Plastic surgeon

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To Australia she’s a national treasure, to her patients she’s often their only hope and to those closest to her she’s a friend, a wife, a confidant and a mum. The life of Dr Fiona Wood is truly extraordinary, as Linda Peatling discovered recently.

Spend a day with Fiona Wood and it’s not hard to see how this Yorkshire lass became our Australian of the Year. Down-to-earth, comical and unashamedly real, this welcoming, caring woman has an invincible spirit that washes over everything she does and everyone she meets. It’s a spirit that has seen her save the lives of countless burn victims, develop world-renowned medical breakthroughs and achieve what she considers to be the highlight of her life – raising a family of six children with her husband Tony Kierath. I joined Dr Wood at 9.30am, a totally respectable hour in the world of a freelance journalist, but she had already been up for four and a half hours, beginning her day at 5am with her regular 30 kilometre bicycle ride…

5am: Fiona’s ride takes her from her home in City Beach, Perth, along the Swan River and back again. A friend or some of her children will often join her but sometimes she rides alone. “It clears my head and wakes me up,” she says. Fiona took up cycling two years ago to help her eldest son Tom (19) and her third son Joe (14) train for triathlons – she subsequently fell in love with the sport. “I’ve always been into exercise. I wanted to be a runner when I was younger but my knees gave out so cycling is the best thing I can do,” she says. “The boys are much, much better than me but I get there in the end.”

6.30am: Fiona arrives back home, where she jumps in the shower then heads into the kitchen for breakfast. Her children range in age from 11 through to 19 so everyone usually prepares their own breakfast. Fiona tends to grab a coffee and a muffin or piece of toast to eat in the car on the way to work. Meanwhile, Tony takes the four youngest kids to school. Fiona opts for the family’s eight-seater people mover, complete with crumbs, items of clothing, drink bottles and a certain je ne sais quoi that hints at the recent presence of teenagers.

7.30am: Reaching work at the Princess Margaret Hospital for Children or the Royal Perth Hospital Burns Unit, Fiona hits the ground running. She sometimes gets to pick up a coffee before dropping in to her simple, unassuming office, neatly packed to the brim with about 150 folders, five filing cabinets and numerous reference material on a variety of topics relating to burns. Usually, however, she’s on the move, rushing from one appointment to the other. She’s a consummate multi-tasker, handling each appointment or request with calm focus, precision, efficiency and more than a little help from her PA, Debbie Somers. “I’ve known Debbie since our kids were at kindergarten together and she’s a great friend and a great support. She helps to sort me out. I don’t know what I’d do without her,” Fiona reflects.

On any given day there are patients, staff, colleagues, registrars, students, professors, researchers, auditors and partners to take care of along with a steady stream of media personnel – the last group a consequence of Fiona being named Australian of the Year for 2005. This is where I come in, as one of the many Australian journalists Dr Wood has squeezed into her already overflowing schedule. She greets me with a welcoming familiarity that puts me at ease immediately, apologising because she’s running late for our interview. “I’m so sorry. I’ve only just come out of my other meeting and I just have to pop across the hall to discuss the plans for the new wing,” she says ruefully. I’m just happy that she’s able to fit me in at all.

10.45am: Fiona comes back from her meeting, sighs heavily, rolls her eyes and apologises again. “How about a nice cup of tea?” she asks. “I know I could use one.” And we both walk to a tiny tearoom near the burns unit patient waiting room. Back in her office, we begin talking about her philosophies on life and her enthusiasm begins to flow. “My parents raised me to believe I could be anything I wanted to be, as long as I was prepared to work bloody hard for it,” she says. “Doing any less than your best is just not good enough in my book and relaxing into mediocrity helps nobody… how can we do anything but our best when we have been blessed to be born with all the privileges of this time and place?” At this point she scouts around her desk for a couple of pieces of paper then reads several quotations aloud, first one from George Bernard Shaw then another from Nelson Mandela, that reflect her philosophies. ‘I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community, and as long as I live it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can. I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work the more I live’ – George Bernard Shaw.

11am: As I begin to ask my questions about her life, Fiona realises that there won’t be enough time before her next appointment to finish the interview and invites me to spend the rest of the day with her. “You’ve come such a long way and I feel terrible that we have to cut our time short so why don’t you tag along with me and we can chat in the car?” she suggests. I couldn’t have asked for more.

11.15am: As we head off to her next appointment, Fiona’s phone rings steadily and she answers every single call with patience and respect: an occupational health worker asking her advice on a burns dressing, a researcher asking her for help with a specific instrument, a Health Department representative asking her to give a talk at a university lecture hall, and Debbie reminding her of tomorrow’s equally busy schedule. “There’s never a dull moment,” she laughs as she manoeuvres the car through the streets of Perth.

11.30am: We arrive at the University of Western Australia, where Fiona is to give a talk on how the sharing of research data between health organisations could help to improve treatment options for burns patients. She has selected her PowerPoint presentation on the way over and runs into the lecture theatre just in time. She explains the importance of the process, known as ‘data linkage’, clearly and concisely but with a passion and energy that has me writing more notes than the students and staff attending.

“There is very little data about the long-term effects of major burns so we don’t know if what we’re doing for them in the short-term could be detrimental to their quality of life,” she explains. Fiona talks about needing to know the risks of skin cancer for burns victims, the effect scarring has on long-term movement, the suicide rate of burns victims, whether burns are more prevalent in certain industries, the numbers of indigenous burns victims and many more subjects for which data still needs to be gathered and shared. “We need to pool our resources and work with organisations at a global level,” she urges.

