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preparing my graft, I neatly tucked it into a sponge to rest on the back
table. I returned to the knee to drill my tunnels. Minutes later, when I
went to retrieve the graft for placement into the knee, I learned that
the nurse threw it out since she thought the sponge was trash.
Code Blue, Room 3!
Three nitrates and 4 Ativans later, I explained to the nurse that the
Raytec sponge on the back table was not expendable. So much for
sponge counts! Thank God it was an allograft. We merely requested
another, let it thaw and re-prepared it. The hospital (and again, my
coronaries) took the hit.
• No suture retriever in the house. In the midst of a complex shoulder
procedure, after inserting my suture anchors, I matter-of-factly
requested the suture retriever, a lobster-claw-like device that elegantly
and smoothly grasps suture threads in tight places. My scrub nurse
replied: "Ahhhhhhh, Dr. Kelly, we simply don't have one!" Yes, the
ever-present inventory issue was to blame. There were simply no
more retrievers to be found.
Five Hail Marys, 3 sublingual nitrates and 3 Libriums later, I asked if
a crotchet hook was available. No, I was not about to start an afghan.
They used crotchet hooks in the pioneer days of shoulder arthroscopy
to retrieve sutures. Thank heavens there was one in the set —
undoubtedly purchased before the scrub nurse was born. I then pro-
ceeded to repair a rotator cuff, glenoid labrum and fill in a bone
defect all without the aid of a suture retriever. Thank God I took a
course in mindfulness. My Zen state prevented me from sojourning to
the material supply office and throttling the manager.
Captain of the ship
Stuff does indeed happen and I ultimately take responsibility. I have
C U T T I N G R E M A R K S
