What I Learned From Watching Him
Dr. Gimbel would travel each month from Calgary to Loma Linda to teach us residents, and whenever he was in town, I made it a point to find him the moment my own clinical duties were finished. I would track down whatever operating room or clinic he was in and stay close, because every moment around him felt like an opportunity to learn.
What made Dr. Gimbel unforgettable was not only his surgical skill, but the way he taught. His teaching style was humble, calm, and deeply practical. Even his shortest comments carried weight. He had a remarkable ability to explain difficult concepts in a way that immediately made sense in the real world of surgery rather than just in textbooks.
Many evenings after clinic, I would run to the operating room and find him still operating hours later, often deep into some of the most difficult cases imaginable: pseudoexfoliation syndrome, dislocated lenses, dense complex cataracts, or pediatric cases requiring general anesthesia because of their complexity. No matter how challenging the situation became, he never appeared rattled. Even when the room around him became tense and the nurses were stressed, Dr. Gimbel remained calm, methodical, and composed.
What amazed all of us was his steadiness under pressure. He moved through surgery with quiet confidence, never rushed, never emotional, always deliberate. Watching him felt as though he had already visualized every step before it happened. There was an almost supernatural sense of intention behind everything he did. He taught us that mastery in surgery was not loud or dramatic. It was calm, disciplined, and thoughtful.
One of his teaching principles has stayed with me across 20,000 surgeries:
"This is another reason to always make the CCC smaller than the diameter of the optic, to have this option if it's needed."
Dr. Howard V. Gimbel
He was explaining why he preferred a capsulorhexis opening slightly smaller than the lens implant itself. The immediate reason was mechanical: a smaller opening allows the optic to sit securely within the capsular bag, creating a stable, centered position. But the deeper reason was strategic. If something unexpected happened during surgery, if the posterior capsule tore, if the lens needed to be captured differently, a well-sized capsulorhexis gave him options.
This is the essence of surgical wisdom. Gimbel was not just performing the step in front of him. He was anticipating the steps that might be necessary hours, days, or years later. The capsulorhexis was not designed only for today's surgery. It was designed for the complications that had not yet occurred, for the adjustments that might someday be needed, for the next surgeon who might have to revise this case a decade from now.
One evening, after a particularly long surgical day, Dr. Gimbel invited me to his home. His wife prepared an incredible dinner, and for the first time I understood something deeper about him: he made people feel like family. That same warmth he showed at home was exactly how he treated his patients. When you were in the room with Dr. Gimbel, you never felt like a case or a number. He cared for people the way he would care for his own family, and that humanity was just as influential as his surgical brilliance.
