What do you see when you think of your hero? I see a man walking through the halls of the fourth floor at Strong Memorial Hospital like he runs the place, because he kind of does. I see his long white coat slightly lagging behind him, like a cape dancing in the wind. My hero doesn’t wear tights or a kick-butt costume. He wears scrubs and surgical gloves—vinyl, of course…we learned that lesson the hard way.
I don’t remember our first encounter, I was too young. All I know is that I was suffering at the hands of my own body and in dire need of rescue. I was a sitting duckling and he saved me from certain doom. And he continued to save me for 15 years. As long as Dr. Walter Pegoli is around, I have nothing to worry about.
As any parents would be, mine were panicked and desperate for answers when we were first introduced to Dr. Pegoli. He managed to gain their confidence pretty quickly, though. My parents have passed this story on to me numerous times, like some sort of Greek mythology.
My first surgeon, Dr. Emmens, had just retired the night before and my parents were terrified. They walked into Dr. Pegoli’s office and my dad immediately went on a 10-minute-long, Web MD-inspired rant about the surgery that I so desperately needed. Pegoli listened patiently until my dad finally finished with the question, “Doesn’t all of that make you nervous?”
My parents watched as Dr. Pegoli smiled and simply answered, “I don’t get nervous. Any more questions?” My parents fell silent as Pegoli explained his plan, which was based around the theme: “We need to do more to help Abby.” Little did any of us know, this was the beginning of a strangely beautiful patient-surgeon partnership.
It's not very often that a child's hero is their surgeon. Actually, it's pretty rare that a surgeon operates on the same kid so many times that the kid refers to them as "their surgeon." I've acquired a bunch of funny stories over the years: like the time he let me think I tricked him into removing my NG tube by replacing it with a PICC line; or when he started calling me "the curveball" after complications from a surgery; and I will never forget the time I asked him if I could go to school the day after he operated on me, then he jokingly threatened to drag me back to the hospital by the gastric tube he just inserted in my stomach. Good times.
But instead of telling funny stories, I will talk about all the lessons I learned from him. He taught me to always have a "game plan," to make health my number one priority, to never give up on anything, and to always trust a good doctor (he set the bar pretty high, though). Oh, and that returning to the emergency room is worse than visiting Hades.
I am infinitely grateful for the surgeon who saved my life numerous times throughout my childhood. He taught me that I can do anything to which I set my mind. And as I sit in this chair and write this article, I am looking around the room filled with family members who love me dearly. I can hear my heart beating in my chest as I take a breath from my lungs. I am alive and well, thanks to my "paisan," Dr. Pegoli.
