Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Penis For A Change.
I had a penis in my hand today. I can't actually remember the last time such inaugurating moment stirred my composure. Needless to say it was not something I expected at one o'clock in the afternoon, and probably something I could do without.
For my sins, I had the pleasure of anaesthetising the patients for the orthopaedic list in the morning. The first chap on the list, was cheeky and had a lot to say, probably because he'd been in and out of hospitals so many a time before.
However, I had the final say in saying that he was not to be put to sleep for his hip replacement, because his lungs were, how do I say it correctly, a bit knackered round the gills? I mean just by looking at his skin I could tell that this delightful chap was at least on a pack a day of cigarettes.
His hair was languid, skin flaked and pasty, I even thought he was seventy but no, he was sixty years of age. His middle and index finger were heavily yellow stained, evident of avid holder of the worldly celebrated white sticks with stubs. And that halithosis, man!
Exercise tolerance wise? He could probably do a slow steady stroll to the nearest newsagent which is probably about 2 blocks away to get the morning paper and the cigarettes before making his way back again. Possibly stopping in between to have lots and lots of a breather, but that's about it.
Bottom line was though, he still needed a new hip because the NHS had been kind enough to let him have a new hip to enable him to have that stroll to that newsagent, because failure to do so will result in him spiral down to the depression abyss and this will cost the country a whole load of money to treat his depression. *Tongue in the cheek*
Alternative to putting him to sleep and rendering him on the machine because of his knackered lungs, I chose to stick a spinal needle in him and make his legs 'go away' so that the ortho boys can get in there and jiggle it about.
I must say though of all types of surgeons, the sight of orthopods at work will win the 'scrumptious surgeons at work award' anytime, I mean the sheer force you need to get the acetabulum clonked back into position is just diabolical and sinful to watch.
The boys finished magically materialized a new hip for this chap and I wheeled him into the recovery area where he misbehaved ardously and I was sure I had all areas of my scalp scratched trying to get to the bottom of the problems.
1. His blood pressure was in the boots and not only that, it remained in the boots despite all efforts.
2. He started wimpering and metamorphysized into a creepy howl many moments later, holding to his groinal area.
I was at my wits end fretting, and trying to look cool.
I knew the effect of the spinal might have worn off, so that's the answer to him having the pain. By this time the recovery nurses were running around like mad ostriches, wailing and panicking. To this moment I am still wondering about the need for the drama.
It's been a while since I examined anybody's body properly, but one gentle palpation confirmed that he had a bladder the size of a football and 'hard'!! No wonder he's barking mad.
Inability to wee is one of the recognized complications of spinal anaesthesia.
"So what now doc?", asked the nurse with the moustache.
"You could stick a catheter in and out" I said with my whipper-snapper attitude.
"I don't do male catheterization", she tepidly enlightened me on the general situation between nurses and catheters.
It transpired later that this bunch of nurses 'will not' touch any penises period. So, I had to do it myself despite the fact that my afternoon list was starting in 10 minutes time and I had not had lunch. I winced at the thought.
I explained to the chap what was going to happen. He was at the end of his tether by then, and agreeable to anything suggested so long it didn't involve emasculation.
The 'insertion of the catheter' involves grabbing hold of the shaft of the penis and with a clever geometrical arrangement of your five fingers, scaffolding the thing to imitate the state of a 'Big Ben'.
Needless to say, the procedure is best attempted when this state is preemptively and naturally constructed. Of course the optimum condition will result in some frowning and pouting.
The procedure is then completed with shoving a pencil size tube, made of stiff rubber, coated with PTFE (god knows what it stands for). A normal man would normally curse at this stage but the responses in the past had been eclectic probably due to the fact that the agonizing pain from not able to wee greatly surpasses that of being shoved a tube up the willy.
So I did the above, with great elan, bearing in mind I have not done this for ages. I thought I heard him saying,
"AHHhhhhhhhhhhh...thank you darling" with the most satisfying sigh one could ever imagined. A big grin plastered on his face on top of his exhilirating half shut eyes. His wonky half missing nicotine stained teeth did a revolting tarantella dance.
"That was beautiful", another quirky remark. What started seemingly gratifying now turned into a pervetish comment.
I dropped the lump of meat where it rightly belonged and beckoned one of the nurses to sort out the extension to the catheter.
