Reminiscences

Ivan Ciric

Read before the Chicago Literary Club

October 14, 2013

© Ivan Ciric 2013 in all media

 

 

 

On a windswept timeworn hill

Where flowers and the rainbow are one,

Generations of good and generous people

Have come to rest in eternity

 

Eternity, as in the ageless river flow

And the rustling of poplar trees in the waning summer breeze,

Eternity, as in the morning sunshine rays

Caressing the chiseled stones into a sea of diamonds

 

Alas, sorrow and sadness have descended on this serene place,

For the nest in the valley, where my ancestors loved and cherished,

Is empty and cold

And covered with dust, weed and guilt

 

And then, a miracle at last,

The souls on the hill are rejoicing in glory,

For there is life, reborn, in a new nest,

Truly, a loving God’s redeeming story

 

The founder of modern neurosurgery,  Boston patrician Dr. Harvey Cushing, once said that “the controlling sub-consciousness of our upbringing is something from which time and distance can never wholly wean us”. Surely, our past leaves a permanent mark on who we are and how we conduct our lives. And so, after many twists and turns in our lives the time comes to reflect on the milestones past. To recollect our past is not easy, for memories fade with the passage of time. Memories also kindle ever new colorations surrounding an impressionable event that thus grows or can be diminished in stature. In Search of Lost Time Proust warns that “it is a labor in vain to attempt to re-capture our own past, for all the efforts of our intellect must prove futile”. With due respect for Proust’s admonition, I shall nevertheless forge ahead and continue with this discourse. I must make sure though that my story does not decay into a self-congratulatory Horatio Alger slobbering saga or for that matter, become a thin veiled self-deprecating tale. In short, I shall attempt the impossible task of being unbiased.

 

The region in the Balkans I hail from has a rich ethnic heritage, a true melting pot, if there ever was one. From the ancient Celtic people, followed by the Roman legions that marched through the area on cobbled stone roads, paved for them by the Empire and so durable that some of them are still in use, to the hordes of Huns that briefly swept through the Balkans under Attila in the 5th Century and the Slavic tribes, including my Serbian people, who settled in the Balkans in the 7th Century, all have left a DNA footprint and a legacy of customs and beliefs. It was in the 9th Century that missionary brothers Sts. Cyril and Methodius brought Christianity to the Slavs. This was also the beginning of centuries old discord, as the Croats and Slovenes accepted the Roman Catholic Latin mass while the Bulgarians, Macedonians Montenegrins and the Serbs received their baptism in the Eastern Orthodox rites. After establishing a thriving state over several centuries in the central and southern part of the Balkans, culminating with the sprawling empire of Czar Dusan in the early 14th Century, the Serbs were among the first to challenge the Ottoman Empire’s ambition of a European conquest. It was thus in June of 1389 that the Serbian army under prince Lazar confronted the Ottoman forces led by Sultan Murad I at the battle of Kosovo Field. The Serbs were defeated and their prince slain. This opened the gate for the Ottoman Empire to spread its wings over the Balkans and central Europe for close to 500 years, with all of its human toll and cultural repercussions, including the fact that the Balkan nations did not experience the Renaissance. The struggle against the Ottoman domination was penned down in 1865 in the epic poem The Mountain Wreath by Petar Petrovic Njegos, a Montenegrin bishop-ruler and poet. The trials and tribulations of the Ottoman occupation are also the central theme of the 1961 Nobel Prize winning novel The Bridge on the Drina by the Serbian author Ivo Andric. As for my ancestors, they fled north ahead of the advancing invaders and settled in the Danube valley along the Austria-Hungary border. The town I grew up in, with the tongue twisting name of Sremski Karlovci, or Karlovci for short, has ranked prominently on the pages of history in 1699 when it hosted the Congress of Karlovci where, in a sepulchral Chapel with separate entrances for each of the negotiating potentates, a peace treaty was hammered out between the victorious Holy League consisting of Austria-Hungary, Poland, Venice and Imperial Russia on one side and the defeated Ottoman Empire on the other. This treaty marks the start of the Ottoman decline and the ascendancy of the Hapsburg Monarchy as the dominant geopolitical player in central Europe. As for my town, it remained within the far-flung Monarchy for the ensuing 220 years. After the demise of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, in the wake of the Great War and the Versailles treaty, Karlovci and the surrounding province of Srem were ceded to the newly created Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes, later renamed Yugoslavia. During the WW II my town was incorporated into the Independent State of Croatia, a puppet state of Nazi Germany, only to find itself after the War again within the boundaries of a reconstituted Yugoslavia, albeit not a kingdom any longer but instead, under the communist regime of Marshall Tito. Finally, since the tragic civil war and the violent break-up of Yugoslavia into its constituent states in the 1990-s, Karlovci has been in the fold of the Republic of Serbia.

