Interview by Angelina Cappiello
Dr. Sharona Ross has spent her career rebuilding lives with precision, purpose, and a steady hand. As one of the nation’s leading minimally invasive and robotic surgeons—and the visionary behind the Annual International Women in Surgery Career Symposium—she has long been a force for progress in a profession that demands grit as much as generosity. But nothing in her decades of medical training prepared her for the morning her own life hung in the balance.
On June 1st, during what should have been a routine 20-mile bike ride in Clearwater, Florida, Dr. Ross lost control while descending a bridge—an instant that resulted in a fractured skull, facial trauma, a broken clavicle, and temporary paralysis in her right leg. Airlifted to Tampa General Hospital’s Level 1 trauma center, she arrived not as a surgeon but as a critically injured patient whose prognosis was uncertain. She remembers nothing from the accident or the three harrowing weeks that followed. Her family was told she might not survive—and if she did, the road back could take a year or more.
What happened next defied every expectation.
Dr. Ross’s recovery became a testament to the resilience she has always believed in, the discipline she demands of herself, and the philosophy she instills in her patients: healing is a partnership, and progress belongs to those who pursue it relentlessly. Through intensive rehabilitation, unwavering focus, and an unshakeable will, she reclaimed her memory, her mobility, and her confidence far sooner than anyone predicted.
Yet what emerged from this experience wasn’t just a restored surgeon—it was a renewed woman with a transformed mission.
The accident forced Dr. Ross to confront the same truths she urges women in medicine to recognize: the cost of constant overwork, the myth of invincibility, and the danger of neglecting one’s own health in service to everyone else’s. It sparked a deeper commitment to mentorship, to elevating women in surgery, and to championing a more humane and sustainable model for female leadership in high-pressure careers.
As she prepares to return to the operating room, Dr. Ross stands at the intersection of expertise and evolution—carrying forward not only her surgical skill but also a new message about balance, boundaries, and the courage to put one’s own well-being at the center of the story.
This is the journey of a surgeon who nearly lost everything—and found a deeper purpose on the way back.
Preferred Health: You’ve spent nearly two decades caring for patients and teaching surgeons to stay calm under pressure. What went through your mind when you realized you had become the patient—and one facing life-threatening injuries?
Dr. Sharona Ross: You know how to steady your hands in the operating theatre and guide others to think clearly when every second counts. When you become the one lying on a stretcher, with skull and facial fractures, a broken clavicle, and a leg that cannot move, the world shifts. Two thoughts dominate.
First, gratitude. You understand exactly what your trauma team does and how their actions save lives. You trust them. You feel the profound privilege of receiving the same care you strive to deliver every day.
Second, humility. You lose control in a moment. You experience the fear, the uncertainty, and the vulnerability your own patients face. You witness how every small act of dignity matters. A hand placed gently. A calm voice. Clear explanations. The compassion that eases suffering before any medicine takes effect.
Years of surgical practice teach you to support others. Becoming the patient teaches you why that support matters. It deepens your empathy. It changes the way you speak to the person on the table.
You stop assuming strength; you help them find it. This experience shapes your resolve. You stay committed to excellence not only with your skills, but with your heart.
PHM: You’ve shared that you don’t remember the accident or the three weeks following it.
When your memory returned, what were your first emotions as you began piecing together what had happened?
Dr. Ross: You wake up in a body that does not feel like yours. You see the scars, the weak limbs. You learn that three weeks of your life are missing. The shock is immediate.
The first emotion is disbelief. You know the facts, but they feel distant, as if they happened to someone else. You try to match what you’re told with what your mind can grasp.
Next comes gratitude. You discover how close the accident came to ending your life. You recognize the extraordinary work of the physicians, nurses, rehabilitation team, your family and friends who protected your chance to recover.
There is fear as well. You understand the severity of your injuries. You know the stakes. You say to yourself, ‘If your hands ever operate again, if you ever stand in a theatre for hours as you once did.’
Then humility settles in. You have always been the one who leads, comforts, and fixes. Now you depend on others. This reliance softens you. You start to see every caregiver’s touch and every word of reassurance as essential.
You begin piecing the story together with those who stood by your bed, your children and friends. Their memories fill the empty spaces. Their presence anchors you. You see how love and teamwork hold a life together when the mind cannot.
You move forward with a deeper awareness of fragility and an even stronger commitment to care for others with dignity, clarity, and respect.
PHM: Many trauma specialists predicted a recovery that could take up to a year.
What do you believe contributed most to your extraordinary progress?
Dr. Ross: You hear the predictions from respected neurosurgery teams. A long recovery. Many months. You accept that information, but you also center your own mindset. Three factors stand out.
*A surgeon’s discipline.
You live with structure. You keep a schedule. You set targets. Rehabilitation becomes your job. You approach every session with intention. You work through discomfort because you understand that healing demands grit and consistency.
