TMC PULSE

T M C » P U L S E | S E P T E M B E R 2 0 1 8 23 REGISTER TODAY CNS.ORG/2018 The 2018 CNS Annual Meeting brings together neurosurgeons and allied health providers across practice settings and career stages for networking and learning opportunities relevant to today's medical professionals. » Informative Practical Courses & Luncheon Seminars » Surgical Robotics Symposium » Engaging guest speakers » Cutting-edge technology in the Exhibit Hall » Guidelines Sessions & Case-based Sessions Attend for valuable education that will help you meet your daily challenges and optimize patient outcomes. View the preliminary program at cns.org/2018. Register by September 6 and save! MISSION: NEUROSURGERY Before the accident, Alford was in high demand—at the peak of his surgical career. He performed more than 800 surgeries in 2007 alone. "We always joked when people asked us how long we've been mar- ried. It's 34 years on the calendar, but he's only been home for seven because he worked so much," Mary quipped. The surgeon rose to interna- tional fame in 2005 after performing an extensive facial reconstruction on Carolyn Thomas, a young woman whose boyfriend shot her in the face at point-blank range in 2003. Thomas lost 80 percent of her face and became widely known as "the woman without a face." Thanks to Alford, his facial reconstruction team at Houston Methodist and the head and neck team at The University of Texas MD Anderson Cancer Center, Thomas' face was rebuilt. She and Alford appeared on The Oprah Winfrey Show and Larry King Live to discuss the ground- breaking reconstructive surgery. As a surgeon, Alford was in command for most of his career. In the operating room, he controlled what tools to use, where to cut, how to suture. But after his injury, he was no longer in control. This was a challenge for the surgeon. The claws of self-doubt and depression dug deep into his psyche. Who in the world is going to come see a doctor in a wheelchair and let him operate on them, he wondered? How am I ever going to be a father to my children? "I was never suicidal, but boy, it was just dark," Alford said. He also knew that his condi- tion could strain his relationship with Mary. After the accident, she became his primary caregiver, helping him shower, dress and get in and out of the car. Adjusting to physical disabilities can put marriages at risk. Although spinal cord injury patients don't tend to divorce soon after an injury, the rate of divorce increases over time, jumping from 9.5 percent of patients to more than 19 per- cent 10 years later, according to the National Spinal Cord Injury Statistical Center. But divorce "wasn't an option for us," Mary said. She had vowed to be at her husband's side in sickness and in health, and they both knew their marriage was fortified by the conviction that they would survive— even thrive—with his disability. "We had been living by the seat of our pants, but that wasn't … going to work. We had to say to one another, 'I'm in it for the long haul,'" Mary said. "Yes, we said that the day we got married, but I don't think we really knew what that meant." • • • The spinal injury wasn't the first time a shadow had been cast over Alford's life. During his first semester at Texas A&M University, Alford earned a midterm grade point average of 0.8. Defeated, he packed up his car and started driving home to Henderson, Texas, although he didn't withdraw from school. When he stopped to gas up in Madisonville, he spotted a pay- phone and decided to call his parents and talk to them about quitting Texas A&M. "Have you done your best?" his father asked. "What do you mean?" Alford said. (continued) We had been living by the seat of our pants, but that wasn't … going to work. We had to say to one another, 'I'm in it for the long haul.' Yes, we said that the day we got married, but I don't think we really knew what that meant. — MARY ALFORD, DDS Wife of Eugene Alford, M.D.

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