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DEBORAH BLADES
Women of color in the United States who are board-certified neurosurgeons number only six. A staggering thought for Deborah Blades, who, when she earned her certification in neurosurgery from the American Board of Neurological Surgery in 1998, was the fourth African American woman to do so. Growing up in the projects of Williamsburg, in Brooklyn, New York, the daughter of West Indies-born parents, she single-mindedly pursued her goal of becoming a doctor. Her dream led her to Case’s School of Medicine, from which she graduated in 1986, followed by fellowships in neurosurgery and orthopedic surgery. Upon earning her credentials, she was tapped for a position as a spine surgery specialist at the University of Kentucky Chandler Medical Center in Lexington, Kentucky. Dr. Blades is now establishing her own neurosurgery and spinal reconstruction practice. She is doing so in Barbados, the homeland of her parents. With her new young son, Colin, she left America in July, to begin life anew.
I always had a dream: I wanted to be a physician. From age three, that was my course.
My dad would always be the one to read me my nighttime story and put me to bed. Invariably, as he was reading to me, I was looking at his eyes, looking in his ears, looking in his nose, as though I was examining him. He would always say, “Are you my doctor or something? Pay attention to the story.”
I’ve had mentors throughout my life who’ve always made it very clear: You are a physician first, a surgeon second.
The first time I heard anything negative was when I started in Kentucky. I went to see a patient, who I was about to operate upon. The patient was a very dear older gentleman. I walked into the room with my nurse, and the son said to the father, and, I apologize, but he said to him, “You’re going to let this nigger operate on you?” So I said to the gentleman who spoke, “Oh, excuse me, do you have further questions about the surgery?” And I looked at the patient and said, “Do you have any questions? I want to make sure everybody is on the same page.” And the gentleman looked at me and he said, “Dr. Blades, I have no questions. You explained everything very well. Let’s get this going.” I shook his hand. I ignored the other gentleman as I walked out. I walked out of the room, and, I have to say, I broke down in tears. And my nurse said, “You know, Dr. Blades, don’t worry about it. It’s OK if you don’t want to do the surgery. I’ll go back in and explain.” And I said, “No, no, no, no. I’m OK. Let’s just get this done.”
Once I set my mind on something, I’m not going to be swayed.
My parents came to the United States [from Barbados], and they worked hard. They sacrificed for their children.
What matters most to me is that I am able to be the kind of parent that my child deserves and that my parents were to me.
When my dad passed, I realized that I did not want to raise my son not knowing his family and the legacy from which he comes. The family that we had was in Barbados, for the most part. It was a difficult decision, but I needed to do what I felt was proper for my son. And that was to bring him to his grandparents’ birthplace and raise him where he could hear stories about them, where he could know his great-great aunts, great-great uncles, and cousins galore.
The Barbados population is not litigious at all. Malpractice insurance in the United States for a neurosurgeon can be hundreds of thousands of dollars. My malpractice insurance in Barbados was $1,700. Seventeen hundred U.S. dollars. When I heard that, I was in shock. People are thankful for whatever you can do.
Mistakes should be looked upon as experiences from which we can learn. So, in essence, we’re not making mistakes. We’re having a life full of learning experiences.
My son was born on my father’s birthday. His eyes were bright open at the time of birth, looking around, wondering “What’s going on? What’s going on?” and it hasn’t stopped since. He is truly the greatest accomplishment of my life. 
As told to Marsha Lynn Bragg
Photograph of Dr. Blades and her son, Colin, by Daniel Milner
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