So...took call with the trauma team yesterday. Felt great to be back on the service again. The day started off great. Got back to the OR and had some good cases to include an ex lap for a bowel obstruction. It was sweet, got to sew on some intestines again....been forever. I know, weird shit to be happy about but I was training for 5 years to do that stuff.
Suddenly, we get a call that a major trauma is incoming. Car vs. bike and the guy is really dorked up. Just as the ambulance hits the ER door, the paramedic says they lost vital signs. Now, as surgeons, this means one thing. We have to cut this poor bastards chest open to see what the hell is going on. So, with big ass knife in hand, we put a whack on this cat's chest from is sternum to the table and with a couple of big chomps of heavy scissors, we are looking at lung. Rib spreader goes in to give us room. Open up the pericardium (the sac of tissue that holds your heart) and blood gushes out. Then we see it, a huge hole in this guy's heart. I call for a stapler (yes, a stapler) but he has no cardiac motion. He's dead and we call it. And in my demented mind, all I can think of is GODDAMNIT. I didn't get to cross clamp his aorta...oh well, good anatomy lesson I guess.
Then we get 2 assholes who were shot "minding their own business of course). Both shot in the chest. Now whoever shot these two Mensa members has to be the luckiest bastards ever, they hit nothing important...nothing. We sent them home from the ER but judging on the number of tattoos and lack of teeth they had...we will be seeing them back in the ER any day now. I guess it is better to be lucky than good. I'm neither.
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