 

Karlovci is a picturesque town of about 7000 souls on the south bank of the Danube some 50 miles north of Belgrade. The best view of the town and the surrounding countryside is from the hillside cemetery. Down in the valley the mighty Danube appears in no hurry as it flows silently past our town, only to disappear in the ever present haze of the horizon some 5 miles to the south. To the north-east, on the other side of the river, the endless plane of emerald green pastures, dotted with the gold of the many wheat and corn fields, stretches as far as the eye can see. If one turns around facing west, the eye is met by the rolling hills of the Fruska Gora speckled with numerous vineyards, their geometric orderliness interrupted here and there by the lushness of verdant meadows and the brilliance of wild flower colors. To the north, just below the cemetery, is the city itself with its gabled rooftops perched so close together, almost one on top of the other. In the center of the city the cathedral’s two spires, tall sentries that they are, tower above the stately baroque buildings from the Austro-Hungarian times and the byzantine like edifice of my high school that was established in 1791.

 

As the whims of life would have it, I cannot claim to have been born in a log cabin, let alone to have helped my father build one. Truth be said, I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth either; more like with an antique, rusted, silver plated spoon. My father was a high school teacher, also a spell binding story teller and orator who captivated his audiences not only with his eloquence, but also, in great measure, with his clearly conceived message always backed by a large repository of facts that his gargantuan memory easily retrieved as needed from wherever it may be stored in the brains of such gifted people. No wonder he was also a national chess master! I suppose it was his reputation as a man of truth and dignity, also his oratory, and his own desire to promote parliamentary democracy at a time when the newly created state of Yugoslavia was teetering on the brink of ethnic unrests, in response to the ever greater assertion of power by the Yugoslav king Alexander, that my father was elected Congressman from our district in 1929, only to ascend to the Speaker’s chair shortly thereafter.

 

It was on a sunny spring day in April of 1941 that the Ciric family life changed abruptly. This was the day when our town surrendered to the mighty Wehrmacht. Within a few days the local Croatian Nazis, the dreaded Ustasha, took control of the town and came at dusk to arrest my father who was taken to the infamous concentration camp at Jadovno. My father survived albeit as a broken man.

 

We do not talk much about this in the Ciric family, as if silence would heal when it only ignores the pain. It is true that depression can be genetically predisposed. It is also true, however, that the reversals of fortunes in life, the vicissitudes of life so abundant after 4 years of a hideous war followed by the harshness of the communist regime with its sordid demagoguery, false accusations and sheer oppression can influence adversely family relationships and thus bring terror and inconsolable grief to a fragile soul. It was on a relatively mild wintry day in February of 1951 that my sister, an architecture student, was found next to the rail tracks just south of town. My father passed a few short years later. Having lost her child, my mother opened the doors to our home to all who sought love, comfort and solace, which they found in abundance on her shoulders. As for me and my siblings, our sister’s abdication of life has left us with lingering questions in an unanswered search for closure.

 

With no special proclivity toward biological sciences, the choice of a life in medicine was largely influenced by my fond memories and admiration for our town physician, a Chekhov like character with his pale blue eyes twinkling behind a pince-nez, clad in a white linen suit and with a boater covering his baldness in the heat of summer. He will always remain my hero not only as a healer, for he saved my life when I contracted diphtheria as a 9 year old lad, but also as a humble man of infinite kindness and honesty who perished along with other Serbs, Jews and Romas in another Ustasha concentration camp at Jasenovac.

