The Head and the Olympics | Shohei Onishi (Chairman, Graduate School of Health Management)
2008.08.08
It was the influence of an orthopedic surgery doctor that prompted me to build relationships with sports organizations. Dr. Yoshihide Takao, a sports orthopedic surgery doctor at Fujisawa Shonandai Hospital, welcomed me as a member of the Sports Medical Sciences Expert Committee of the Kanagawa Prefecture Amateur Sports Association. I then participated as a medical doctor in the autumn and winter National Sports Festivals. I don't know if it was in recognition of my work, but on Dr. Takao's recommendation, I became a member of the Medical Sciences Support Division of the Japanese Olympic Committee. The JOC's international competitions include the Universiade, the Asian Games, and the Olympics, and I first participated in two Universiade Games, winter and summer, as part of the headquarters medical team.
As a sports doctor, the ultimate international competition one can participate in is the Olympics. It felt like I had finally made it after a long time of paying my dues and working my way up through many minor assignments. I was able to participate in the Olympics I had longed for at the Winter Games in Salt Lake City and then Turin.
I'm sure none of you, my readers, have experienced this, but marching in the parade of nations at the opening ceremony, waving the Hinomaru flag amidst the huge crowd in the main stadium, is a truly moving experience that gives you goosebumps. Although I wasn't competing myself, it was an experience that brought me to the peak of glorious excitement. I actually gave up my spot in the opening ceremony at my first Salt Lake City Games to someone else. Participation was limited; not everyone on the medical team could go. Someone else expressed a wish to attend, saying, "This will be my only chance to be at the Olympics, so please let me go," so I gave them my opportunity. It was a shame, but I did participate in the closing ceremony, and the feeling then was also incredible.
While the opening and closing ceremonies are extremely enjoyable events, life in the Olympic Village is truly demanding. You spend your days with no idea of when you're waking up or going to sleep. All sorts of things happen during the Games. I was incredibly busy dealing with the athletes' various physical and mental issues. But it was not painful at all. My only thought was to be of some help to the athletes. There were several times when an athlete would show up the day before a competition, and I would spend three hours listening to their complaints and anxieties, encouraging them, and helping them escape from a state of confusion where they didn't know why they were at the Olympics or why they were there at that moment. The athletes were on the verge of being crushed by a pressure I could not even imagine. I mostly just listened and offered a little advice, but the next morning, on the day of the competition, the athlete turned to me with a smile and a refreshed look on their face against the clear Turin morning sky and said, "Doctor, I'm off!" This was the ultimate reward for a sports doctor. For a doctor, that moment when a patient's smile returns as their illness subsides or is cured is everything. It was the same for a sports doctor.
The next Olympics are the 2010 Vancouver Games, but to be honest, I've reached an age where I'm worried about whether my physical stamina will hold up, so I think I'll decide whether to participate based on whether I can meet the athletes' expectations. At first glance, being a sports doctor may seem like a glamorous role, but it's impossible to fully describe the work involved in this behind-the-scenes world.
However, I received a reward for my hard work at the Turin Olympics. The head of the Japanese delegation gave me a ticket. I went on a "date" with the speed skater Tomomi Okazaki to the venue for the ladies' free skate in figure skating—or at least, that's what I like to think. And I saw Shizuka Arakawa's gold-medal performance. The moment she appeared in the arena, just before her performance began, I got goosebumps. She seemed to be shining. And with a perfect performance, much of the audience was giving a standing ovation from the middle of her routine. Seeing the Hinomaru flag raised and hearing the "Kimigayo" anthem sung, all through tears, was the greatest reward for me personally.
There is still much more I'd like to write, but I am over the word limit, so I will end here.
(Date of publication: 2008/08/08)