Behind Closed Doors: Weather Patterns

Rampant wildfires, historic flooding, destructive hurricanes and record-setting heat waves have made this year one for the record books. And while the weather outside is becoming increasingly erratic and impossible to depend on, it’s somewhat comforting to know the climate inside the OR hasn’t changed much throughout my career — even if current conditions can sometimes be severe. 

Severe thunderstorm. A new scrub tech hasn’t yet had the pleasure of working with Dr. Particular, a demanding physician who needs his instruments arranged just so. If just one tool is out of place, his anger will begin as a slow rumble before he claps down on the surgical team with a flash of rage. The tech should be sure to note this picky surgeon’s many likes and dislikes on his preference card — even though he’ll want something entirely different the next time he blows into the OR.

Hurricane season. Iris. Charley. Irene. Nate. We all know coworkers whose complaints form as minor disturbances in the atmosphere but quickly gain steam and strengthen into Category 5 rants and raves, causing chaos and mass destruction in their wake as they track straight to the supervisor.

Tornado warning. The high school linebacker who had his knee scoped is waking from the effects of anesthesia in a whirlwind of violent emotions. The rotation of the PACU staff left me alone, twisting in the wind, as his flailing arms send a debris ball of surgical supplies into the unstable atmosphere. Thankfully, a nearby anesthesia pro heard the commotion and helped me take cover until the danger passed.

Heat wave. The scorching, sweat-dripping temperature of the room whenever we operate on a pediatric patient is unbearable. Please just let me cocoon the little person in warm blankets and move the thermostat somewhere below 80 degrees before someone on the hardworking surgical team passes out.

Drought conditions. Like Lake Mead’s current reservoir, there isn’t enough warm saline in the fluid warmer, so you hit up other warmers scattered about in neighboring ORs. It takes some time and ingenuity, but you eventually end the saline drought because nurses always find a way to get the job done.

Flash flood. Recently, I saw a new young nurse on the verge of tears, and it reminded me of the many times the demands of surgery nearly opened the floodgates for me during a particularly trying case. There’s no doubt the long days and high-stress environment of life in surgery take their toll. Like a cloud bursting with moisture, caregivers are entitled to a good cry now and then — but there’s a time and a place for everything. After I noticed my young colleague’s situation, I quickly relieved her so she could go to the restroom to regain her composure. Later, I pulled her aside and offered advice that has helped me through the years: Try to hold in the tears until you’re alone. Then, when you’re by yourself, cry your eyes out and scream and shout and cuss if it makes you feel better. It gets easier with time.

As trying as working in surgery can be, especially recently, it’s also a calling — and a career I wouldn’t trade for the world. Let’s hope the months ahead are filled with mostly sunny skies, calm breezes and mild temperatures. We all deserve a positive long-range forecast. OSM