Thank you, Dr. Franklin.

At the recommendation of my counselor and the request of my dear friend, Cindy, I have been tasked to write about you. Yet, I have been sitting here for days. I have been trying to figure out what to say, trying to muster up the strength to sit face to face with this grief and carry the weight of this heavy heart. How do I come to terms with the fact that there is absolutely no possible way to put into words -- words that you will now never get to hear -- exactly what and how much you mean to me? But you, Dr. Franklin, would simply not stand for hesitancy, for stagnation. And I can almost guarantee that you would not want the tears. You would expect and demand action. So while I can't promise you that it will be as pretty as the sutures you taught me to throw or as clean as the gallbladder fossa s/p lap chole, here I am and I am moving. 

Before I attempt to explain who Dr. Morris E. Franklin is to me, I'll let you watch this short video made by the South San Antonio Chamber of Commerce in 2018. It barely scratches the surface of who he was to the world, but it'll do for now.

To the world, you were a brave pioneer in laparoscopic surgery, a brilliant professor consistently on the leading edge of medicine, and a fierce advocate for your patients. To me, you were all of that and so much more.

When I walked into my third year of medical school, I did so having absolutely no idea what specialty I wanted to go into (aka with a wonderfully open mind). Because of my (not-so) spectacular standardized test-taking skills, I had just assumed that I would end up in primary care and would be perfectly content there. However, on only my second rotation into the year, I ended up in general surgery assigned to you, Dr. Franklin. 

Everyone warned me about you. They said you were old-school, that you constantly "pimped" your students, that you would be intolerant and hard and have unreachable expectations. I almost feel like for some reason they wanted me to be afraid -- but let's be honest. We're talking about me... I am the farthest thing from rigid and am absolutely not one to back down from a challenge. So when I walked straight into your office (on-time... at least as instructed hah!) on day 1, I was all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed -- only to find out that you were already in the OR at one of the many hospitals you worked at and expecting me. 

I rushed over to said hospital, ran around like the usual lost medical student until I could find the surgical suite, changed into scrubs, and anxiously waited for you to show. When you did, you practically glided through the automatic doors and the nurses nodded to me. I excitedly walked over asking "Hi! Are you Dr. Franklin? I believe I am your new medical student!" to which you responded, "Yeeaahhh. You already missed a case." And so, the next most inspiring 6 weeks of my life began.

Everyone says that during your third year of medical school, there will come a time when you will just know what you are supposed to do and there will be a place that you simply just fall in love. And they weren't wrong. For me, it was right there in the OR with you. 

I honestly thought I would never be a morning person and have literally always hated driving. But somehow, every day you were able to get me up at 4:30 in the morning even after getting home past-midnight, putting over 4,000 miles on my car driving between cases. Your passion was absolutely contagious, and I just could not get enough.

You practiced with elegance, putting a primary care twist on your surgical practice. You constantly challenged my mental and physical abilities, raising newer and higher expectations every time that I met them. You floated through chaos, leaving me consistently in awe. You were unbelievably patient and incredibly tolerant of all the weird and wild things I would blurt out on a daily basis. You were honest and deliberate and intentional. And this was just on the surface of you, the surgeon.

You were also gentle, and you were kind. You were down to earth and real and authentic. You were never above hoarding the cheese from the doctor's lounge. And you thought baby cows were cute -- or at least you agreed with me when I said so. You could make fun of me on a whim yet easily take a quick jab back every once in a while. You never acted annoyed or as if I was crazy when I laughed and dreamed out loud, usually joining in on the banter. You had so many incredible stories and shared so many life lessons. And on top of it all, you had freakin great taste in Mexican food, Australian wines, and tequila.

We were on the phone just last week talking about finally tying up the loose ends on my letter of recommendation for residency, something we've been chatting about since October. You joked about including a note about my lemon tree and my hair dying skills (thank you Cindy lol), but you also commended my stamina, my enthusiasm, my compassion, and my hands -- all things a direct product of working under you. We were supposed to meet this Monday. And though I won't have it on paper, believe me when I say I will taking and using every single thing that I so gratefully learned from you.

You told me that, even at 78 years, you were teaching because you wanted to make sure that when you were gone, the rest of us "still did it right." Well, looking now at all those you have trained and mentored and seeing just how much the world has changed and been inspired because of you, I think it's safe to say -- Dr. Franklin, it was a job well done.

I fell in love with surgery because of you. And despite all of the obstacles or the people telling me otherwise, I will be a surgeon and I will be a great one, b e c a u s e   o f   y o u .

Rest easy, sweet friend. It has been an absolute blessing. I hope to make you proud.