*Expert, coordinated care.
You receive treatment from Shepherd Center’s multidisciplinary team. They know how to guide neurological recovery and complex trauma. Physical therapy, occupational therapy, psychological support, and nursing care move in unison. That coordination accelerates every gain.
*Human connection.
Your children, friends, colleagues, and every clinician who stands at your bedside keep you anchored. Their belief steadies you. Their encouragement fuels you. You receive the same compassion you have always given your patients, and that compassion restores strength you cannot measure.
Progress comes from skill, science, and love working together. You learn that resilience is not a personality trait. It is a team effort.
PHM: You approached rehabilitation with the mindset of a surgeon and a scientist. How did your medical training influence the way you navigated treatment, testing, and recovery?
Dr. Ross: You know how to think in crises. That instinct carries into rehabilitation.
You use the same principles that guide an operation.
Clear goals.
You break recovery into measurable steps. Move a muscle. Stand. Walk. Every milestone has purpose. You track progress the way you monitor a patient’s postoperative course.
Direct communication.
You ask questions. You request precise explanations. You want to understand the reasoning behind every test, brace, and exercise. Knowledge reduces fear.
It keeps you engaged, not passive.
Calm under pressure.
Pain, uncertainty, and setbacks challenge even the strongest. You focus on breathing, on posture, on form. You apply the same calm you teach to trainees in the operating theatre.
Trust in the team.
You respect expertise. You let clinicians guide you. When they adjust your therapy, you adapt. You treat them as colleagues working toward a shared outcome: restoring your function. This mindset does not remove vulnerability. It channels it. You allow yourself to be the patient while still holding onto the discipline and clarity that surgery ingrains in you.
You navigate recovery with curiosity, commitment, and the belief that every effort counts.
PHM: You’ve said that patients have a responsibility to be proactive in their healing.
What did being a “proactive patient” look like for you day-to-day during rehab?
Dr. Ross: Proactivity is not aggressive. It is engaged.
In rehabilitation, it means you take ownership of the work each day, even when you feel vulnerable.
Ask and understand.
You seek clarity. You ask why a movement matters, what success looks like, and how you can reinforce it outside therapy sessions. Knowledge keeps you involved in your own recovery.
Show up with intention.
Every session counts. You commit to each exercise as though a patient’s life depends on it, because your function and independence are on the line. You focus on form, effort, and progress rather than comfort. Track and adjust. You note changes in strength, sensation, or pain. You share those observations with the team so they refine the plan. You view therapy as a collaboration, not a prescription.
Protect your wellbeing.
You rest when needed, fuel your body, and stay mentally steady. You use the same discipline you bring to surgery: you cannot perform if you ignore your own needs.
Stay connected.
You let your children, friends, and colleagues support you. Engagement with others keeps you motivated and grounded in purpose. Being a proactive patient means you do not sit back and hope to improve. You take part in your healing with curiosity, urgency, and respect for the team around you.
PHM: As you went through neurological, neuropsychiatric, and driving evaluations, what did you learn about yourself—both as a physician and as a human being?
Dr.Ross: You sit in rooms where you once sent your own patients. Now you are the one completing neurological exams, cognitive testing, and the assessment that determines if you may drive again. You learn two things.
As a physician, you gain a deeper respect for the science behind recovery. Every test measures something essential: attention, memory, judgment, reaction speed. You see how fragile those functions become after injury, and how precise rehabilitation must be to rebuild them. You also learn to trust your colleagues fully. Their expertise guides each next step. You feel grateful for the systems that protect patients before they re-enter complex environments, such as the operating theatre or the driver’s seat.
As a human being. you recognize your own vulnerability. Strength does not erase fear.
You experience moments of doubt when a task feels harder than it once did. You learn patience with yourself, and you discover how much courage it takes for any patient to face uncertainty and keep going. You also feel immense pride in every regained capability. A small victory—an improved score, a steadier hand, a faster response—reminds you that healing reflects perseverance, not perfection.
These evaluations do not define you. They reveal you. You emerge with sharper empathy, greater humility, and a renewed commitment to care with skill and compassion.
PHM: Returning to surgery isn’t simply a physical milestone; it’s also about trust in your judgment and skill. How are you measuring readiness, and what does it mean to you to step back into the OR?
Dr.Ross: You set the bar high. Readiness means more than walking into an operating theatre. It means total confidence in your judgment, precision, and stamina. You measure it in clear, practical ways.
Clinical competence
You focus on decision-making. You analyse imaging, plan operations, and think through complications. Your insight remains intact. That knowledge steadies you.
Physical performance
You test strength, balance, and endurance.
You stand, move, and operate instruments in simulation labs. You monitor fatigue and adjust training to restore the fluidity your work demands.
