PJ's

Just call me ‘Hef’.

As in Hugh Hefner. After all, the similarities are astounding. First, we both walk around all day in our PJ’s. Next, we’re both surrounded by women for hours at a time. Finally, guys want to be us. Let me explain.

I started anesthetics this week, or the art of putting people to sleep. Since the majority of work is done in the operating rooms, you have to wear scrubs all day – which the anesthetists all call pajamas. Never heard a surgeon doing that. So I throw on a pair of shorts, head to the hospital, and get into my PJ’s, and then walk around all day, looking impressive. (I never thought anything could be more powerful than walking around with a stethoscope, but wearing scrubs tops it. You walk with a slight rush and everyone clears out of your way, assuming you’re late for open-heart surgery. Never mind the fact you’re just trying to get to the front of the lunch line. But I digress.)

Then there are the hordes of women. I mean, a cute doctor-to-be running around in his PJ’s? And I’m walking beside him? While it would be nice to say it’s the swimsuit models flocking all around, it’s more that most of the surgical nurses are female, and they are assisting us in prepping patients for surgery – putting in IV lines and such. At least they’re in their PJ’s, too…

And, hey – what guy *wouldn’t* want to saunter around in his ‘jammys all day? Maybe Hef had it right…

But I did see something rather disturbing this week. And I mean *really* disturbing – the kinda thing that nightmares are made of. I was in theatre (the operating kind, not the acting kind) and had just intubated a male patient. Another med student was going to put a urinary catheter into his, uh, well, you figure it out. So he tried. Then the junior surgeon tried. Then the chief of surgery tried. No luck for any of them.

OK, guys, you are all encouraged to skip the next few paragraphs.

Because then they pulled out the implements of destruction. The team started by inserting a very *large* metal rod to open up the blockage in his, uh, you know. Now, I didn’t ask to measure, but from where I was standing, it looked like the rod was about the width of a flagpole. And that was just the first size they tried.

Which means they then tried the next larger size.

They did everything short of getting out a hammer to get these rods past the problem. Now remember where this rod was going: Into his, uh, hoo-ha. They pushed and probed and prodded and grunted and forced and strained and still had no luck. After many failed attempts with the surgical flagpoles, and some blood from the patient, they finally called the urologist. Who, after several attempts with the afore mentioned catheter and metal rods, decided he needed backup and called the head of urology. The Chief finally got past the stricture by doing what any male would do: he broke out the high-tech power tools and proved – once again – any place in the human body can be reached with the combination of a large needle and brute strength. But my classmate – the med student who started it all off with the failed catheter about 3 hours ago – had the best line:

“His Mr. Winky is going to be sore when he wakes up…”

OK guys, you can come back.

And with that, it’s the weekend. As I’ve started a new rotation, I’ll have a bit of studying to do to get up to speed, along with catching up with classmates, plus getting started on my last paper of the year. Not to mention ironing my silk PJ’s and smoking jacket…

As always, Love to All and keep working on your 101 List!
Bryan