Needlestick

"Bro, go back to bed 16. I'll cover you here."

"Yesss!" I told myself. I haven't seen a chest tube insertion before and It's time I learned to how to assist in one just so when the rare occasion arises, I'd be ready.

Our patient, a gentleman in his early twenty's, has pleural empyema (accumulation of pus in the pleural cavity). It is important to drain the pus via chest tube drainage. If it doesn't work, then surgical intervention is necessary- a thoracotomy (yes, open the effin thorax!).

The tray was set-up and Melissa was already assisting Dr. X, one of our respected Cardiothoracic Surgeons. Shiet. Now what? I was hoping I'd get to do it this time. I wanted the action! And it seems like I missed 1/3 of the procedure...dammit. The patient has already been anesthetized. At least the surgeon hasn't stuck the tube in yet. Oh well.

Luckily though, I wasn't assisting him. As Dr. X was looking for a smaller scalpel, he buried his hand into the tray, and bam! Lo and behold- the syringe he used for anesthesia-was stuck to his right thumb. He threw the damned syringe. Picked up another instrument and slammed it into the tray. Picked up another. Slammed it into the tray. My face turned pale. The guy was mad. I hope I don't have a scalpel stuck to my forehead.

Melissa shrugged. And the beast in Dr. X. was unleashed. "That wasn't funny. I'm on Chemotherapy!". The crowd went silent. "Order an HIV antibody test!". The nurses scrambled to kiss his ass.

Oh holy snaps. The poor surgeon is recovering from cancer. Hence the absence of his hair. Hence his long absence in the hospital. Hence the absence of his temper control. Wow...

Worse, a 28 and a 32 size tube didn't drain anything. He scheduled an emergency surgery right away. This guy has to work against his physical condition, the pleural empyema that the young man is suffering from, and the uncertainty of this potentially fatal mistake.

I hate being philisophical at work but this is one time where I had to step out to the smoking area and ponder the severity of the circumstance. What's gonna happen to Dr. X? Now that he's immunocompromised, a potential opprtunistic disease is within the horizon. More importantly, I thought of myself. I thought of the risks-including my own life- that comes with this chosen profession. I thought of the challenges that one has to undergo, especially that of foregoing important personal issues to be able to address a stranger's immediate needs. It seemed too much. It seemed too taxing. It seemed very heavy.

I stepped back into the ER. After a brief conversation with myself, I thought...

"It's just a needlestick. It happens...This cannot stop me from keeping my calling. This cannot stop me from saving lives. This cannot stop me from getting my MD".

Nine more hours and it's time to go home.