A Young Jackanapes as a Scrub Nurse

Ahh.. It's Lent,  a historical time for introspection and coming clean with bad habits and misdeeds from the past. When more than one disinterested party brings attention to your personality flaws, it's time to pay attention, they probably have a legitimate grievance. One of the accusations tossed my way more than once was, "You are a blowhard." There I said it and allow me to explain.

Before a blowhard starts pontificating, it's wise to make sure your employment is secured by your job performance. I tried to be really good at what I was doing so the surgeons would need my services. Dr. Slambow used to request my services by calling the scheduler and demanding the services of that "jackanapes of a scrub nurse." Everyone knew who he was asking for. He used to describe me as the  most quiet scrub nurse he ever worked with. That was most likely another reason for my long term survival in the OR. Stress and long cases could initiate my assorted lame brain suggestions and tips for wise surgeons baloney.

For instance, one long case that dragged on for hours  involved a partial nephrectomy done by the chief of surgery. He was laboriously sewing tiny little BB sized pieces of abdominal fat to cover the excised surface of the kidney remnant. My fingers were aching,  loading one endless needle holder (or needle driver as you whppersnapperns call them,) after another. Suddenly I asked him, "Why don't you just suture one big giant fat ball onto that kidney and be done with it?" He did not miss a beat and said sardonically, "It doesn't work that way Fool!" I kept my mouth shut, but managed to walk away from my Mayo stand with a certain swagger as the circulator said with disbelief, "I can't believe you said that to the chief of surgery."

I was circulating on a portal caval shunt which is a high risk surgery especially with someone that has less than optimal clotting factors resulting from years of alcohol use. Suddenly the patient began bleeding very badly and it was my task to implore the blood bank that we needed everything they had for this patient. The technician began badgering me with endless questions about why we needed all that blood. Finally, tired of her interrogation, I said "We just really need the blood. The surgeon chopped too big of hole for the surgery." Later, I realized that everyone in the room heard my lame brained description of the surgery. But, hey we got the blood.

Bovie smoke really got to me and I had ways to minimize the damage. I frequently instructed the residents on how to use an ordinary suction to aspirate some of the smoke. I used to call these procedures "tips for wise resident surgeons" and most of the time they went along with my foolishness, but in hindsight it was just another blowhard manifestation.

At least aging has put some of a damper on my blowhard nature, I hope.