We Plant Surgical Flowers When We Choose Joy and Mentorship in Challenging Times

Author: Dr. Christine Castater

This is a special edition blog post presented in partnership with the Society of Black Academic Surgeons in celebration of Black History Month.

It is both easy and reflexive to wake up in the morning by focusing on the weight of the socio-political climate pressing down on us. The news cycle moves fast. The commentary is loud. Social media is everywhere. The divisions feel deep. As surgeons and trainees, we are not immune to all of this because we live in it, we train in it, and we lead in it. I want to offer a different viewpoint. What if, instead of orienting ourselves around what feels broken, we orient ourselves around what is extraordinary?

We are living and working in a time when technology makes it possible to share knowledge instantly across continents. We can increasingly use artificial intelligence (AI) to guide learning, workup, and education. We can learn from mentors and educators we may never meet in person. On the flip side, we can inspire trainees who don’t live close by and who look to us for both technical guidance and courage. All of these things are not just ordinary, they are remarkable.

To exist as a surgeon or trainee today is to stand after a long line of people who pushed this field forward in environments that were not built for them and, most of the time, tried to push them out. Each of us benefits from someone who held a door open, shared a resource, offered a word of encouragement, or modeled what we thought was impossible as possible. In moments when the climate around us feels discouraging, we are tempted to focus on barriers such as glass ceilings, structural biases, and systemic constraints that may persist. These things are not imaginary, so they deserve both attention and advocacy. But if this is the only way we view both our daily work and the world around us, we are narrowing our field of vision and limiting our ability to shine. Instead, we should remember to view our world as full of mentorship, momentum, and promise.

When I wake up each day with a plan to do the best I can and to spread as much joy as I can, my perspective shifts. I look for opportunities to teach instead of tallying slights. I look for moments to uplift instead of rehearsing frustrations. I ask myself who I can help in even the smallest way – in every minute and in every way.

Mentorship does not have to be formal to be powerful. It can be the five extra minutes you spend reviewing a knot-tying technique. It can be a thoughtful email to a medical student who doubts whether they belong in surgery. It can be transparency about your own missteps and how you did or did not recover. It can be introducing a trainee to someone who might become their next mentor, collaborator, or sponsor. When we focus on moving things forward, even incrementally, our impact continues to grow. A mentored student becomes a mentoring resident. A supported junior faculty member becomes a leader who sponsors others. Culture shifts not only through overarching policy but through repeated acts of generosity, kindness, and belief.

There is a metaphor I like to refer to: planting a garden means planting flowers in a world that seems determined not to let them grow. Surgery can feel like hard, infertile ground. It is full of long hours, and high-risk scenarios surrounded by a culture that has historically demanded resilience without providing support. But even in difficult soil, flowers can grow when someone is willing to water them. Planting flowers can look like many things. It might look like celebrating a colleague’s publication publicly and enthusiastically. It might look like advocating for equitable speaking and research opportunities. It might look like checking in on a trainee who has been unusually quiet or seems to be struggling. It might look like bringing warmth, smiles, and compassion into spaces that default to the opposite. The point is not to ignore reality. The point is to refuse to let cynicism be the dominant force that shapes our professional identities.

Imagine if each of us committed to a daily practice where we committed to:

1)      one deliberate act of mentorship

2)      one deliberate act of joy

3)      one deliberate act of advocacy

4)      one deliberate act of gratitude

5)      and one deliberate act of growth.

Imagine the ripple effect we could have across training programs, departments, institutions, and the community. The cumulative result would be far greater than any one headline or political moment. We may not control the climate of the world around us, but we absolutely control how we show up in it and how we contribute to it.

If I wake each day with a plan to do the best I can in this world by spreading the most joy that I can, I am choosing to plant flowers. Some will bloom quickly. Others will take time. Some may not grow or may never be visible to me at all. But the act of planting still matters. In choosing mentorship over resentment, generosity over scarcity, and momentum over paralysis, we help create a surgical community that not only survives difficult seasons but blooms in spite of them.

Dr. Christine Castater is a “non-traditional” student who decided to pursue medicine after being a victim of violence. She finished her BA, MD and MBA all at the University of Connecticut, Surgery Residency at UCSF East Bay, and Trauma Critical Care Fellowship at Emory University/Grady Hospital. She is Vice Chair of Access, Engagement, and Justice, Assistant Professor of Surgery, Assistant Clerkship Director, and Trauma Surgery site director all at Morehouse School of Medicine and a trauma and critical care surgeon at Grady Memorial Hospital. Her research interests include trauma informed care, violence prevention, healthcare disparities, diversity and inclusion, and post-traumatic stress disorder among other things.