Theatre implies a show, and what a show there was. The first drama was the very sight of the patient. When I walked in, all scrubbed up, the patient was asleep with general anesthetic and covered up with sterile blue sheets. He was entirely covered from view except for his left leg, which was being coated in yellow plastic, (I later learned from a nurse that this was to minimise skin shedding of the patient, that may get into the wound). Then came the first incision. It felt like my legs had gone from underneath me. The sheer shock of a person being cut up in front of me, albeit anesthetised, is a momentous one. Furthermore, as you look at the patient, in this case a small boy, you can't help but plead in your head that they'll leave him intact.
However, after the initial shock of the mechanics of the procedure, I soon calmed down. Even now, my first observations seem incredibly naive, in hindsight that is, but I've included them here for perspective. I was comforted by the conversations I had with the lovely anesthetists during the rest of the surgery. Having someone there to explain what is happening is immensely reassuring, and takes the nightmarish qualities out of the experience.
Likewise, seeing the measured cooperation and calmness of the team around me filled me with an equivalent composure, and I began to appreciate the complex surgery that was being undertaken in front of my eyes. Indeed the rest of the week followed and I saw a dozen surgeries, I am hugely grateful for the experience and became so accustomed to the blood and gore of that week that I am slightly concerned for my mental wellbeing as I doubt it is normal for a human being to be unperturbed by an entirely open leg, arm or hip of their fellow man.
Regardless, I enjoyed the fascinating experience, and my first exposure to surgery.
Image source: http://ossmig.orthop.washington.edu/Portals/1/OR1.jpg
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