures. My stamina was fragile, but my commitment was unwavering.

Eventually, I had to consider the risks and benefits of requesting reasonable accommodation. My immune system is suppressed due to disease-modulating medications, and I live with daily pain and fatigue from this neuromuscular condition.

But I showed up.

Not just for my patients—but for myself. For every woman surgeon who wonders if she can keep going. You can. You are not alone. Your story doesn’t end with a diagnosis—it begins with resilience.

Dr. Elizabeth Perazza