arm and began to stroke it softly while speaking comforting words. The
patient started crying. She looked up at the circulator and said, "I'm not
used to someone touching me nicely." With that, the mask came down,
off she went off to sleep, and off I went to holding, where my next
patient was brought in straight from the ER for a laparoscopic chole-
cystectomy.
Where's his leg? What's that smell?
Sitting up on the stretcher in just a hospital gown was a white-haired
man in his late 60s with a long unkempt beard. His face held deep wrin-
kles and his eyes were sunken in and bloodshot. I could see only one
leg stretched out on the stretcher, so I assumed he had an above-the-
knee amputation. I stood there while the surgeon spoke with him about
the surgical plan and gave him the consent to sign. The man became
alarmed.
"I came to the ER because my stomach hurt from stress. No one
ever said I had a gallbladder problem. Surgery? No, I have to call my
family."
The man smelled terrible. I covered him with a warm blanket — not
just for warmth and modesty, but to conceal his odor from the other
patients. I tried to calm him down by explaining what he could expect
in the OR and what would happen before he went to sleep. He
stretched out his other leg and looked at me with his sad and tired
eyes.
Tears ran down his face and his voice cracked when he told me of his
concern for his sick wife, what his daughter's ex-husband would do
without him there to protect her, who's going to take care of his grand-
kids, and what if his clothes and shoes were stolen from the patient
bag? This man was scared and confused, alone without family or friend
Behind Closed Doors
BCD
1 1 0 • O U T PA T I E N T S U R G E R Y M A G A Z I N E • M a y 2 0 1 7
