I learned today that my scoliosis surgeon, Dr. Alexis Shelokov, passed away on Monday, a victim of an apparent heart attack, while riding his mountain bike in Telluride, CO. I am scarcely able to put into words what this man has meant to me, but a fellow evening-shift pharmacist, who blogs as The Ole Apothecary, did it very well:
A colleague of mine had her life remade by the skilled hands of a "psychiatrist with a scalpel," which is how Dr. Alexis Shelokov described himself. His supreme confidence in his abilities gave him leave to introduce himself thus, "Hi, I'm Alexis," exhibiting a humility many professionals seem to be unable or unwilling to show. As Director of the Baylor Scoliosis Center in Plano, Texas, he was, almost literally, the backbone of many patients' vastly improved conditions. My colleague is sitting beside me now, a gleam in her eye, many months after being transformed by the orthopedic-surgical talents of this man.
Why, then, was Alexis, only 55, taken from his family, friends, and patients this week by a heart attack?The moment he died, Alexis was doing what he loved, riding a challenging trail on his mountain bike in fabled, spectacular Telluride, Colorado. The Telluride Daily Planet (no, Clark Kent fans, I'm not making that name up) reported that his patients described him as "attentive, caring, compassionate, honest, and professional." So, perhaps it is metaphorically correct that his obituary ran in a paper called the Daily Planet. In character as well as in craftmanship, he was a medical Superman.
Although I never met Alexis, I mourn his loss. His brightness is reflected in the health of a member of my department and in the steadily good works he did. Why the good--even the great--have to die young remains an enigma.
Thank you, Alexis.