 

In Medical School my high school ambiguity toward matters of intellectual pursuits gradually gave way to a newly found interest in the wonders of the medical art and science, and this salutary trend continued through my graduation at the top of the class. I decided to become a neurosurgeon in my senior year. During my clinical rotation in Neurosurgery I became intrigued by the many secrets locked in our central nervous system and by the imponderables of healing brain diseases with surgery.  Looking back though, there may have been a yet another, although less transparent contributing reason. In order to overcome their inherent insecurities a number of neurosurgeons, including myself, may have chosen this difficult field knowing that they would be challenged every step of the way requiring their undivided commitment and, as Harvey Cushing said, a lifelong consecrated effort if they are to succeed and advance the field.

 

Denied specialization by the Communist Party dominated university administration, I decided to give it a try abroad.  It was through sheer serendipity that I first landed in the lion’s den of a general surgeon, a brute and a surgical genius, in Mannheim, Germany. The experience in Mannheim though was invaluable, not only for setting the foundation for a surgical technique patterned after anatomic dissections, but also as a place to learn how to take it on the chin. The Chief had also his mellower moments as for example when, in response to my complaints about the surgical instruments, he said “Ciric, I can buy you a Steinway piano, but you will never be Arthur Rubinstein”. I also remember this period in my life with fondness for it was then that I fell in love with my future bride Anne who has been at my side for the past 50 years. My gratitude to Anne for being the source of enduring inspiration and for raising a family one can only wish for goes beyond words. 

 

In pursuit of my professional goal I subsequently obtained the position as a fellow resident at the Max Planck Brain Research Institute attached to the Neurosurgical Clinic in Cologne under Professor Wilhelm Toennis. Professor Toennis was a king in his domain: 17 out of 18 Neurosurgery Department Chairs in Germany in 1961 were his disciples. With the dual appointment there was ample opportunity for research. Hence, besides the routine of a junior resident, I was also assigned a research project dealing with the, by today’s standards, obsolete topic of determining the causes for failed diagnoses in patients with brain tumors. 

 

Most Americans, save for those who call this continent their ancestral land, have a unique story to tell of ancestors coming to these shores. These may be stories of religious persecution and pious pilgrimage as set forth in William Bradford’s account Of Plymouth Plantation, or stories of ethnic torment as rendered in Mary Antin’s masterpiece The Promised Land. These could also be chronicles of poverty, even hunger, that drove thousands to seek a new life in this country, or they may be narratives of a pioneering spirit and even of a restless adventurism.  Let us also never forget those who were brought to the Americas against their will, for we owe them, in the spirit of humanity, not only our deepest respect, but also a place in our hearts forever and always. And then, there are also more nuanced stories in which no single calamitous circumstance, but rather a sequence of either propitious or inimical events can lead to an incremental decision to turn off the ancient light and leave for good the home where our characters and values were sculpted, and head for an uncertain future.  And so, after completing my thesis in Cologne, Anne and I decided to emigrate. It just happened that the legendary Chicago neurosurgeon, and the 1964-65 president of this very august society, Dr. Paul Bucy, was visiting Professor Toennis and that he had an open resident position in his Department at the Wesley Memorial Hospital.

 

It was on a crisp morning in May of 1963, as the vastness of heavens over this magnificent city began to pale with the sun rising over the glittering lake that I stepped out of the hotel on my way to the Chicago Wesley Memorial Hospital. I entered the cavernous portal of that storied institution only to be greeted with chimes coming from high up in the vaulted ceiling. As I looked up in search for the origin of this solemn sound my eyes came to rest on the inscription “Wesley Memorial Hospital the Cathedral of Healing”. For a moment there I hesitated in reverent obeisance before ascending to Dr. Bucy’s 12th floor office.                                                                                                                           

 