12.30pm: With her presentation over, Fiona walks casually from the lecture theatre with a group of enthusiastic audience members who have gathered to ask questions. Next, she’s off to meet a professor about his research into natural cell death processes. She believes it may help with her own research into reducing scar tissue on burns patients. Fiona explains it all to me in the car on the way over with a level of enthusiasm that makes the science of it seem exciting and crucial.

1pm: Fiona grabs a muffin, banana and coffee to eat and drink in the car on her way to the Princess Margaret Hospital for Children where she will operate on three young children undergoing plastic surgery for burns treatment.

1.30pm: Fiona meets her operating team and changes into her theatre gown. She has about 20 minutes before her patient will be ready, but as we’re about to sit down in the staff lounge for the final part of our interview Debbie calls to remind Fiona of another meeting she has scheduled. A doctor has travelled from South Africa to show her a new ceramic wound treatment that he wants her to try. “Oh, I completely forgot. I am so sorry about this,” she says. I don’t mind at all though, as it means I get another chance to see her in action. Although I know she’s flustered by her schedule, she shows absolutely no sign of it to her guests and greets them with the same warmth and familiarity she showed me that morning. Fiona listens intently, asks some pertinent questions and ultimately wants to know if the treatment can help her to help others. If so, she’ll try it.

2pm: Fiona’s little patient is ready for her and she gently excuses herself, ends the meeting and shows her guests out before she heads into surgery. As I wait for her in the theatre staff lounge I’m overwhelmed by this woman’s undying energy and focus amid the sea of requests, demands and obligations that surround her. Everyone wants a piece of her, and she happily shares her time with everyone. I’m beginning to think that nothing could ever rattle Fiona Wood, when she emerges from surgery 20 minutes later. “Okay,” she sighs heavily. “We can talk for a bit now.” But there’s something different about her this time. She’s calm and focused as always but there’s a hint of pain in her eyes and when I ask her if she’s alright, her eyes well up. “We’ve just seen something that’s very upsetting,” she says quietly, still incredibly composed. “When you see a parent with their child and know they need you to help them, yet also know that even your best might not be enough… it’s just bloody hard,” she trails off.

It’s at this point that I end our interview as the overwhelming reality hits that I am the last person who needs her attention right now. Accommodating as ever, Fiona reassures me that it’s okay to continue but is grateful when I insist that I don’t want to impose on her precious time. “I’m sorry… Just call me any time and we can have a proper chat,” she says as she gives me a peck on the cheek and rushes back to where her next patient is undoubtedly being prepared for her.

Tragically, the child Fiona had been operating on passed away two days later, and later on I asked her how she copes with the emotional trauma of her job. “It can be very, very hard but I try to focus on the fact that I am doing something to help and the feeling of helping someone is like no other feeling on earth. It’s what keeps me looking for better ways to do things… How can you stop when you know these people need you to keep trying?” she asks rhetorically.

3.15pm: Fiona is out of surgery and must find a way to refocus and switch into ‘mum mode’. Most days she picks up her four youngest children from school then takes them to various sporting activities or maths clubs. “A few of them seem to have inherited my love of maths, which is nice,” she says. Today, however, they’re all off to the local supermarket to help with the grocery shopping. As in the other areas of her life, Fiona has come up with a unique, efficient and somewhat fun technique for this family task. “Each of the kids grabs a trolley, picks an aisle and they leapfrog from aisle to aisle... I stand at one end and inspect their trolleys as they come past so I can see if they’ve tried to sneak in any unauthorised items like lollies,” she laughs. “It cuts shopping time in half, that’s for sure!”

4.30pm: Fiona drops the children at home and will sometimes return to surgery, if she’s needed. If not, she will work at home for the afternoon on one of seven research projects she’s currently involved with, prepare PowerPoint presentations for lectures she’s booked in for, or just try to plough through the mountain of paperwork she has each day. Fiona says she has had fabulous babysitters to help with her family over the years, but a few years ago her children told her that they no longer required a babysitter, “just a driver”! They never quite got their wish but the taxi-driving to and from school, sports and so on is shared between Tony, Fiona and their eldest son, Tom, who has the unenviable task of driving his younger siblings to wherever they may need to be. To help keep the full house in order, the family employs a housekeeper once a week but Fiona says everyone “mucks in” to help.

6.30pm: Fiona and the kids prepare dinner as Tony, who is a general surgeon, often works late. The family tries to eat together but sometimes one or two of the children will be at a friend’s place or Fiona will be away working. “We usually get to have dinner together at least a few times a week and often we’ll have a few extra faces at the table if a couple of the kids invite their mates over,” Fiona explains.

8pm: After the family has cleared the table, the kids finish their homework and get ready for bed. Television is not usually allowed, instead, the children are encouraged to read, or play sport or games. “Sometimes the older kids will watch TV when the younger ones have gone to bed but they’re all readers and they’re always going somewhere or doing something, which keeps them healthy and happy, I think,” says Fiona.

Midnight: Fiona works until about midnight every night and falls into bed with very little encouragement. “As my dad used to say, ‘I don’t need much rocking’,” she laughs.

Weekends: Fiona’s weekends are almost as full as her weekdays but the focus is much more on her family. “We do lots on the weekends – all the kids play sport so we’re always running around. I also like to go running or swimming and always try to get a bike ride in,” she says. The family doesn’t have any pets but they do have a beehive. “The kids asked for a pet a few years ago and Tony got them a beehive!” she laughs. “They’ve learned to care for the bees and harvest the honey but I don’t think you could call them pets… I think I’d go mad if we had dogs and cats to deal with as well.”

Fiona admits she does take time now and then to reflect on the balance in her life. “Would I be more productive if I had no kids and would I be a better mum if I had no research projects?” she muses. “I don’t think so because I am what I am. I think the more time you have the less you do with it, whereas I try to get all I can out of every second.”

Photography: Brydon Dunstan