Day 62 Scrub Tales

One of my lifetimes I was a surgical technician.  That meant that I was the first person in the room, I would scrub my hands thoroughly (10 minutes) and gown and glove myself and then start setting up the instruments for whatever surgery we were going to perform.  It was a cool job as I got to see what few people could ever imagine.  I actually got to put my hand on a beating heart one time.  Wow, that was something that you’d never think you’d get to do on a job.  It was a pretty cool job as far as jobs go but in the end the hours started interfering with being a single full time dad.  I gave it up for an 8 to 5 Monday through Friday job.  I’ve never regretted my decision as I felt I could always have a job but the opportunity to raise a son only came be once.

 

When I lived in South Lake Tahoe I worked at Barton Memorial Hospital.  It was much smaller than Sutter General whence I came from.  As part of my job I had to put hours on the Code C team.  When a Code C was announced we had to drop what we were doing and rush into Obstetrics’ and fly into a dangerous birth event.  It meant that either the mom or the baby were moments away from expiration if the child wasn’t presented.  There was no frivolity or room for mistake and the anxiety was always insanely high.  For everyone involved.  The nurses, the surgeons, the anesthesiologists and of course the mom and waiting husband.

 

I would fly into the room, first as usual and gown and glove.  Nurses typically tie up the back of your gown to maintain what is known as the sterile field.  But there is no time for that.  I would stick my belt fastener somewhere, spin around and tie it myself.  As I’m throwing the instruments on the mayo stand

 
the surgeons arrive, scrubbed and are ready to be gowned and gloved.  There is no time for second guessing, no time for close scrutiny of sterile procedure.  You have to be that good to know it second hand.  The patient is gassed by the anesthesiologist and once put out,

she is cleaned and then we drape her to prepare for the C-Section cut.  As the tech I am responsible for placing each instrument in the surgeon’s hand ready to be used.  I put the knife in his hand, sharp side down so there is no

wasted movement.  Blade in hand he moves down to skin and makes the cut.  Blindly he places his hand up, I take the knife and then give him the next instrument for the procedure.  I’ve done enough C-Sections that he doesn’t have to ask for the next instrument.  I take the blade out with one hand and place the next instrument in his had with my other hand.  That’s how we work.  And in that moment there really is no ability to talk because of the gravity of the situation.

 

In a C-Section the doctor has to cut through layers of skin, subcutaneous fat, soft tissue to get to the uterus. 

He carefully cuts the uterus to have access to the baby child.  Now in this situation there is a degree of anxiety that everyone in the room is shaking.  I am because I feel like I’m the least experienced as far as medical degrees go.  The doctor because he feels the MOST responsible for 2 lives under his hand.  It’s pretty thick with controlled panic and maladaptive fear.  With the uterus open he manipulates the baby with forceps around the head to make sure there is no cord wrapped around the neck.  Most of this is done my feel as the blood is covering everything.  No, it’s not like a car wreck, there is control, just not your everyday typical C-Section.  He speaks over his shoulder, “Forceps”.  I shakily hand him Adson

forceps with are about big enough to pick up a pea.  He takes the forceps in his hand and then he stops.

“Chris, yes these are forceps but what good do you think they’ll do when I try to grab this baby’s head?”

I felt like melting but that’s out.  He laughed and with that the tension eased completely.  I traded forceps with him and couldn’t believe what I did.  I was in a controlled panic myself the whole time waiting nervously for the next second, the next instrument, and the next pass that I completely over shot the mark on my selection. The baby and mom came out like winners, the strain in the room drained and we had a wonderful success at hand.  Plus we had something to make fun of me for the rest of my tenure at Barton. 

Another "emergency" surgery situation was a lot less hot but had to be done none the less.  When I worked at Barton I had let my hair grow out quite a bit.  One of my favorite surgeons, who was probably a couple years older than I loved to call me freak.  He was trained in Texas and he thought it gave him the right to set me in my place.  Ha ha.  I didn't mind as everybody in surgery got along as in one big dysfunctional family and we were just playing our parts.

So Dr. Flattery had an abdominal case that came in the afternoon but it interfered with his son's recital at school that day.  He chose the recital then came in after hours to do the needed procedure.  I had just finished a 10 hour day and was sitting with the nurse manager catching up on the day's gossip when Bruce walked in.  He told us his story and the nurse looked up at me and said, "It's up to Chris if he wants to stay".  Bruce looked at me with a plea and I hedged and hawed.  I wanted to go home, 10 hours is a long day standing in surgery.  But it's no ordinary job. 
"Ok, I'll do it with one condition Bruce."
"Anything Chris, what is it?" He played the game with me.
"You have to stop calling me Freak."
Bruce sighed, looked up at the ceiling, down at the floor, looked at both walls and put his hand over his chin and simply said, "Well that lady is going to die then."
"Ok redneck, I'll start scrubbing and you can stop sobbing!"  Loved my days at Barton.