Soon, Dr. Bucy came in, as if flying, with his lab coat unfurled behind him and with his residents and students following in his wake. Dr. Bucy was a man of presence, albeit short in stature for which he compensated with an erect, self-assured, yet dignified posture. His exquisite diction and graceful fluency of speech, delivered in a sonorous voice, and his steely blue-grey eyes gazing straight at whomever he may be addressing, immediately commanded attention and respect without demanding it, a trait so unique to individuals with leadership qualities. I was certainly in awe of this man for I knew that he had received every honor Neurosurgery can bestow on one of its own. Besides being a surgical and academic mentor of immense prowess, Dr. Bucy also guided his residents on the new and unchartered path of neurosurgical ethics with its varied aspects, especially the respect for the life with dignity. Looking back, I am inclined to think that Dr. Bucy endowed his residents with solid academic and surgical foundations so that they were capable, long after his passing, of excelling in the subspecialty areas he did not teach them. I also had a number of other distinguished preceptors during my training in Chicago to whom I owe a sense of gratitude, but none measured up to or had the stature of Paul Bucy.                                                                                                                     

 

Upon completion of my residency, my future associate in the practice of neurosurgery at the Evanston Hospital, Dr. Joe Tarkington, a terrific surgeon and a plain spoken man whose language today would not pass the muster of a half decent human resources department, suggested that I embark on a fellowship in surgery for Parkinson’s disease. The fellowship was to be under Dr. Claude Bertrand at the Notre Dame Hospital in Montreal. Upon arriving there I was also introduced to Dr. Bertrand’s colleague Dr. Jules Hardy who just returned from Paris where he learned how to remove pituitary tumors through the nasal passages utilizing the operating microscope, an innovation that was not practiced in the US at the time. The pituitary gland, situated at the base of the brain approximately 3 inches behind the root of the nose, is a frequent site of benign tumors. These tumors can cause a variety of endocrine disturbances, some of which, such as the Cushing’s disease or Acromegaly, can shorten life if left untreated; in addition they can also cause blindness. Up until that time the removal of a pituitary tumor, be it trans-cranially or through the nasal passages, was associated with significant risks as the neurosurgeon had to maneuver in a deep, confined and poorly illuminated surgical field permitting only a 2D, monocular vision. The operating microscope made a huge difference in the visualization of the deep seated pathology, not only by magnifying the operative field and by illuminating it with a brilliant light, but mostly by allowing for a binocular, 3D, stereoscopic view of the pathology and its environs making the operation thus considerably safer. I was delighted to assimilate this novel neurosurgical experience and introduce it to the US for the first time as I began my practice at the Evanston Hospital in July of 1967 under the academic banner of the Northwestern University Medical School. As a Northwestern faculty I also had the unique privilege and the high responsibility of mentoring future neurosurgeons over a span of more than 40 years. I consider this as one of the greatest honors of my professional life.

 

To say that perceptions and attitudes as they relate to Neurosurgery and neurosurgeons have changed since I began practicing would be the understatement of the year. At that time Neurosurgery was a specialty in evolution and the results were not always stellar. It is not surprising that the first day on the job I was asked by the chief of Anesthesia, a taciturn former marine, …”hey Ciric, do you know the difference between a neurosurgeon and a Mack truck?”  I responded meekly…” no Sir  I do not”, upon which he retorted without batting an eye lash…”well son, people occasionally survive being hit by a Mack truck”. Of course, I chuckled in deference to the marine anesthesiologist, all the while thinking that there must be plenty of room for improvement. And so it was. Over the ensuing close to half a century I was fortunate to ride the crest of the cutting edge of an extraordinary progress of our specialty. Permit me to highlight but a few among the many significant advancements.

 

The discovery that the magnetic field that swirls around each and every one of us can be used to generate images of our brain anatomy and pathology with an astounding resolution and precision, was a quantum leap innovation. Further fine tooling of the MRI technology has made it also possible to image function. With the advent of the functional MRI neurosurgeons can today pinpoint and thus avoid eloquent speech areas that contrary to previous thinking can actually vary considerably in location between individuals. Moreover, using advanced MRI technology neurosurgeons have also identified structural and functional abnormalities in conditions such as the Parkinson’s disease and epilepsy, the OCD, bipolar disease, even anorexia and compulsive obesity.  These disorders have thus become additional targets for neurosurgical interventions in the realm of functional neurosurgery.

