HOW many of us have scratched our heads over that old puzzle where a boy is rushed to hospital with terrible injuries after a car crash. Although the lad's father died five years ago, the hospital surgeon says "I can't operate on this boy, he's my son".

But if his father is dead, who is the surgeon?' The almost obvious answer is one that eludes the majority - she's his mother.

This ought not to be a puzzle at all in an age when women are gate-crashing into previously male-dominated territories such as the army, navy and even the building trade.

But while prevailing attitudes may still regard a surgeon to be male, the fraternity of all-male surgeons in operating theatres is fast disappearing. The strutting surgeons of Holby City, who ooze machismo and bark instructions at female nurses, may thrive on TV, but this doesn't reflect the reality; women have infiltrated the profession and are changing the ethos of surgery for the better.

Helen Richardson is a case in point. She decided she wanted to do medicine as a teenager and knew instantly surgery was for her when she spent her last months of medical training in an ear, nose and throat clinic. Helen was never a tomboy and has never enjoyed the locker-room banter of all-male company. But she chose to become a surgeon because she loved the intricate technicality of operations. Her feminine presence caused moments of awkwardness at first, but she's come through it unscathed.

Follow the farm track and you'll reach Helen's beautiful rambling home. There you'll find the mum-of-two among the family goats and frogs, tugging at garden weeds and pruning her prize rose bush or enjoying the company of her two young girls, Lydia, four, 18-month-old Cecilia and husband Christopher Neave.

But this domestic idyll only makes up half her life. The other half she spends as a senior registrar, making incisions in the theatre rooms of Sunderland Royal Hospital and removing anything from tonsils to tumours in what can be grinding nine-hour operations.

When she's not seeing to the practical tasks of motherhood, part-time surgeon Helen loves the detailed work delving into the ears, noses, throats and heads of patients as much as she loves the satisfaction of sending them home feeling a whole lot better than when they arrived.

And though the two sides of her life might be seen as worlds apart, she says there are similarities between the concentrated precision of gardening and the delicate handiwork required in surgery, the emotional responsibilities of a mother and the inter-personal skills needed for being a surgeon. The point she is trying to make is that surgery can easily be woman's work - though it has been seen as anything but until now.

"A lot of girls have enjoyed playing with intricate toys and that's similar to the manual dexterity needed for surgery. It's often small, precise work," says Helen, 37, from Bishop Auckland.

Helen, who has been a surgeon for ten years, is trying to kill off the myth that the operating theatre is a stronghold for egotistical male surgeons. She recently took part in a series of career workshops held by the Royal College of Surgeons for sixth form girls in the UK to arouse interest. She visited Polam School in Darlington last week with her team to woo the girls not only into medicine, but into operating theatres too.

The Royal College wants to see a five to ten per cent rise in the number of women surgeons in the next five years.

Helen grew concerned about the dearth of women in surgery after being one of the very few who opted for it. Indeed, she did find herself feeling self-conscious at times as the only woman in a group of men and the imbalance has led to her swallowing any number of inappropriate sexist comments in the past. But she's brushed them off and anyway, the traditional chauvinists of surgery are all retiring now, she says.

In a sense, Helen says it's been as difficult for the men to deal with her presence as for her to be in the minority. But she's wholly positive about her working environment and is annoyed female talent is staying out of the operating theatre because the stereotypical image of the surgeon is off-putting.

She carried out and published a piece of research last year called "Why do Women Reject Surgical Careers?" in which she asked 400 Newcastle Medical School students and graduates to fill in a questionnaire about the specialisms they were not drawn to.

Depressingly, though girls now make up 51 per cent of medical graduates, the vast majority of the surveyed women said they didn't want to go into surgery because of the supposedly "chauvinistic" culture of the profession.

Though the number of consultant female surgeons has risen to 239 since September 1999, it still leaves women occupying only 5.4 per cent of the 4,431 consultant posts in the UK. Helen knows this is a statistic that must be improved on if surgery is to attract the best people for the job but that means the image has got to change.

"The reality is that there are quite a few female surgeons now. I was by no means one of the original pioneers, but it's the image that's deceptive. There could be a lot of talent in the pool of young women who are put off by the macho image of surgery. That's talent the profession misses out on," says Derby-born Helen, who was a student at Newcastle Medical School.

She suspects another reason why women are not attracted to her job is because they assume it's a vigorous career path which doesn't allow for a work-life balance once maternity leave, children and the possibility of part-time work come into the equation. Once again, Helen is the perfect example of someone who has been able to do the job she loves and have time for the family. She decided to go part-time before her first child was born and she's happy still to do three days a week.

"It's perfectly possible to be a surgeon and enjoy a happy family life. I'm lucky I have an army of helpers such as our nanny, gardener and cleaner at home and I can spend time with my daughters."

She'd definitely encourage young Lydia and Cecilia to be surgeons if they showed the slightest interest in medicine and her retired chartered engineer father Clive Richardson and dental nurse mother Maureen are incredibly proud of their daughter's profession.

For Helen, her work is a labour of love. She doesn't get over-emotional or take her work home with her, but there's nothing more she cherishes than talking to a patient who's feeling better or allaying other people's pre-surgery nerves.

When she's not in her scrubs in the operating theatre, you'll find her chatting happily to a patient or merely sitting quietly in the ward, holding someone's hand.