After a couple slices of bread, some tomatoes and rice, I run down to the Women’s Locker Room to change into scrubs. I wonder to myself why they suggest eating lunch before observing surgery, since I assume some may have trouble holding onto their lunches. I pull the loose blue scrubs over my head and wonder if my lunch will stay in place, especially in the midst of riding out that stomach virus this week.
Right before 1 pm, I tell the OR (operating room) supervisor that I am ready to go. There are three surgeries going on. One involves some bone fusing that has been going on since the morning time and looks like it will take the rest of the day. Lots of blood. Everywhere. Second, a 15-minute surgery that involves removing some tongue that has been stuck to the bottom of the mouth. Third, the removal of a large egg-sized tumor from the carotid area as well as two fat packs from the patient’s arm.
‘Which would you like to see?’ she asks.
Bone fusing, tumor removing, tongue releasing. My lunch is about to give her an answer, but then I say, ‘If possible, may I watch the tongue surgery and then switch over to the tumor?’ I really want to see a surgery from beginning to end, and bone carnage is at the bottom of my list, anyway.
I walk into OR One and see that Dr. Gary has started begun. Only the patient’s mouth is in the open. The rest of the body is draped in aquamarine drop cloth. He has already freed the tongue and is now sewing the sutures. Like a skilled craftsman, and not unlike advanced knitters or embroiderers I’ve seen, his hands are swift, nimble, and very precise. He uses two forceps to sew up the suture. I am unable to see anything, and at this point am unsure if I want to see anything. It is very calm, very quick and as promised, fifteen minutes pass and he is done. The nurse asks me to step outside and wait for the tumor operation in OR Four.
As I am waiting outside, Dr. Gary comes out. I have never heard a bad word spoken against him. Gracious. Capable. Respectable. Those are commonly spoken of Dr. Gary. He is the kind of man who can smile with his eyes (which helps especially when constantly wearing a surgical mask.).
Dr. Gary stops to explain the tumor surgery to me. It is a tumor in the carotid area (neck, underneath the chin) on the left side. He has to be careful in cutting out the tumor because it is close to some nerves essential to blinking, smiling, and other functions he’s sure the patient wants to keep. It will take a while, he says. The patient has also developed two fat packs on her shoulder and forearm which causes her to look very disfigured.
When the patient is fully anesthesized, I am allowed in the room.
On the operating table is a fully grown woman with closely cropped hair. Her small feet poke out from beneath the aquamarine cloths and in passing I notice her chipped toe nails. Her head is turned to her right side and on her left, the tumor, as described by Dr. Gary. It bulges outward. The jaw line ceases at that point as the tumor hills and crests behind her ear.
Dr. Gary draws a line with a marker. This is where he will cut.
He asks Donna, the anesthestist, who this woman is.
‘Her name is Kaybo,’ she says.
Dr. Gary lays his skilled hands on the patient’s head. He says a prayer for her before he begins.
‘Kaybo, did you say?’ I ask. ‘I just selected her yesterday as my patient!’
I saw her name earlier in the week hanging on the poles for our ‘adopt-a-patient’ program and had a feeling about her. She is 49 years old. She will be here from anywhere from four days to two weeks. I had not visited her yet due to my own maladies, but here I was witnessing her surgery.
‘Well, that certainly isn’t a coincidence!’ Donna replies. Suddenly, the surgery took on a newer meaning. Here was someone I had chosen out of so many to take care of during her stay here. And, perhaps, not quite randomly, she was chosen for me ahead of time.
Dr. Gary picks up a scalpel. The first incision is small but decisive. The skin automatically splits and a layer of yellow fat tissue is revealed. There is a little bit of blood, but not much. I listen to the beeping of the heart monitor. Donna monitors her vitals.
Cut, snip, push, tuck. The movements are both gentle and firm. The tumor is revealed and blood begins to drip out. It is lumpy, foreign, and against the rest of the human body which seems to make sense, one can tell that it should have no place in this woman’s body. Yet, this thing has grown to be a part of her body and is nourished by her blood.
I remember what Dr. Gary says about his need for caution around this area of the body. Just then, he takes he finds a nerve and pokes at it. Kaybo’s mouth twitches. He’s found the nerve and it was only 30 minutes into the surgery. With this information he is able to move about faster.
Dr. Gary and his OR nurse, Steffa, proceed to cut, snip, push, and tuck some more. The tumor is coming out. I feel my tear ducts pinch. I’m about to cry. This woman’s life will change for the better without this tumor and I am so happy for her.
Dr. Gary plucks the tumor out and puts it on a cold, stainless steel tray that Debbie, another nurse, is holding.
‘Dinner?’ She jokes. Dr. Gary sews up the sutures in a neat, clean line.
Dr. Gary moves onto the fat packs. When he opens the skin, the fat cluster bursts out. The cluster is the color of flan, or meringue, or the hue of a bridesmaid’s dress for a summer wedding. He pulls it out with a pair of forceps as matter-of-factly as pulling out a ball of hair from the shower drain. He hands it to Steffa and she puts it on the instrument table. I want to poke at it, but decide not to.
After the second fat pocket, Dr. Gary looks over all the sutures he’s closed up. Kaybo’s heartbeat is normal. She’s breathing evenly. He gets up and removes his gloves, his mask, and outer gown. I thank him for the incredible experience, noting how God has made such amazing machines for human bodies. He makes a casual and humble remark about how it is even more amazing that surgeons don’t get in the way of God’s creation.
‘Wow and all before 3.30!’ I say. I mention that I’m still able to go to my practice fire drill, which I am a part of as my role on the reception team.
‘You’re not staying for OR One?’ He is already down the hallway. ‘I’m doing another surgery right now!’ I laugh, but dismiss myself. He’s in charge of one kind of life saving, but these practice fire drills are so that I can help in another kind of life saving, I hope.
As I leave, I pass by OR One. I see the patient lying down on the operating table before he is anesthesized. We make eye contact. He is very afraid.
Don’t worry, I say to him in my mind. You are in good hands.
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