Mistaken Surgery - 3/22

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Mistaken Surgery - 3/22

Postby Brian » Tue Mar 22, 2011 4:32 am

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Mistaken Surgery - 3/22

Postby Brian » Tue Mar 22, 2011 4:32 am

You are in the operating room and are slowly being put under to have your gall bladder removed. Just as you are dosing off, you notice the doctor entering the room isn't the doctor scheduled to operate on you. When you awake, your gall bladder is still there, but something else about you has been changed. Write this scene.

You can post your response (750 words or fewer) here.

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Re: Mistaken Surgery - 3/22

Postby skstiles612 » Tue Mar 22, 2011 12:33 pm

Before I post my response let me say I had to write this. 20 years ago I went in to have gall bladder surgery and the nurse came in and started to prep me for open heart surgery. Scary.

I should have suspected something the minute the nurse put the shaving cream on my chest. I smiled stupidly at the young man.
" We need to take off any hair you might have to prep you for your surgery."
"Not a problem" I slurred. I lay there as he quickly shaved my chest. I could not for the life of me figure out why they needed to shave my chest. My sister looked at me.
“It must be for the little pads they stick there to hook you up to the monitors.”
I nodded in agreement, feeling woozier by the minute.
I remember seeing the pretty lights as I was propelled at warp speed down the hallway to the operating room. At least it felt like warp speed and the lights were nothing but a blur.
The doctor came in. I did not recognize him as my doctor. I thought he must have been assisting my doctor. I heard the nurse say, "Now count backwards from ten", and then the lights went out.
I awoke expecting a pain in my side. What I felt was an excruciating pain in my chest, with every breath I took. Something was wrong. The nurse came over to me smiling that pasted on smile reserved for patients.
"Well Mrs. Segal, your surgery went fine. The cardiologist will be in to see you within the hour." She patted my hand, fluffed my pillow and left.
Cardiologist? I could not figure the reason I would need a cardiologist. I looked down the best I could and glimpsed a row of staples, running down my chest like a zipper without the pull-tab. I must be dreaming I thought to myself.
The doctor walked in. “Mrs. Segal, so nice to see you. I filled in for Dr. Jonas today. Your surgery went well. I saw no blockage so we did not have to do the bypass surgery. I am very please to tell you that. I can only think of it as a mystery healing. Do you have any questions for me?”
I looked at him with my mouth hanging open. I had plenty of questions. I needed to form them in a coherent manner.
Looking at the doctor with a puzzled expression I asked him, “Did you have to remove the gallbladder or was it just stones?”
Now was his turn to look confused. He picked up my chart and scanned it then left the room. I could hear him talking at the desk.
“Oh my gosh! How could this have happened?” he screamed at the nurse.
Re-entering my room I could see the embarrassment on his face. “Mrs. Segal we will be taking you back to surgery now. It seems we have two Mrs. Segals. The other one spells her name S-e-g-E-l. We have mixed the two of you up. We removed her gallbladder and performed heart surgery on you. Let me send the nurse in to prep you again.”
I was shocked and speechless.
The nurse entered my room with a razor. “Okay Mrs. Segal, just relax. We only have to shave a small portion of your hair around the ear. It will grow back quickly.”
I began screaming. I was not going to have another surgery in this hospital. I felt the needle enter my arm and heard the nurse say, “I’ve never seen anyone get so upset about losing a patch of hair. Seems to me she’d be more concerned about her brain.”

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Re: Mistaken Surgery - 3/22

Postby Trissa » Tue Mar 22, 2011 1:45 pm

It all started a little over one week ago. I was having chest pains, pains in my shoulder blades. There were times when I walked like my grandmother; bent double. The pain was unbearable. Was I scared? You bet your sweet tutchus.

"It isn't your heart, Mrs. Deitz. It's your gallbladder." Welcome words from our old family physician, Doc. Warner. But still... Surgery! I'm fifty-plus and still proud owner of my tonsils and appendix. The only times I had been hospitalized was for the birth of my two kids. And those were both natural.

"You'll be fine, Mrs. Deitz." Doc Warner patted my hand. "I've done thousands of these gallbladder surgeries. There are risks, but very slight. We'll have you up and running in no time."

Doc Warner scheduled me for surgery the very next day. I was admitted the night before so I could meet with the anesthesiologist, Dr. Fedderly, and other members of "the team". And the paperwork... "Sign here. It just says that we explained the procedure to you and that you understand the risks." I was literally signing my life away with every stroke of the pen.

