The first time I ever dropped a scalpel

It was in the middle of a craniotomy, mid-2000s. I didn’t even notice it at first—just a flicker in my hand, a tiny slip. The blade landed on the drape with a soft clink, like a coin dropped into a well. I picked it up and kept going. But I still remember the sound. Not the panic, not the error—it was the quietness of it. Like the world held its breath for half a second. I’ve thought about that moment more than any success. Sometimes, when I’m stirring tea, I catch myself pausing just before the spoon hits the cup. That’s where I am now: remembering how small things can be enormous.