I stood and watched off to the side as the cart wheeled in through the wide double doors into Operation Room 1. It was my first day of shadowing a pediatric neurosurgeon, and so as I waited for the doctor to enter the room, I tapped my feet to the rhythm of an invisible beat and wrung my hands behind my back. A young boy with short-cropped brown hair lay propped against the pillows, his back straightening as he entered the room. He was young—he couldn’t have been older than 2 or 3—and he looked around with a gleam in his wide blue eyes. Clutching the edges of his blanket, he looked about the white room. He looked at me for an instant, just a second, just as long as he did for all the others in the room, and he tilted his head. So had I, I realized, as I straightened mine.