The next morning, my husband strolled calmly beside my gurney as I was rolled toward surgery. I was already cruising on a dose of valium as I waved "see you later" with a sloppy grin on my face. I looked around the ER, seeking out the faces I had met the night before. Dr. Fedderly was supposed to be the one "manning the gas", but the face behind the blue mask was wrong even given my loopy condition. "Hey!" I slurred, "whersh Doc Wed...Wen...Medderly?"

The face behind the mask grinned back. "Just relax and count backwards from 100."

I lifted my head, trying to stare down my medical opponent. "You're nah...naaahh...na Webly." At that moment, my gaze drifted toward the surgery door as another doctor entered. "Let's get this rolling! I'm backed up with surgeries already."

My brain swirled. "Who the hecker you? And whersh Doc Wah-nersh?" A latexed hand pushed my head back firmly as someone repeated, "Now backwards from 100." I didn't make it to "98".

It seemed like just seconds. I opened my eyes expecting to see the ER as it had been when I went under. Imagine my surprise when I opened my eyes and saw my husband, Wade, sitting beside me. One look at his face and I knew something was up. His face was ashen, his hands were clenched together, and he wasn't making eye contact. As I tried to open my mouth to speak, I found it blocked. Raising my hand to my face I felt my head was swathed in bandages. All I could manage was a muffled, "My God!"

Wade finally looked at me. His voice was shaky. "Ruth, there was a mix-up in the ER the other day. They took you to the wrong one."

My eyes screamed through the gauze, "What?" I pounded my fist on the bed railing, then pointed to the calendar on the wall.

"Your surgery was three days ago. They had to wait for you to wake up. They'll remove your gallbladder in a couple of days. They kept you drugged because of the pain and because of..." Wade choked back tears. "...because they didn't want you tearing the stitches apart on your face."

I threw him a question with my eyes. "They took you to the ER of the Plastic surgeon, Dr. Steele,' he continued. "Apparently he was to change the face of a female comedian who wanted to look like her comedic idol."

At that moment, Dr. Steele swept into my room. "Sorry about the mix up, Mrs. Deitz. We'll be able to repair your face but at a later date. All the swelling, you understand. It would be too much for you to handle right now. But I figure in a year, we can give you a look close to what you were before." As he spoke, Dr. Steele unwound my gauze headdress like he was unveiling a mummy. A young nurse stood by ready to shove a mirror in front of my face.

"I must say, this is some of my best work."

I took the mirror from the nurse as I heard my husband gasp. "Oh, my sweet Jesus!" He screamed. "You look like Phyllis Diller!"

Dr. Steele headed for the door and turned. "Remember, Mrs. Deitz. You did sign papers that stated you were warned there would be risks."

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Re: Mistaken Surgery - 3/22

Postby Briar » Wed Mar 23, 2011 8:07 am

Yay my first post!

I came out of the anesthesia slowly. It felt like swimming in thick black water, treading it, struggling to break through the surface only to be pushed under again. Finally I manage to pry open my eyes. The harsh glare of the fluorescents seers into my retinas. I blink, try to focus.

“Mr. Gibson?”

My tongue is thick and swollen in my mouth. I nod instead of attempting a reply.

“You don’t respond well to anesthesia,” the nurse remarks. She’s a young girl close to my own age. Very pretty. In any other situation I’d flirt with her, mentally keep track of how long it took me to make her blush. Right now I don’t feel like flirting. I feel sick. Something’s wrong.

“My name is Jenna, I’ll be your nurse today. If you need anything just let me know.” She smiles at me, but there is something missing there. Normally when girls smile at me it’s playful or coy. I’m not conceited, really, but I am used to attention from the opposite sex. Jenna’s lack of interest perplexed me. “Dr. Ramsey will want to check your bandages and go over the care instructions now that you’re awake,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

The bandages? I run a shaking hand down my torso, feeling neither bandage nor a tender spot. In fact, there wasn’t any indication that I’d had the surgery. Maybe the painkillers were doing a good job of blocking out any discomfort, but shouldn’t I feel something?

A couple minutes later a thin man in blue scrubs enters my office with Jenna. She hands the doctor a chart then checks my I.V. fluids. I meet her gaze, hoping to find some reassurance; instead I see something awful . . . pity.

What reason does she have to pity me? I only had my gallbladder removed; it’s not even considered a major surgery.

“Hello Ian, I’m Dr. Ramsey,” he said extending his hand for me to shake. I awkwardly shake it, wincing when the movement pulls on my I.V. “I’m pleased to say the surgery went well. Jenna tells me you had some problems coming out of the anesthesia, not surprising under the circumstances. With extended surgeries patients often experience side effects from the anesthesia. How are you feeling now?”

Extended surgery? How long does it take to remove a gallbladder? “How long was I out?”

“About ten hours give or take.”

I felt my eyes bulge, I’d been told it would be under an hour. “That long?”

