The Assist

I kept screwing up.

I could see the annoyance on the anesthetist’s face as I bumped into things and progressively got more and more nervous, as I came near to jeopardizing the sterility of the operation room.

Keep your hands at the level of your chest.

Almost sounded like that line from the Phantom of the Opera. Only less dramatic, and in a setting which I was starting to freak out a little bit.

Thank god for the nice nurse who took me aside and helped me through the scrub.

A scrub, for those medically out of the loop, is thoroughly washing up the hands and forearms. Then again, that put aside, there’s a lot of other things one has to do; the placement of hands in the ‘sterile zone’, a hundred and one little things to think about.

At least that’s what it seemed like to me.

No pressure.

Oh wait. Except for a whole team of surgeons and doctors and nurses who would have to wait, re-sterilize everything, and a patient who’s surgery would be inevitably delayed.

I was told to move into the little space. I was in so close I was pressed up against the patient and the surgeon and I meekly stood there as an observer until I noticed the other surgeon looking at me.

The surgeon disconcerted me. He was youngish, with a serious face and I was so close I could see the flecks of brown reflected in his light eyes. It was his eyes though, the steady, unwavering gaze that unsettled me somewhat. An intense gaze, with what seemed to be a multitude of activity lurking in it’s depths.

Perhaps eyes are the windows to the soul. Crap, crap, crap. Please don’t ask me any questions.

He beckoned at me to pick up the scissors and assist him with the minimal procedures. I admit to a sudden prick of enthusiasm at actually being needed. Minor, in the least, but it was nice to be able to be ‘part of the team’, as we were so often told but more in name than anything else.

I suppose the new environment takes a little getting used to.