Confessions of a Surgeon: The Good, the Bad, and the Complicated...Life Behind the O.R. Doors by Ruggieri M.D. Paul A

Author:Ruggieri M.D., Paul A. [Ruggieri M.D., Paul A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781101554043
Publisher: Berkley Trade
Published: 2012-01-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

Surgeons Hate Surprises

“Dr. Ruggieri, please come to the emergency room stat.” I was in the middle of slicing through a buttock abscess the size of a tangerine on a young man when the overhead page spoke out.

“Damn, Doc, that hurts.” I smiled, ignoring his cries. The man let out a short howl. “I thought you were going to numb it.”

Be quiet, will you! I strained to hear the page. Suck it up. It’ll be over in a minute. I had anesthetized the area, but knew the procedure would still be painful. (“You may experience some discomfort,” is how most surgeons like to frame it for patients.) My job involves inflicting pain. I am a surgeon. And now I was in a hurry. “I think they need me in the emergency room,” I told him. The pus was flowing like lava spewing out of a volcano. I was hurrying it along with my fingers.

“Just got to love this,” I mumbled. I paused briefly to admire my work and turned my head to take a deep breath of fresh air away from the odor. Draining pus is what general surgeons do best and do often. The procedure is not glamorous. It requires no thinking. Anyone with two working digits, one good eye, and a sharp knife can do it. It is simple and fast, and the outcome is predictable. There are no surprises here. No sleepless nights worrying. No long explanations on what to expect. It is a procedure that’s impossible to screw up and one that leaves patients pleased.

A second page rang out from the ceiling speaker. “Dr. Ruggieri, you are needed in the emergency room now.”

“Doc, this still hurts.” The young man was squirming. I pretended to listen to him.

“Okay. I need to go. Nurse, can you pack this for me? Have him see me in the office next week.” I placed her hand on the gauze covering the oozing abscess.

By the time I entered the main trauma room in the E.R., the paramedics were already well into a round of C.P.R. The crack, crack, crack of broken ribs with each chest compression greeted me at the door. The death clock had started.

“Guys, easy on the ribs. If he lives you’ll have some explaining to do.” I got closer. “Who is this?” I glanced at the patient on the table. My heart rate began to increase. I had to look away then, and steel myself. It was a little boy at the end of those chest compressions and cracked ribs. A little boy with blond hair. I couldn’t let my stirred-up emotions from seeing a child near death interfere with the decisions ahead. I have to do this; otherwise I am no use to anyone. An emotional heart is not welcome inside a trauma or operating room. It has to be left at the door. A surgeon can’t afford any distractions at a time like this.

“Hold compressions.” The monitor was a flat line, asystolic. No heart activity, no life. “Keep pumping.

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