An effort to recapitulate and share my ideas,views and thoughts in words...

Standing in the operation theater [OT] as a student, with nothing to do; not even having irritation from the houseflies is a tough task. It was yet another long day in the OT, standing and dreaming. Its amazing how thoughts from various fields of interest cross your mind while standing and watching a surgery! My mind wandered from the much waited football match I was going to see to the new rock single that has captivated my mind. Just then, the surgeon finished his first case. I hummed a mellow song as he let the intern do the suturing. After that was done, I settled down with my mates in a corner of the OT. As we relaxed, cracking jokes and sharing opinions about the doctors, the Surgeon approached us and asked,

 "So who is going to assist me in the next case? Its a fibroadenoma of breast

I wasted no time in informing him that he had been mistaken and that we were just undergraduates, not residents or interns. To our dismay, we learnt that he had meant what he said and he was well aware that we were students. As none of us were ready to step up to this gruesome task, the surgeon himself decided to choose his assistant and much to my horror, he chose me!

He showed me the proper way to wash hands and I mimicked every gesture of his like a silly chimp. The bad omens were starting to show as I opened the door with my hands, forgetful about the fact that I had just washed to make my hands sterile. A strange feeling hovered about myself, something that said the surgeon has selected the wrong person. I was happy my mask covered my nose and mouth completely as I was too embarrassed to face my mates [I'm sure they would remember the day when i cut the big Internal carotid artery of a cadaver into 2!]. I washed my hands again and thankfully, this time I thudded open the door with my leg [So forcefully that it reminded me of the old Wild Wild West films]. The next tedious process would be the gloving of hands. The surgeon had a horrid time explaining how to get my hands gloved up in the right manner. Much to my relief, no...his relief, I was able to do it on the third attempt. 

I watched him incise the skin over the breast, blood gushed from the cut capillaries, I was asked to mop it with cotton, he was not too impressed with my mopping as it was more like pampering the cheeks of a supermodel with powder. Rest of my job was pretty easy, I was busy retracting the skin while he worked meticulously with his skilled hands and removed the tumor. It was a great experience, something very different from working on the cold clammy cadavers. You could feel the pulsations, you could feel the warmth of blood and of course the agonizing cries of the patient whenever the surgeon transgressed to an area which had not been anesthetized. 

As my mates crowded around me to get a view of what was going on, my embarrassment started giving way to pride. I started feeling thankful to the surgeon for choosing me to assist him. After all I can proudly say that I assisted a surgeon. The surgery finished, the patient well and fine. As I changed my theater clothes, My phone rung, It was my best friend he asked 

"Where were you mate? Iv been trying to get you on call for half an hour!"

I replied with an air of confidence 

"Oh dude! Sorry, I was assisting in a surgery you know!".


You're a good writer.It looks to me like a little part of a novel..but it's more then this.It's a little part of your life :)

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Thanks For appreciation....:)
Its So encouraging..


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