Sarani G. Pachalla, M3, Class of 2025
As the surgeon carefully zapped through the final fascial connections, I felt the weight of the mass shift into my hands. My eyes went wide. It was 13 centimeters long, slate-gray, traversed by gnarled, maroon vessels, dotted with pale yellow, fluid-filled cysts, yet solid. I gingerly passed the mass to the surgical technician, who announced that it weighed 2950 grams. As the circulator wrote down the number on the board, I recalled my conversations with Mrs. G.
As a third-year student on the emergency general surgery service, I had seen her the day before for a possible bowel obstruction. Having not passed a bowel movement in days, she was extremely uncomfortable. Yet, she was in remarkably high spirits. Although the conversation was interrupted by her waves of nausea, we spoke about her daughter, grandchildren, and her recent journey with breast cancer. On physical exam, her abdomen was bloated, doughy, and tender to palpation. I remember auscultating high-pitched bowel sounds like fingernails on a champagne flute. Later, when I opened her chart, I found that her care was transferred to the gynecology/oncology service. Her chest radiograph showed bibasilar opacities. The CT of her abdomen and pelvis showed significant ascitic fluid and a large left-sided pelvic mass, and the gynecologists stated her presentation was consistent with Meigs Syndrome. She was scheduled for an exploratory laparotomy in a few hours.
Ascites, pleural effusion, ovarian fibroma: the triad of Meigs Syndrome flashed across my screen, refreshing my memory. This syndrome is an extremely rare presentation of a benign ovarian mass. I had memorized it for my board exam alongside many other triads, but I never thought I would see it, let alone in one of my patients. When the senior residents on both services agreed I could observe, I hastily made my way to pre/post to see Mrs. G.
“I knew I had a stone baby in there,” she laughed. It struck me how one could be so magnanimous in the face of something so baffling. “Make sure they weigh it. I’m curious.” I promised her I would. I noticed her shifting awkwardly, and I hoped that the surgery would ease her discomfort. We chatted more about her grandkids’ ballet recitals and soccer careers until we rolled back to the OR.
The resident confidently made the first incision. Then, as she pierced the peritoneum, the team began to drain liters of ascitic fluid. I exhaled, realizing I had been holding my breath. It was satisfying (and a little disturbing) how in an instant, the surgeons could remove the physical manifestation of the discomfort Mrs. G had been living with. It was also exhilarating to bear witness to something I had only seen in lectures and review videos. The surgery proceeded dynamically. The attending physician asked questions to us students, allowing us to connect concepts with reality. As she called out anatomical landmarks and coached the residents in surgical technique, I was in awe of her expertise. I craved to achieve the mastery it takes to understand every side of a condition, from the patient experience to the pathophysiology to the treatment.
I could not wait to see Mrs. G again. Albeit groggy from anesthesia, she was much less uncomfortable. When I told her that her stone baby weight 6 pounds and 8 ounces, she replied, “talk about a weight lifted.” Despite the fact that my role was so miniscule in the grand scheme of her care, I felt a genuine sense of fulfillment from my proximity to it.
Med Intima 