Doing the Right Thing vs Doing Things Right

Because perfection without purpose is just noise.

The Subtle Difference That Changes Everything

It sounds like wordplay, doesn’t it?
Doing things right versus doing the right thing.
But in trauma, in surgery, in life, that small difference is the fault line between being a technician and being a doctor.

We’re trained to do things right.
To follow protocols, to respect the algorithm, to execute with precision.
And that’s good, it’s safe, it’s repeatable, it saves lives.

But sometimes, doing things right isn’t enough.
Sometimes, the bravest and most human thing you can do is to do the right thing, even when it’s not what the book says, even when it costs you comfort, or pride, or sleep.

The Theatre Teaches You Quickly

In trauma, there’s rarely time for philosophy.
It’s blood, pressure, clamps, suction, rhythm and chaos stitched together by instinct.

But every so often, you hit that moment, the one where the room goes quiet, the physiology collapses, and the choices shrink to two: keep going because you can, or stop because you should.

That’s the line between things right and right things.

You can technically keep operating. You can push the anatomy, chase the margins, do the “proper” textbook steps.
But sometimes, what the patient needs isn’t another stitch, it’s a pause. A pack. A chance to live through the hour, not the operation.

And if you’ve been there, you know: the hardest decision in surgery isn’t how to do something.
It’s when to stop.

When “Doing Things Right” Becomes the Wrong Thing

We’ve all been there, following the protocol to the letter, because that’s what good surgeons do.
But trauma doesn’t care about your protocol.

I’ve seen lives lost not from ignorance, but from obedience, from doing things exactly right, when the situation demanded courage instead of compliance.

A patient too unstable for another procedure, a family who needed honesty more than reassurance, a junior who needed protection more than performance metrics.

The system rewards those who do things right.
But your conscience, that quiet, inconvenient voice, only rests when you do the right thing.

The Right Thing Isn’t Always the Popular Thing

Doing the right thing is rarely comfortable.
It means telling the truth when silence would be easier.
It means stopping an operation when your pride wants to continue.
It means advocating for a patient when the bureaucracy would rather you didn’t.
It means staying with a family long after the paperwork’s done.

Sometimes it means taking the criticism, the sideways looks, the whispers, because deep down you know that medicine isn’t about looking good, it’s about being good.

And those two are not the same.

The Younger You Wants Perfection. The Older You Wants Integrity.

When you start out, all you want is to be technically flawless.
You chase clean lines, fast knots, clever saves.
You think that’s what defines you.

But years later, you realise, nobody remembers the stitch.
They remember how you made decisions when it mattered.
They remember the patient you fought for, or the one you let go with dignity.
They remember your humanity far more than your technique.

Perfection fades. Integrity doesn’t.

This Applies Outside the Theatre Too

Doing the right thing means listening, really listening, to colleagues when they’re struggling.
It means admitting when you’re wrong.
It means mentoring without ego, teaching without cruelty, leading without needing to be worshipped.

Because leadership isn’t about control; it’s about compassion paired with courage.

Doing things right builds reputation.
Doing the right thing builds legacy.

Why This Matters in Trauma

In trauma, the margins are thin, physiologically, emotionally, ethically.
You don’t always have the luxury of time, or consensus, or perfect information.

You act. You improvise. You decide.
And sometimes, you have to choose between what’s technically correct and what’s morally necessary.

That’s the crucible of trauma surgery, where the science ends and the soul of medicine begins.

The Quiet Reflection

At the end of a shift, when the adrenaline’s worn off and you’re staring at the theatre clock, you’ll find yourself replaying the decisions, not the sutures.
Did I do things right? Probably.
Did I do the right thing? I hope so.

That’s the question that stays.
That’s the one that makes you better, not just as a surgeon, but as a person.

And From the Patient’s Side…

They’ll never know the technique, the guidelines, the debates.
They won’t care which retractor you used or how many sutures you placed.
They’ll just remember whether they were treated like a person, not a procedure.

Because in the end, doing the right thing isn’t about precision, it’s about compassion.
And compassion, done right, is still the best medicine we’ve ever had.