We have heard of accidental death, natural death, suicide and even undetermined deaths, but what happens when you are destined to die during your operation? Death during an operation is scarce, but one can originate all theatre members’ psychological and professional consequences. Every day, surgeons enter a heroic and prodigious battle, where success is in the hands of themselves.
Hospitals. An environment where all undisclosed infections soare about, people on the verge of death are pushed into operations, a column of people waiting to receive their prescriptions: every minute, every second counts. On one side, giggling of staff members and patients and on the other, the grieving and sorrow of a deceased immediate member.
Imagine standing in a painstakingly complicated surgery early in the morning. The leading surgeon diligently made an incision into the kidneys, avoiding any vessels that found their way out into the scintillating theatre light. When the vein was fastened, the blood gushed out. At first, it came thick and powerful, forcing itself out of the narrow shortcuts between the surgeon’s fingers that gripped the site of the wound tightly. Despite the continued blood spillage, steadily and carefully, the surgeon made his second attempt at removing the ruptured vessel. A few moments later, it found itself amid the surgeons, who were glaring down with desperate eyes. Once again, the vessel containing the tumour refused to be caught in the hands of the surgeon, sliding itself away from the presence of the flashing light. Blood continued to gush between the surgeon’s fingers, oozing under his hands. The bleeding intensified. We had to make a decision. Now.
What do you do when the usual treatment procedure aggravates into a new complication? We proceeded with a new plan. The atmosphere changed: now a menacing silence, punctuated with further instructions and requests. The battle continued. More stitches, more swabs, more hands, more blood, more instruments and more failure on the patient whose life is at stake. The hope in the surgeon’s eyes has disappeared, leaving a carnenous scar in his pure heart. The numbers on the screen were flashing, dropping and alarming. Beep. It’s over. The procedure, the anaesthetic, the life.
The surgeon ripped his gown, slamming shut the door behind him. Momentarily, a pause as silence covered the theatre. The body was covered. It wasn’t the surgeon’s fault, neither was it anyone’s fault. Yet, it was another instance of pain and suffering. A battle. A battle they fight for their patients. It was a new experience. An experience that I doubt will ever change.
On the horizon, the sun blooms, its golden petals stretching into the rich, plain, blue sky. It’s a pleasing flower of the sky that brings warmth into our lives despite the hardships we face. To put it simply, an invitation to a new day, perhaps the birth of a lost individual.
