• The vanishing tech. She's ghosted — again — after leaving the
OR 3 other times to "drop something off in PACU" or "pick something
up in pre-op" or "get her badge she forgot in the car."
• Attorney on a gurney. You interview the patient, a mild-man-
nered, soft-spoken sweetheart of a woman. You go over her consent,
and confirm the procedure, transport her to the OR and transfer her
onto the table, cover her with blankets and secure her with a safety
belt. After the time out, you chitchat with her while anesthesia pre-
pares the induction. Right before drifting off to dreamland, she
sends a shiver down your spine: "Now y'all do a good job. I'm an
attorney."
• The impossible manager. She swoops in on her broomstick to
ask whose coffee mug was left out on the desk at the nurses' station
and wonders aloud why "we are only 70% compliant with the rollout
of that new screening tool."
• The surveyor's arrival. By nature, the accreditation surveyor's
appearance is always a terrifying one — no matter how prepared you
are. And that's understandable. After all, an organization you paid
money to is visiting to fine you for the way you've always been doing
things. Talk about a nightmare.
• Disappearing help. They offered to get the case started and then,
when it's time to shave 2 areas and prep 3, your saint has suddenly
vanished into thin air like a specter. Was moving the patient the only
thing they had in mind in helping me to get the case started? Put your
hat and booties on, get some gloves and get over here and help me!
• Unexpected add-ons. You finish a long afternoon of cases and
finally exhale. As you head for the lounge and possibly a cup of cof-
fee, you feel a chill in the empty corridor. Your room was the first to
come down and as you draw near the schedule board, there it is [sin-
Behind Closed Doors
BD
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