Some nights, after a long day in the operating room, I end up at the snooker table. The room is quiet, the table is still, and everything depends on one simple thing: the line I choose. It could be the last ball of the frame or the first cut on a beating heart. The mindset is surprisingly similar.
On a good snooker shot, what people see is the ball disappearing into the pocket. What really matters is what happens next: where the cue ball stops, what angle it leaves, how it sets up the following shot. The game rewards those who can think three moves ahead, control speed, and respect tiny margins of error. In heart surgery, it is the same. A graft is planned not just for how it looks on the table, but for how it will behave when the heart is full, beating, and under stress. A valve repair is judged not on the operation note, but on how cleanly it closes on the millionth heartbeat.
That is why, in complex heart surgery, “instinct” is never enough. The work is in the planning: choosing the safer path instead of the flashy one, accepting a conservative shot today to protect the next position, keeping emotion out of high‑stakes decisions. On the snooker table, a reckless shot might cost you a frame. In the operating room, there is no such luxury. Every move must earn one thing- your heart’s best possible chance to keep playing the life you love.