Returning to the Basics

Not long ago, I found myself back in a place I hadn’t visited since medical school—or maybe even high school: a math textbook. At first, it felt strange. Here I was, a practicing transplant surgeon with years of experience, rewatching videos on calculus and scribbling algebra problems into the margins of my notebook. But the more I leaned into it, the more I realized how refreshing it felt to learn something just because I was curious—not because I had to pass a test or earn a credential. I wasn’t studying for a certification or prepping for a conference. I was just… learning.

It started with a simple question during a surgery involving organ perfusion. I found myself wondering if I truly understood the underlying math behind flow rates, resistance, and diffusion. I knew how to adjust a machine, of course. But did I still remember the equations that governed why certain changes produced the outcomes they did? That small spark of curiosity turned into a rabbit hole that pulled me into a deeper relationship with mathematics than I’d had in years.

The Surgeon and the Equation

People don’t usually associate surgery with math. They picture scalpels, sutures, maybe a heart monitor beeping in the background. But surgery is, in many ways, an applied science full of systems, probabilities, and calculations. Every transplant involves complex decisions around timing, matching, and logistics. Every incision and clamp involves pressure, flow, and risk.

Reengaging with math has reminded me that behind each of those clinical decisions lies a whole world of abstract thinking that gives structure to the work we do. Relearning concepts like exponential decay or statistical distributions gave me new language for things I’d been doing by instinct or rule-of-thumb. Suddenly, what used to feel like pure routine felt richer—more connected to the larger patterns that govern biology, physics, and probability.

Curiosity as a Muscle

One of the most surprising parts of going back to math was noticing how rusty I’d become. The language felt unfamiliar at first. I’d forgotten how to think through a problem with no obvious answer. That uncomfortable feeling—that fuzziness—was humbling. But it was also a reminder that curiosity is like a muscle. If you stop using it, it weakens. But if you stretch it, work it, and stay patient, it grows stronger again.

As surgeons, we’re trained to act with confidence. There isn’t always room for “not knowing” when someone’s life is on the table. But curiosity asks us to pause, to admit we don’t have all the answers, and to open ourselves to discovery. In this way, math became more than a mental exercise—it became a space to practice humility. And as it turns out, that humility has made me a better doctor.

Finding Joy in the Struggle

There were moments, I’ll admit, when I stared at a problem set and felt utterly lost. But over time, I started to enjoy the struggle. I found joy in trying to understand something I didn’t yet fully grasp. It was slow, sometimes frustrating, but incredibly rewarding. And there was something freeing about being a student again, especially in a field that had nothing to do with my professional identity.

Learning math wasn’t about becoming an expert or applying it directly in the OR. It was about reconnecting with that younger part of myself—the part that used to wonder how the world works, who used to get lost in maps, puzzles, and science books. That curiosity didn’t disappear when I became a surgeon. It just got buried under responsibility and routine.

Staying Open in a Changing World

We live in a world where knowledge is expanding faster than ever. AI, data science, and systems biology are increasingly intersecting with medicine. If we, as clinicians, don’t stay curious, we risk falling behind—not just in tools and techniques, but in mindset. Relearning math helped me understand how new technologies work, how models are built, how algorithms make predictions.

Even if I never need to run a regression analysis or prove a theorem, having a basic fluency in math keeps me connected to where medicine is headed. It allows me to ask better questions, to understand research more critically, and to collaborate more effectively with people outside the traditional medical world—statisticians, engineers, computer scientists.

Why It Matters

At its core, this experience reminded me that learning doesn’t stop when we finish our training. In fact, it shouldn’t. Lifelong learning isn’t just a professional necessity—it’s a source of joy. It’s how we keep our minds alive, how we stay engaged with the world, and how we honor the complexity of the work we do.

Curiosity isn’t a luxury for the early stages of our careers. It’s the fuel that keeps us growing. Whether it’s math, literature, history, or art, returning to a subject with fresh eyes—years after we last encountered it—can be incredibly powerful. It reshapes how we see the familiar. It sharpens our sense of wonder.

So yes, I’m a transplant surgeon. But I’m also a student of math again. Not because I need to be. But because I want to be. Because learning something new reminds me that growth is always possible. That no matter how far we’ve come in our careers, there’s always more to discover. And that curiosity, once sparked, never truly retires.