Horrific call the other night. Even though the full moon had passed uneventfully for my cross-coverage, my call brought out the stoopid. Correction. The STOOPID. When we got out of bed (please note I did NOT say woke up, because by that time, we had had zero sleep), hubby was cursing the call gods and my cell phone. He wasn't the only one.
I spent the day operating and trying to remember why I agreed to do these surgeries. Now, I'm a good surgeon and I know my limits. I am happy to refer on if I don't think I can technically do a case. So I'm doing a hysterectomy yesterday and every other sentence coming out of my mouth was "Need to work on patient selection." or "Why did I agree to do this one?" Also said frequently by the scrub nurse "I need more suture thrown!"
But it is a great feeling when you get that last piece of the puzzle and the case gives way, surrendering to your skills/tenacity/patience (take your pick). We were finally able to remove the uterus and my assist and I high-fived each other. Anesthesia was just happy the blood letting was completed. Big fibroidy uteruses usually have large, multiple blood supplies and this one was no exception. I'm guessing the uterus weighed 2-3 pounds, when they normally weigh around 1-2 ounces.
The remainder of the case, you go on semi-cruise control. Pedicles hemostatic. Check. Lap count correct. Check. Close peritoneum. Check. Close fascia. Check. Reapproximate sub-q tissue. Check. Close skin. Check. There is always a point in a surgical case where it's almost automated.
Oh, and I went without crutches for the first time. Let's just say that was a huge mistake and I took a couple of my hoarded pain pills after I got home. I have about 8 left...I am rationing them for the truly bad days. I refuse to be the PITA patient and ask for more.