Claudia L Thomas, MD, FAAOS
Medical and Fellowship Director
UNOVA Health
Lady Lake, FL
Member Since: 1985
As an Emeritus Member, which AAOS resources do you use most and why?
As an Emeritus Member, I predominantly use the resources of the J. Robert Gladden Orthopaedic Society, serving on the Board of Directors. I am a past president of the JRGOS and one of the founding members, and the principles and goals of the JRGOS remain priorities.
If you were mentoring a new member, what important advice would you give them as they progress in their career?
I continue to mentor young orthopaedic surgeons who are predominantly female and seek me out to learn how I coped with misogyny. In fact, I just got off the phone with one of my mentees. I reassured her that just because others may treat her as if she doesn’t belong in this coveted, white male-dominated field, she should not question her excellence. Her work defines her worthiness.
What hobbies do you enjoy in your spare time?
I am attempting to become more comfortable with the internet, as it is still a foreign source of communication to some in my generation.
AAOS Award in Honor of Dr. Thomas’ Impact
You can find more information and additional photos on her website: www.claudiathomasmd.com as well as a personal essay on post-retirement experiences as an orthopaedist.
"I Guess the Responsibility Never Ends"
April 26, 2024
The last two weeks have been encroached upon by a funky Florida fog, which has blighted the crisp, clear Florida sunshine that I have become accustomed to. On Monday of last week, someone inserted hardware above my front door while in the process of installing an awning onto the house. But it was the wrong house; the brackets were supposed to go on the house two doors down, recently occupied by new neighbors. My pharmacy was changed at the beginning of the month, and Prolia was the first prescription mailed out. Last Friday, the FedEx driver delivered this costly, refrigerated parcel to the wrong house to bake in the Florida sun. Yes, it was left at the house two doors down. I checked to assure that the signage for my street address was still posted at 3 sites on my front lawn. This week, a dear friend was diagnosed with esophageal carcinoma. She had been consuming pureed food and liquids for weeks. Yesterday, another dear friend’s husband was admitted to the hospital with a fever and dysuria, which meant that she was “admitted” as well because she always stays overnight in that bedside chair when he is hospitalized, no matter how long the admission. They are orphaned adults, and his severe dementia takes precedence over whatever ailments she is suffering.
By today, I was convinced that Satan was having a wonderful fortnight. As my mother would say, “If you believe in God, you’ve got to believe in the Devil,” and I have witnessed the power of both. I was a few blocks from my friend’s house, having just dropped her off after her first visit to Radiation Oncology. I didn’t hear the crash, but I saw commotion at the intersection before me. Vehicles were askew, their drivers were standing in the middle of the street gawking at the ground, and a mangled motorcycle lay crumpled in the roadway, barely recognizable. I pulled my car off of the road and parked on the gravel, walked onto the pavement, and there he was: Satan’s most recent victim. He was on his back with the left leg in external rotation, femur shortened and knee flexed. I’ve known what that meant since my first year of medical school when I became exposed to Orthopaedic Surgery. “Femur fracture,” I murmured silently. I’ve perfected the treatment of it through my five years of Orthopaedic Residency training followed by a Trauma Fellowship.
“Has anyone called 9-1-1?” I yelled to the crowd. Shortly thereafter, I heard a siren in the distance, then another, then another. It was then that I realized I was literally the “First Responder.” My cursory exam of this young man revealed that he had an intact airway with no evidence of chest trauma and that nerve and muscle function were intact, but there was no visible laceration to explain the blood on his left fingertips. “Where did this come from?” I asked as I pointed to his hand. He responded by pointing to his lateral thigh which was laying against the asphalt and could not be seen. “Open femur fracture,” I murmured as I modified my diagnosis. An EMT approached. I introduced myself and my profession, and advised him, “This is a 33-year-old otherwise healthy male with an open left femur fracture. Neurovascular status appears to be intact.”
As a 74-year-old orthopaedic surgeon who should have fully retired years ago, I let the EMTs, firefighters and police officers do their thing, and they thanked me for doing mine. After Satan’s most recent victim was safely loaded onto a chopper, I left the scene, with that funky fog lifting. I would be getting a free awning over my door. The wrong house pharmaceutical delivery was carried to my home intact by my new neighbor, who knew where I lived because of the awning faux pas. Today, my recently diagnosed friend was advised by the Radiation Oncologist that the expectation is that she will be able to eat solid food as treatment continues. And today, my other friend was notified by the nursing staff that they will bring another bed into her husband’s room so that she will be able to stay with him in comfort. Hey, look! The sun just came out!