Alice Peck Day Memorial Hospital

Author Bio - Nicole LaRoche is the Radiology Manager of Operations at Alice Peck Day Memorial Hospital in Lebanon, New Hampshire. She has been working in Radiology for 16 years across various acuities. She has a Bachelor's in Science Radiology focus and a Master's in Healthcare Administration. She lives in Andover, N.H., with her family. 

I passed out in the operating room on my first day of radiography clinical rotation in college. Our class had spent our first semester in the lab, learning radiographic physics and positioning by theory. I was eager to get into the clinical portion of our training and really put to use what I had learned — see things in real-time and ask questions of those that I hoped would someday see me as a peer. 

My first clinical assignment was in the operating room at a level 1 trauma center in New England. I was so excited. I remember watching the clock in the early morning hours, waiting to get up and put on my freshly pressed Caribbean blue scrubs, the required color for our class that screamed, 'I’m new here!’

My mind raced with what type of cases I might get to see the next day: a tibial nailing? Perhaps a hip replacement or some sort of traumatic facial reconstruction? It didn’t really matter what it was — I wanted to see it all, and I was preparing myself mentally for the sights, sounds, and smells of the orthopedic specialties. 

I listened intently to my clinical instructor as she helped fit heavy lead aprons to me, suiting me from my knees to my chin. ‘Time, distance, shielding’ echoed the ALARA principles in my head. Our first case was with a urology specialist, something I hadn’t considered. 

The clinical instructor was patient with me as she quietly explained the technologist's role in the operating suite so as not to interrupt the surgeon. I remember thinking how hot it was in the suite and asked her where the nearest restroom was. In the next instant, I felt the velcro on my lead being pulled and released, weight lifting off my chest and neck. My eyes fluttered open, and I stared at the operating room ceiling. Just inside the border of my tunneled vision, a seemingly amused urologist glanced down at me.

“It’s your first day, huh?” she mused with a glimmer in her eye, her face mostly obscured by her surgical mask. She hadn't lost her focus at all and continued her procedure while simultaneously ensuring I was alright. I nodded from my spot on the floor, utterly mortified. She smirked a bit behind her mask and said, "You just stay down there for a few minutes!”

Close to two decades later, I've come to reflect on this story as one of the pinnacle moments in my career. After this incident, I seriously considered whether I should withdraw from this profession: What if I didn't have what it takes? Ultimately, I opted to stick it through, and though it wouldn’t be my last embarrassing story from my clinical experience, it certainly was my most memorable.   

Growth requires discomfort, and transparency requires vulnerability. I've shared this story on occasion to show we all will experience moments of doubt. My syncopal episode has assisted me in supporting students with confidence issues, technologists who were afraid to let themselves succeed, peers who were hesitant to take the next step in their careers, and people who were ruminating over simple mistakes. It’s my own humble reminder that we all start somewhere, and sometimes ‘somewhere’ is the operating room floor. 

So, in those moments when you feel like you're not in the right place, when you may think you want to quit, or you’re just not sure if you have what it takes to reach your goals, take a moment to reflect on where you’ve been, visualize where you’re going, and keep looking up.