Concentration and cognition
You rely on formal neurocognitive testing and honest self-assessment. You confirm that attention, reaction time, and memory perform at the highest level.
No compromise exists in surgery.
Peer validation
You seek input from trusted surgical colleagues.
You ask them to observe you and give direct feedback. Their confidence reinforces your own.
Stepping back into the operating theatre carries deep meaning.
It reflects survival, discipline, and the support of countless hands that helped you heal. It represents your identity as a surgeon restored through hard work, not assumption. It honors every patient who entrusts you with their life.
You return not only with strength, but with a richer understanding of fear, courage, and what compassionate care truly feels like from the other side of the scalpel.
PHM: The International Women in Surgery Career Symposium, now in its 16th year, has become a powerful platform for mentorship and community. How has your accident influenced your vision for the symposium’s future?
Dr. Ross: The accident sharpens your understanding of what women in surgery need—not only skills, but support that sustains them throughout their lives. Three priorities strengthen your vision.
Wellbeing as core curriculum
Technical mastery matters, but personal health matters just as much. The symposium now highlights real conversations about rest, boundaries, and preventive care. Women learn to protect their energy so they build long, fulfilling careers.
Authentic community
When you were the patient, your community carried you. You now amplify opportunities for women to form those same bonds early in their training. The symposium creates a network that remains active long after the event ends, so no surgeon navigates challenges alone.
Mentorship with purpose
You emphasize sponsorship—opening doors, not just offering advice. Your experience reinforces how vital it is for women to lift one another into leadership, to speak each other’s names when decisions are made, and to share opportunities generously.
The symposium continues to celebrate skill and ambition, but it also champions humanity. It teaches that surgeons thrive when they care for themselves, support each other, and honour the person behind the expertise.
PHM: Despite advances in robotics and minimally invasive techniques, women remain underrepresented in surgical specialties. What systemic changes still need to happen?
Dr. Ross: Progress in technology does not automatically translate into progress for women.
The barriers remain structural.
Promotion often relies on informal sponsorship. Women need formal processes that recognize merit, not visibility or proximity to power. Clear criteria, fair evaluation, and active sponsorship open the doors. Training and practice often assume unlimited time and availability. Institutions benefit when they design schedules that allow surgeons to excel in theatre and still live healthy, connected lives. Boundaries support performance.
Women need access to complex cases, research, podium time, and decision-making roles. Those opportunities form the backbone of advancement. Leaders must intentionally ensure equal access.
Microaggressions, bias, and outdated attitudes still push women away. Culture changes when accountability becomes routine, and when surgeons treat each other with dignity as standard, not exception. Childbearing years coincide with training and early career. Facilities, parental policies, and institutional attitudes must reflect that parenthood and surgical excellence coexist. These changes require action from systems, not extra effort from women. Women already prove their capability. Institutions must match that strength with equitable structures.
PHM: Your upcoming book focuses on the realities career women face—pressure, expectations, burnout, and the invisible weight of “always saying yes.”
What message do you most hope women take away from your story?
Dr. Ross:You want women to understand one truth: strength does not mean carrying everything alone. Ambition, family, leadership, caregiving, health—these layers sit heavily on women who excel. You know how easy it is to prioritize everyone else and neglect your own well-being.
You also know the cost of that neglect.
You want women to take away three clear messages.
Define your success
You set your own standards. You choose what matters.
You design a life that honours your purpose and those you love. You reject someone else’s definition of “having it all.”
Protect your health with intent
Screening, rest, connection, and recovery are essential.
You tend to your body and mind with the same dedication you show your work. You act early and without apology.
Accept support without shame
You build a circle of women and allies who lift you. You say no when your plate is full. You stop treating self-care as optional. Your story reminds women that excellence and wellbeing coexist. You fall. You get up. You continue to lead with skill and compassion. And you encourage others to do the same—strong, supported, and unapologetically whole.
PHM: As you return to clinical practice,
how has your definition of purpose evolved?
What matters most to you now, personally and professionally?
Dr. Ross: Purpose once centered on surgical excellence, innovation, and education. Those values remain, but they now sit alongside something deeper.
You always aimed for technical perfection.
Now you value connection just as highly. You understand the fear that lives behind every consultation. You meet patients with honesty, clarity, and empathy that comes from living their vulnerability yourself.
You still work hard and lead with intention,
but you protect your health as part of that work. Purpose now includes staying strong for your family, your colleagues, and the people who rely on you. You guard time for rest and for those who love you.
You continue to teach surgeons. You now emphasize community as a professional responsibility. You want every woman in surgery to feel supported, sponsored, and connected—not running alone at a pace that harms them.
Survival adds meaning. You feel thankful to stand, to think, to operate. You honour that by using your skills thoughtfully and by living each day with intention rather than assumption.
Personally and professionally, purpose now means this: Excel, but stay human. Lead, but stay grounded. Achieve, but stay well.