Dr. Ramsey frowns. “It’s a delicate operation. What with all the nerve endings and tissue that needs to be repositioned. I think you will be very happy when you see the work. I must say you’re doing extraordinarily well. Most of my patients handle this conversation poorly.”

Panic tightens my chest. Nerve endings. Tissue. When they were prepping me they told me it was an easy surgery that can be done microscopically. They didn’t mention anything about nerve endings and tissue placement.

Jenna pushed a metal cart to my bedside. It was laden with gauze, surgical tape, and antiseptic. That’s an awful lot of gauze for one little incision. Couldn’t they just cover it with a Band-Aid?

Dr. Ramsey took a seat on the metal stool and rolled it to the foot of my bed. “Let’s have a look see. If the wound isn’t too weepy we’ll be able to call in the specialist to fit your prosthesis later today,” he said enthusiastically.

My stomach dropped. I couldn’t breathe. Surely I’d misheard him?

He drew the heavy blanket downward. Now I know why they needed so much gauze. My right leg ends just above the knee.

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Re: Mistaken Surgery - 3/22

Postby rosebud » Wed Mar 23, 2011 7:13 pm

I was a bit nervous about having surgery again. The two times I went under anesthesia for previous minor operations, I woke up midway through the procedures. This time my gall bladder had to go. Dr. Anderson was confident all would go well. He was part of a team, and informed me that in the event of an emergency, another partner might perform the surgery.

Mildly sedated, I waited on a gurney in the hallway outside the operating rooms. A middle-aged woman in scrubs approached me. I didn’t recognize her but assumed she was one of the partners Dr. Anderson spoke of earlier. “Don’t worry dear, we’ll have you fixed up in no time, and minimal scarring,” she said comforting me. “I’m Dr. Sweeny, and I’ll be performing the surgery today. What we’re doing today is my specialty. That’s why your doctor called me in today.”

Relieved about the scarring but doubtful I’d ever wear a bikini again after giving birth to two children; I gave into the pre-op meds.

Feeling a bit nauseous when I awoke, I felt discomfort all the way from my upper body down through my thighs. My upper arms hurt too. What was going on? My first thought was they were trying to prevent blood clots, so they bandaged my body. Dr. Sweeny entered the recovery room. “The liposuction went well and the implants will make your breasts look like they did before you had children,” she said confidently.

Shocked yet delighted I asked, “What about my gall bladder? Didn’t that have to be removed too?”

She pulled my chart from the door and looked it over. “Yes, well, we’ll take care of that after the swelling goes down. Just consider this a bonus, and of course, no addition charge will be added to the bill. We’ll get back to you after we speak with Dr. Anderson.”

It took several weeks before the swelling went down and the gall bladder surgery could take place, but I have no complaints. Plastic surgery for free was a bonus and something I always wanted being a woman with a middle-aged bulge and arms that kept waving after the hands stopped. Who ever thought that removing a gall bladder would improve ones figure so much?

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RE: Mistaken Surgery - 3/22

Postby Aecy » Thu Mar 24, 2011 8:37 am

This is my first try at this, and my first try at writing in ages.
Hopefully it's decent. ^_^

Wakefulness flowed back like molasses through a micro-sieve. Tiny, fragmented thoughts dripped out. Something felt wrong, but it wasn't the drugs. She couldn't place it but it grew, spreading through the puddle of consciousness with each drip, forming into a hardened lump of fear in the pit of her stomach. Her opened eyes couldn't catch a glimpse of light, blocked by some covering as she came to realize that something had gone terribly, horribly wrong.

The wrong surgeon... Before they put her under, the glimpse of the strange doctor. Of course, they'd performed the wrong operation! She would sue the soul from the bastards responsible! This might be her ticket out of this hell-hole. Cari's thoughts raced, wondering how she could do that from within prison walls, till a phantom voice pushed through the molasses. The drops of her thoughts receded into the black wrongness. "You really are quite lucky, you know. Not everyone has this opportunity. Simply serve the state for a while and you're free, abilities and all. If it turns out right, that is." The molasses-state shifted to glowing-hot lead of fear; fear and hatred. It was intentional? He laughed at her muddled attempt to curse him out. "You could be back with your family. You hardly had much to lose, you know."

He thought he had a point. Her case was just another example of a hellish home life the state had no power to improve. She didn't know how he knew that; she ran away long ago, leaving her name and all else behind when she lived on the streets until this undeserved incarceration. Not that she hadn't broken laws; however, she was no murderess. This, then, explained the farce of a trial, her incarceration in solitary, her denial of rights. Hope fled. Bitter resignation caught and consumed it, as always. "Nothing to lose, no. Nothing to lose. Just my freedom..." She managed a bitter growl of white-hot sarcasm with enough coherence to shoot that dart of burning molten lead from within. It showed, even through her slurred words.

