Last night was not a good night to be a trauma surgeon in Middle Tennessee. I lost count of the car, tractor, and freak gardening incidents (careful with your pitchfork) sometime shortly after dinner. I wasn't in charge of anything, just another blue-gowned and gloved alien, singing back-up in the chorus. Reminded me of med school actually, in a very PTSD from general surgery kinda way.
Then EMS rolled in with a young guy, gunshot wound. The trauma team flies like a NASCAR pit crew - expose the wounds, mark the entry site, IV in, roll him over nothing back here, oh wait that's arterial (lots of cursing), push the paralytics intubate now, xray! beep!, ok let's roll... And he's gone. Upstairs, where in all likelihood after a few hours of yet more intense labor and toil, the surgeons will repair his severed femoral artery. And he'll live. Not because he deserves it more than the guy before or after him, but because the surgeons are good at what they do. Well, that and the fact that God said so.
Watching the spectacle, I couldn't help but appreciate how the scalpel jockies wield that sort of life-saving (or at least altering) power every day. Way too stressful for me. But today, on this Easter morning, I'm reminded that God has that sort of power from eternity past and doesn't ever get stressed out about it. Thank you, Lord, that I don't have to try and save myself because I never could.
Alleluiah, Messiah is risen!
w for the win
10 years ago
No comments:
Post a Comment