Our daughter is getting an MBA from Yale. Her internship this summer was with a company that builds robots who perform surgery. As someone who passes off splinters to our children's father I tip my hat. It is not an easy task, slicing open a patient's skin, folding it back to reveal the diseased flesh, scraping away the invader without damaging precious organs. There are no extra points for speed.

All but one of the fourteen operations that have been inflicted on my family centered around me. Tonsillectomy. Appendectomy. Adenoidectomy. Mastoidectomy.  Tympanostomy. Tubal ligation. It is a wonder that all nine babies were born without a scalpel.

Too bad my big brother was fibbing when he told me what belly buttons are for. I was six, and gullible, and the notion of applying a knife to a person's body horrified me. 

"When doctors graduate from medical school they are given a secret key to the human belly button. When you need something fixed they open it up, take out bad stuff and then lock you so no one steals anything." That was a huge relief as I faced my first time on the gurney. 

I remember a moment as one of those surgeries was scheduled to begin. I lay on the white table with masked strangers all around. Actually there was one familiar voice. My ear doctor was an identical twin and they took good care of me over the years.

"Good morning, Lori. And what did you have for breakfast?" he made conversation before the anesthesiologist put me under. 

"Scrambled eggs and toast. And juice." I felt calmer already. But then there was apparently something wrong. The doctor did not like my answer, and I was sent back into the elevator and to my room. The nurse forgot to tell my mother not to feed me pre-op. We tried again the next week on an empty stomach. 

A recent episode of the show Swedenborg and Life spoke about why God cannot transform people quickly.

Remove our selfish tendencies instantly.

Extract our misconceptions immediately.

Yank out our anger.

Muscle us out of conflict. 

The speaker compared it to a surgeon who must take great care to work gently. Gradually. Without damaging the healthy parts of our anatomy. 

In the long run there are no extra points for speed.