Tosser!
I went away for solitude and I was sure the blood pressure would have corrected itself by then.
For my sins, I had the pleasure of anaesthetising the patients for the orthopaedic list in the morning. The first chap on the list, was cheeky and had a lot to say, probably because he'd been in and out of hospitals so many a time before.
However, I had the final say in saying that he was not to be put to sleep for his hip replacement, because his lungs were, how do I say it correctly, a bit knackered round the gills? I mean just by looking at his skin I could tell that this delightful chap was at least on a pack a day of cigarettes.
His hair was languid, skin flaked and pasty, I even thought he was seventy but no, he was sixty years of age. His middle and index finger were heavily yellow stained, evident of avid holder of the worldly celebrated white sticks with stubs. And that halithosis, man!
Exercise tolerance wise? He could probably do a slow steady stroll to the nearest newsagent which is probably about 2 blocks away to get the morning paper and the cigarettes before making his way back again. Possibly stopping in between to have lots and lots of a breather, but that's about it.
Bottom line was though, he still needed a new hip because the NHS had been kind enough to let him have a new hip to enable him to have that stroll to that newsagent, because failure to do so will result in him spiral down to the depression abyss and this will cost the country a whole load of money to treat his depression. *Tongue in the cheek*
Alternative to putting him to sleep and rendering him on the machine because of his knackered lungs, I chose to stick a spinal needle in him and make his legs 'go away' so that the ortho boys can get in there and jiggle it about.
I must say though of all types of surgeons, the sight of orthopods at work will win the 'scrumptious surgeons at work award' anytime, I mean the sheer force you need to get the acetabulum clonked back into position is just diabolical and sinful to watch.
The boys finished magically materialized a new hip for this chap and I wheeled him into the recovery area where he misbehaved ardously and I was sure I had all areas of my scalp scratched trying to get to the bottom of the problems.
1. His blood pressure was in the boots and not only that, it remained in the boots despite all efforts.
2. He started wimpering and metamorphysized into a creepy howl many moments later, holding to his groinal area.
I was at my wits end fretting, and trying to look cool.
I knew the effect of the spinal might have worn off, so that's the answer to him having the pain. By this time the recovery nurses were running around like mad ostriches, wailing and panicking. To this moment I am still wondering about the need for the drama.
It's been a while since I examined anybody's body properly, but one gentle palpation confirmed that he had a bladder the size of a football and 'hard'!! No wonder he's barking mad.
Inability to wee is one of the recognized complications of spinal anaesthesia.
"So what now doc?", asked the nurse with the moustache.
"You could stick a catheter in and out" I said with my whipper-snapper attitude.
"I don't do male catheterization", she tepidly enlightened me on the general situation between nurses and catheters.
It transpired later that this bunch of nurses 'will not' touch any penises period. So, I had to do it myself despite the fact that my afternoon list was starting in 10 minutes time and I had not had lunch. I winced at the thought.
I explained to the chap what was going to happen. He was at the end of his tether by then, and agreeable to anything suggested so long it didn't involve emasculation.
The 'insertion of the catheter' involves grabbing hold of the shaft of the penis and with a clever geometrical arrangement of your five fingers, scaffolding the thing to imitate the state of a 'Big Ben'.
Needless to say, the procedure is best attempted when this state is preemptively and naturally constructed. Of course the optimum condition will result in some frowning and pouting.
The procedure is then completed with shoving a pencil size tube, made of stiff rubber, coated with PTFE (god knows what it stands for). A normal man would normally curse at this stage but the responses in the past had been eclectic probably due to the fact that the agonizing pain from not able to wee greatly surpasses that of being shoved a tube up the willy.
So I did the above, with great elan, bearing in mind I have not done this for ages. I thought I heard him saying,
"AHHhhhhhhhhhhh...thank you darling" with the most satisfying sigh one could ever imagined. A big grin plastered on his face on top of his exhilirating half shut eyes. His wonky half missing nicotine stained teeth did a revolting tarantella dance.
"That was beautiful", another quirky remark. What started seemingly gratifying now turned into a pervetish comment.
I dropped the lump of meat where it rightly belonged and beckoned one of the nurses to sort out the extension to the catheter.
Tosser!
I went away for solitude and I was sure the blood pressure would have corrected itself by then.
