| It happened twenty years ago and whenever I need to recall a strange and amusing occasion, it is the one I reach for. I was a new graduate nurse and doing my surgical rotation. I was so nervous my hands shook just from the idea of doing something wrong and the worse possible scenario would pop into my mind. It wasn't my day to make a fool of myself, although I had many of those in the next eighteen years of nursing. Today, the surgeon was Dr. John Hodges, the master of a quiet and orderly operating suite and everyone knew it. I had worked with him before as a nursing assistant, helping with bandage changes so I knew his famous "Hodges no nonsense look". He would be hard at work doing something and then suddenly his eyes would look up over his half moon glasses, his brow would furrow and you knew it was time to listen and learn. Today, he had two new students and a new surgical rotating nurse, plenty of eager and respectful faces ready to listen to his every word. It was a routine cholestectomy, removal of a gallbladder. I couldn't begin to count the number of times he had performed this surgery. We were all scrubbed, gowned and masked. There was no radio or loose conversation. Usually after the patient was put under there were the usual comments about her fitting the criteria, the four "F's"; female, forty, fat, and flatulent (meaning she passed gas constantly). For the first twenty minutes all went well, we waited for Dr. Hodges lead; when he made a casual remark we could relax and exhale. He made mention of the Braves game the night before and the tension eased from the air. The anesthesiologist read the commentary about the game from the paper, all was well. Then, time stood still as I heard Dr, Hodges clear his throat. We looked down into the surgical incision where a small black fuzzy creature lay in the open area where the gallbladder had once resided. The women recognized it almost immediately. It was one of the scrub nurse's fake eyelashes; complete with mascara, glue and liner. She said, "Oh, I am so sorry, Dr Hodges, so very sorry". His eyes looking up over the glasses and mask told the whole story. Makeup in those days was a no-no. Dr. Hodges picked up the offensive creature and disposed of it. He then irrigated the area with lots of saline solution and antibiotics. He finished the procedure with a final command, "this goes no further than this room, understood?" You could have heard a pin drop. As the years went by and I worked as a staff RN on a surgical floor, Dr Hodges and I often helped each other change bandages, remove sutures and he or I would say, "Remember the time?" He had mellowed and I had developed a great respect for a wonderful caring surgeon. When he died from a MI (heart attack), the church overflowed. Medicine is all too often a serious profession and you have to grab the "lighter side" when you can. |
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| One Night in the Cold |