Surgeon Unmasked:
a journey from shame to grace
by
David E. Hockman, M.D.

SURGEON UNMASKED: A Journey from Shame to Grace
Copyright © 2026 by David Hockman, MD
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form

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For Sherry, my wife, my life, my home

To the following readers: the ones who aspire to make their life’s work a ministry, anyone who has suffered from spiritual abuse and considered giving up on God, those who have suffered from or are in a relationship with someone who suffers from chronic physical or mental illness, and the young adults who aspire to a career in medicine and surgery.

I hope my story of serving others and glorifying God by helping people walk will inspire you to love and serve God with your whole heart and to love your neighbor as yourself.

I hope my journey out of spiritual abuse and into a deep, abiding, loving, secure relationship with God will inspire you to place your hope and faith in God and never in man.

I hope my battle with depression and anxiety during my successful career will inspire you to be kind to others who may be suffering with mental illness, to persevere through your own trials with self-compassion, to never give up hope, to avoid self-medication through addictive behavior, and finally to trust our good and sovereign God, knowing that “He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ” (Philippians 1:6).

Soli Deo gloria!


PROLOGUE

A CHILD IS HOME alone. His parents are working at their hardware store two blocks down the road. The boy is looking for a lost toy and screams, “Sh*t! Where is that d*mn thing?”

His next thought is surprising, even to him. “What if they have recorders around the house to catch me if I cuss?”

The poor soul begins looking around the house for recording devices. Finally, he convinces himself that there are likely none but that he’ll only know for sure after his parents return home. If he gets caught, then he overlooked a hidden recorder. If he goes to bed without any trouble, then he’s OK.

“But what if they wait to listen until after I go to sleep?”

Knowing he’ll likely have to go to bed wondering, he heads to the bathroom to begin his bedtime routine. He washes his hands, brushes his teeth, heads to his bedroom, walks past the water heater, and climbs onto his captain’s bed across from the workbench, which is now his dresser. Technically, he is sleeping in a utility room, which was converted into his bedroom to put some distance between him and his brother and their constant fighting. The washer and dryer had been moved out of the utility room and into the kitchen to make way for his bed.

Stretching out and relaxing would feel so good. He’s tempted to do it, but he fears an intruder may tickle him in his sleep, so he keeps his arms down by his side. If they drift up while he is awake, he quickly draws them back down. It’s so hard to get to sleep, knowing he may get in trouble in the morning for cussing and hoping no one tickles him. His mind races until sleep finally brings relief.

The next morning, all is clear. It was a close call, but he’s not in trouble. He arises early for the one-hour drive to church on Sunday morning. His best clothes are the only ones that God wants to see in His house of worship. So he puts on his only pair of slacks, a button-down shirt, and shiny shoes. The family drives past scores of other churches to get to the “one true church,” the “sound” church on Kingsmere Lane in Kansas City.

It’s Christmas Sunday. The class before worship service (which is not called “Sunday school” because that would be unscriptural) avoids discussing Jesus’s birth, the acapella hymns are not carols but dirges, and the sermon is entitled, “Why We Don’t Celebrate Christmas.”

When the service is over, the good times begin when all the kids go outside and roll down the hill and play King of the Mountain. The games end about as quickly as they start because the boy knows he must return that evening if he wants to be right with God. That’s four hour-long car rides in a single day. And there will be two more on Wednesday night.

In all, six hours of driving and three hours of church are mandatory each week if you want to have your name in the Lamb’s Book of Life. This boy is not even sure if his name is in that book. As best he knows, based on what he’s been taught, God erases names more often than He writes them down. One thing he is sure of (or at least, he’s been told it’s sure) is that the names of people in other churches are definitely not in the book.

This knowledge hasn’t helped him make friends in school. He thinks, If God only maybe accepts me, and for sure does not accept kids who go to other churches, then why would these kids ever consider accepting me? They all seem to know each other because they see each other on Sundays in local churches. I’m the weird one.

The boy grows up filled with shame, trusting only one thing. He will be a successful and wealthy doctor because he is smart. The one thing he holds on to through all the storms of childhood is his intelligence. He will prove to all those “lost” kids that he has worth, that he is not a freak. Oh, and there’s one other thing that is guaranteed: He will never, ever leave the “one true church.”

“What shall a man profit if he gains the whole world and loses his own soul?” So sayeth the Scriptures. The boy knows without a doubt that he will toe the company line throughout eternity. He will “not grow weary in doing good.” Though a successful doctor, he will remain convicted of his Conservative Church of Christ doctrine because otherwise, he will face the fires of hell.

Or so he thinks.

Hello, my name is David, and I am a recovering child of the Conservative Churches of Christ. It has been twenty years since I’ve been inside a Church of Christ building, but its influence on my life still haunts me.

Welcome to my story.