On my first day in theatre, Bossman said "Sam, patients judge a surgeon by how good the chest wound looks. They don't care about anything else. So you will never get to close the chest, because your stitches look like shit."
Tonight, around 8:45 pm, I finished my row of deep (non-skin) sutures and stepped away from the body to allow Bossman room to work. He gave me a look and I quickly stepped back, thinking I had made a mistake. He slammed the needle-holder into my hand and walked away without saying anything. So I closed.
The endorphins got me home, elated and singing out loud (JEW Praise Chorus, FYI), despite lack of sleep/food/personal life. Now i know why the surgeons do it. It feels so good when you get it right...
Uh oh. Have I drunk the kool aid?
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