w w f w w JIM Wedesdy, eptmbe- 1, 211 / Te Sateen I Wednesday, eptember 14, 011 / heStteen statement Magazine Editor: Carolyn Klarecki Editor in Chief: Stephanie Steinberg Managing Editor: Nick Spar Deputy Editors: Stephen Ostrowski Devon Thorsby Elyana Twiggs Designers: Maya Friedman Hermes Risien Photos: Jed Moch Copy Editor: Hannah Poindexter THEJUNKDRAWER The Statement is The Michigan Doily's news magazine, distributed every Wednesday during the academic year To contact The Statement e-mail klarecki@michigandaily.com- WIN AN IPOD SHUFFLE! Take the Daily's housing survey michigandaily.com/ housing-survey DELvERY for MornngESONN Distributonpaper mer Major League Baseball pitcher from Flint who played for the Uni- versity before moving on to the Angels, White Sox and Yankees. Abbott was born without a right hand. "She is truly the Jim Abbott of neurosurgery - a.Michigan icon, seemingly unaware of her dis- ability and a living inspiration to countless young people and her colleagues as well," Thompson said. "Her achievements transcend neurosurgery, and help to redefine understanding of the word 'handi- capped."' Muraszko says her job always keeps her on her toes, but the kids she operates on keep her going. Like them, she understands what it's like to live with a disability. "When I look at kids in those teen years - that 13 to 18 year time- frame when everybody's awkward and everybody's uncomfortable, and some of these kids get very sad and very depressed of the thought that they are different - and what I want to say to them is just, 'Hold on. Hold on until you get to about 18 or 19 and everybody around you gets more mature, and you're going to find out that everybody's differ- ent,' " she said. And it's not just teens on her operating table. Muraszko has had to cut into newborns and prema- ture babies shy of 24 weeks old. She explained it's like operating on a fetus. "It's still not someone who has fully matured to the point of being a full term baby," she explained. Over the course of a year, she works with nearly 400 patients. Even after operating on thousands of children, Muraszko says she feels privileged that parents trust her based solely on her reputation and knowledge. "I walk into a room, and by vir- tue of my title and the white coat that I'm wearing, a parent who's never met me before turns over the most precious thing that they have in their lives - their child - to my care," she said. In 2009, Muraszko performed brain surgery on Ryan Smith, a sophomore at Jackson Community College who had Chiari malforma- tion - a neurological disorder that can cause migraines, anxiety and numbness. Before the operation, Smith had throbbing headaches and often kept to himself. Afterward, the headaches disap- peared. Smith's mother, Catherine, described in a May 2011 Michi- gan Daily article how the surgery transformed her son and made him more social. "It was like he was re-birthed at 17 and became a completely differ- ent person," she said in the article. She later added, "I give Dr.. Muraszko all the credit for giving me my kid back." Like with many professions, it's easy to get tired and frustrated, but Muraszko tries not to let that show when talking to parents who are deeply concerned about losing their child. "I recognize that particularly for that patient and that family, this interaction is paramount. And you may be the 15th or 20th patient for me that day, but to that family and to that individual, you're the only one," she said. The stress and pressure slips away whenever Muraszko receives a card from patients who are now graduating high school or are get- ting married and having their own kids. "You find out that it really does matter that you're there. ... Some- times you can influence a life, even just by a conversation that you have," she said. By saving other parents' chil- dren, Muraszko has sacrificed time with her own kids. Her 7-year-old twins are often in bed when she comes home and still sleeping when she leaves at 5:30 a.m. from her home in Ann Arbor. Sometimes she won't see them for a few days at a time. Muraszko's husband, Scott Van Sweringen, said they're used to their mother being gone. "One time I said 'Mommy's home,' and the kids ran to the tele- phone instead of the garage door," he recalled. Muraszko admits her regular absence bothers her. "I'm here. It's not like I'm away, it's not like I'm on a trip," she said. However, like all physicians, she's made a "sacred obligation" to her patients, which means she may not arrive home in time to help the twins study for their spelling tests every Wednesday. The secret to having a successful marriage as a neurosurgeon is not to marry another neurosurgeon, Muraszko jokes. "If you need someone to com- plete you, a neurosurgeon may not be the best person to be involved with," Muraszko said with a laugh. "Just because we do have extreme- ly demanding jobs." Scott, an architect, also doesn't put his wife on a pedestal. "He keeps me grounded," Muraszko explains. "He says, 'Sweetie, just because you raise your hand in the operating room and instruments fall intoit, doesn't mean that when you get out of the operating room, that that's going to happen." "The reason why I love him is he doesn't worship me." Odette Althea Harris, president- elect of a group called Women in Neurosurgery, says neurosurgery is "a challenging field for anyone," but women neurosurgeons may find it even harder if they're also pregnant or trying to raise a family. "In a profession that is so demanding of your time, of your energy and takes so many years to train, those issues become aug- mented," said Harris, an associate professor of neurosurgery at Stan- ford University. Besides balancing family and work, women neurosurgeons face gender inequalities such as a lower promotion rate compared to men and a lack of female men- tors. In 2008, Muraszko was part of a group of surgeons who wrote a paper on the recruitment and retention of women in neurosur- gery. Despite more women than men applying to medical school each year since 1995, the report found that the number of women neuro- surgeons remains drastically low. Each year from 1998 to 2008, only 10 percent of neurosurgery residents were women. As of the late 1990s, 30 percent of neuro- surgical residency programs had never graduated a woman resi- dent, according to the report. Even the American Academy of Neurological Surgeons - with more than 8,000 members world- wide - had not admitted a woman surgeon until Muraszko joined in 2007. However, Harris says more women have become neurosur- geons in the last few years and are mentoring female medical stu- dents to help direct, their careers. Muraszko is one of them - acting as a role model for Harris. "I think she is a pioneer and a champion. I don't have enough good things to say about her," Harris said. "Her job is probably one of the most difficult ever, and I have nothing but praise for how she conducts herself profession- ally." As more women enter a neu- rosurgery career, Muraszko says she knows she will not be the last woman to head a neurosurgery department. "In some ways, I'm saddened a little bit that seven years into it, I'm still the only woman," she said. "But I think that it's going to change, and it will change, as we see more women rising in the ranks."