Remembering Dr. Leo Masciulli

               Some years ago, when I was still in college and still a teenager, working on getting my RN, I worked for a major teaching hospital, on a surgical unit as an LPN. I learned a great deal from this job, and it probably contributed to my learning about the profession, as much as college did.

                Since it was an academic hospital, I met everyone from attending physicians, to specialist physicians, interns, residents, fellows, and everyone in between. I still remember many of those people, and the important things they taught me in the course of caring for patients. This week, I took one of my adult children to an ophthalmologist who is also a retinal specialist. I could not help but think of the very first physician of this type that I had met. I was nineteen years old when working at Middlesex General Hospital, which later became the Robert S. Woods Johnson Medical Center where many physicians are trained. There was a fairly young attending physician named Dr. Leo Masciulli. He was notable not just because he was young, but because he genuinely loved what he was doing. When patients came in with a detached retina, and were blind, and often frankly hopeless, he was excited by the challenge of restoring their sight in that eye. He also came armed with a series of jokes which very much set the patients at ease, and sometimes, the stressed out nursing staff also. The doctor was also intrigued by all the new equipment that had come out in ophthalmology and he was thrilled when he found someone who had a few minutes so he could show them the new piece of equipment and how it could possibly help someone to restore their sight, or possibly to avoid losing it in the first place. I don't think I ever saw him discouraged, annoyed, or bored. I also never heard him say a cross word to anyone, and we were working in a place where the stakes were high and stress was high also.

                I am lucky that I remember almost all of the names of the physicians and other medical specialists I worked with at the absolute start of my career. I have kept in touch with some of them, followed the careers of others, and sent flowers sometimes, when some of them passed. A lot of physicians don't live a long lifespan. Even when they are calm, cool and collected, the work and the stress takes a toll. Even when they appear to have a work life balance, many of them don't live the lifespan we might anticipate for them. When I got home from the retinal specialist, I looked up Dr. Leo, and found that he had died in 2011. From the comments left by those who worked with him, knew him, and loved him, he hadn't changed much over the years. He remained passionate about his craft and about laser surgery. He still joked. Unsurprisingly, he was devoted to his family and to his grands, and he loved golf. I was happy to leave my own recollections of him. Rest in peace, Dr. Leo.