Practice Makes Perfect
Paul set his Styrofoam cup on the kitchen table and poured himself coffee. Black. He settled in a chair with a sigh. Kenneth and Alvin sat around the table. Alvin snored softly. They were both his classmates in med school. Kenneth, currently in his second year of residency in orthopedic surgery, looked up from a magazine. He still wore his scrub suit. Small bloodstains peppered the blue fabric.
“Morning, Kenny. Busy night?”
“You bet,” he answered, setting the magazine on the table. People. “Did a below-the-knee amputation last night.”
Paul’s eyes widened, and for a brief moment, he felt envious. “Really? How’d it go?”
Kenneth leaned closer, obviously eager to share his experience. “I had trouble with the tibia at first. Patient had significant blood loss, but I transfused two units of blood and increased the IV rate. He’s going to be okay.”
Paul raised his cup in congratulations. “My man!” He sipped his coffee and imagined the caffeine working its way through his body. He nodded in Alvin’s direction. “What happened to Sleeping Beauty?” Still snoring, Alvin’s head was on the table, his face hidden behind folded arms. The top of his head looked like a furry gopher’s ass.
“You mean Alvin? He performed an exploratory laparotomy a few hours ago and then decided to do an appendectomy.”
Paul grinned and shook his head in disbelief. “You guys have been busy.”
Kenneth chuckled. “Practice makes perfect.”
Alvin mumbled something in his sleep. His head continued mooning them.
Paul drained his coffee and stood up. “Well, I gotta go. We’re still on for tonight at Oxen’s, right?”
“So long as you’re buying.”
“I thought it was Alvin’s turn to buy drinks.”
Kenneth returned to his magazine. “His. Yours. Doesn’t matter to me.”
Paul laughed. “See you later, then.”
“Good luck with the operation.”
The AC hummed softly, filling the room with cool air that was most welcome. The basement was well lit but far from ideal. The patient–a homeless bum sans left leg and appendix (courtesy of Kenny’s BKA and Alvin’s ex-lap)–lay on the makeshift operating table.
Last night, Paul had decided to do a nephrectomy, the complete removal of a kidney. The bum lay sedated, unconscious. Just another nameless face off the streets. They’d need a new patient soon, though. Paul wouldn’t be surprised if this one died intra-operatively.
To become a successful surgeon, one needs skill. To obtain skill, one needs practice.
Practice makes perfect.
Paul lowered the scalpel against the patient’s skin. The instrument gleamed for an instant, catching the light from one of the overhead bulbs. The blade parted the skin and underlying layers effortlessly.
Paul began whistling a tune. He was pretty sure it was Alvin’s turn to buy drinks tonight.