 

Another important innovation was the development of the MRI based intracranial navigation techniques. At the beginning of my neurosurgical career the approach to an intracranial lesion was based principally on the neurosurgeon’s subjective three D perception of the two D imaging studies. Consequently, when operating in the depth of the brain, as for example in search for a small tumor, even the most experienced neurosurgeon would on occasion miss the mark requiring a greater degree of potentially destructive dissection in order to find and remove the lesion. Today, neurosurgeons can approach and remove a deep seated tumor with the precision equaling that of a celestial navigation.

 

Moreover, in a continuous quest for less invasiveness, less pain, more safety, less down time and decreased cost, novel non- or only minimally invasive treatment techniques are being introduced with increasing frequency. Among many such procedures the stereotactic radio-surgery (“Gamma Knife”) for a variety of intra-cranial pathologies, the endovascular occlusion of cerebral aneurysms and an array of minimally invasive operations for spinal disorders have become the standard of care under appropriate circumstances.

 

Clearly, Neurosurgery is a specialty in evolution with no end in sight.

 

And yet, in spite of this riveting progress Neurosurgery is still a very personal human endeavor. The outcome of a neurosurgical procedure is dependent not only on the absolute precision in the execution of a neurosurgical task at hand, but also on deriving beforehand at a correct diagnosis and on formulating a sound, anatomically based and humanly tailored treatment strategy. Neurosurgeons surely remember with exhilarating gratification, even thrill, the patients whose life they changed for better: the woman near death from a ruptured aneurysm whose life was saved and function restored, the patient with a spinal tumor who could walk again, the visually impaired from a pituitary tumor who could see again, the suffering one who became pain-free and many others. At the same time neurosurgeons most certainly also do remember, with utmost humility and a lifelong crestfallen contrition, the occasional patient whom they failed and whose life was therefore left for worse. Indeed, the fine line that separates the life with dignity from the iatrogenic devastation of humanity in neurosurgeons’ hands remains incredibly thin. It is no wonder that when faced with a neurosurgical procedure a cascade of emotions floods the neurosurgeon’s soul. While my literary ability would never do justice to the breadth and depth of these emotions I shall nevertheless attempt to share them with you with these closing words:

 

 

 

 

When faced with illness and despair,

For the frail woman our heart cannot but weep,

And yet, our mind is resolute and science fair,

While our soul begins to soar and leap

 

With the challenge all too tempting,

And yes, with humility of battles past,

We are determined to vanquish the miserable suffering,

As we evoke Hippocrates and ask our God not to fail

 

And here we are, lancet in hand,

Ready and energized, yet not without fear,

For we are expected to wave the magic wand,

As the waiting family and child pray and shed a tear

 

With craftsman’s tools we enter the pantheon of humankind,

Our senses heightened and bright,

The masked, muffled chatter not to mind,

We labor under the microscope light

 

As the grey curtain falls the mystery of life is bared,

We admire our maker’s glowing art, in awe and alone:

Here, careful, the memory’s lair

And there, the poet’s Blarney Stone

 

 

 

 

Two careful and gentle steps forward

We advance along the red river of life,

Hold it, take one step backward,

Whispers the honed instinct with a bit of strife

 

Deeper and more perilous we venture,

As we approach the devil incarnate,

Life or death can be this mother’s future,

Even worse, neither life nor death

 

With disregard for all but the human,

Our heartbeat slower and our soul fuller,

We remember the teaching of our shaman,

And so, finally, with steady hand we conquer

 

The retreat is full of hope and measured,

Since attention to detail, we were told,

Is where the ugly error finds its end,

So we can rejoice out there in the family fold

 

Alleluia sing the angels in our heart,

As we bid adieu to science, craft and art,

For it is the little one’s hug and kiss

That is every neurosurgeon’s heavenly bliss

 

 

 

 

Notes:

 

Development of Pituitary Surgery: The Chicago Contribution. JL Stone, G Meglio, ER Laws. J Am Coll Surg 2005; 201(5): 784-805

 

Independent State of Croatia – Google Search: Independent State of Croatia https://en.wikipidea.org/wiki/Indenpendent_State_of_Croatia 

 

Jadovno, Slana i Metajna – Google Search: Jadovno-Slana-Metajna www.jadovno.com/jadovno-slana-metajna

 

Jasenovac – Google Search: United States Holocaust Memorial Museum www.ushmm.org/wlc/en/article.php?Moduled=10005449