His voice smirked of contented resignation. "We humans may be many things, but free we most certainly are not. You have a week in which to decide. Otherwise, we shall be forced to... silence you." She was glad of the drugs, yet the drugs failed to conceal the wrongness spread throughout her entire form. She hurt, desperately so. This was not the pain of a simple gall bladder removal. Though she shut the pain out, it manifested itself by screwing with her emotions. She searched but found no reply worth speaking, so she silently glared through the covering over her eyes, a glare that concealed her vast and ever-growing fear. She funneled it into hate and rage, as always. It alone fueled her never-ending fight for survival.

The silence that followed carried a strange tension between the smug composure of the stranger and the burning cold, acrid rage of the young woman. At long last she broke the silence. Her pride cursed and writhed within her, demanding silence as protest, yet the questions screamed louder. "What do you mean by 'abilities'...?" Her voice didn't sound right; it sounded slurred and doubtful. Weak. Displaying weakness sickened her. Her silent curses echoed loudly within her. Images of cartoon characters floated tauntingly through her mind as the height of impossible absurdity. She willed herself to think it a nightmare yet she knew better. It could not be denied.

"What I mean is that you, my girl, are now part of a project to improve our race..."

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RE: Mistaken Surgery - 3/22

Postby Frank » Fri Mar 25, 2011 3:41 am

I’m rushed to the emergency department of our local hospital. It’s my gall bladder. Thank God my wife can give them my medical history. I don’t feel much like talking. I’m told I’ll need to have an operation. I start to worry, but a lady nurse sticks a thermometer in my mouth, asking me how I’m doing. I mumble that “I feel like hell,” trying to articulate with the damn thing between my teeth. Anyway, she thinks I said, “I made a smell,” and says, “Hang on. I’ll get a bedpan.”

A clergyman pops in. He asks if I have a Will? Huh? I thought this was routine. “Just formality,” he said. “We do it for everybody who checks off a religious preference.” Ah, I think, my wife being thorough, as always. I have some thoughts about death and remember poor Mrs. Markham who had a fatal seizure while shopping at Piggly Wiggly. You just never know. The minister pats me on my hospital gown with the gentlest of touches, as if I’m in the infectious diseases section. “You’ll be fine,” he says and leaves.

Soon I‘m on a gurney heading to the operating room. Overhead lights whizz by as I‘m pushed along. In the privacy of the elevator, the gurney attendant tells me more than I need to know about his love life. People pass me in the corridors. Some even give me an encouraging smile as if I’m batter up with the bases loaded.

We‘ve reached the operating room and I check it out. The room is a bustle of activity, but no one seems to notice me as I’m wheeled in. I take a quick look. There's a glass-walled viewing area high above, where medical students and the like can watch me get cut. No spectators. A good sign that my procedure is pretty humdrum

Suddenly, I ‘m transferred to the central table. A nurse asks if I’ve had any food or drink. “I could do with a beer,” I answer unconvincingly. Someone else wants to know my name. “Hey,” she says, “ you’re not related to my cousin, are you?“ I have an unusual last name. We’re not related, which is a shame since this could have meant VIP care.

Funny thing, thinking afterwards, is that you don’t know when they give you the stuff that puts you to sleep. No counting down from 10, reciting the alphabet, or just drifting off. You’re simply awake one moment, staring up into a pod of lights, and the next - oblivion.

I start to come around. My eyelids feel like they’ve been stitched together. I begin to focus. The colors of the walls and curtain in the recovery room are like visual smelling salts, and I wonder whether I should tell the nurse about the spider web in the corner. A clock makes an annoying buzz with each motion of its second hand.

A guy in green hospital fatigues comes over. He pulls his white facemask down below his chin, exposing perfect teeth and a huge grin.

“Congratulations,” he says, as if I had won the lottery. “You had a very successful procedure.”
“Yeah?” I said. "No problems?"

“None! A perfect appendectomy.”


“Oh, yes,” he said. “Your wife was very specific about your symptoms when she checked you in at the ER."

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RE: Mistaken Surgery - 3/22

Postby Celosia » Sun Mar 27, 2011 6:22 am

Jeff became conscious of his dreaming and gradually started waking up. ‘Too bad,’ he though. It had been a very lovely dream with scantily clad ladies on a warm beach. The first thing he noticed was that where ever he was, it certainly wasn’t warm. It was so frigid that his nipples ached. Never had he felt cold this way. He uncharacteristically panicked, his heart raced with fear, eyes swelling with tears.
Jeff tried to open his watery eyes, but the light in the recovery room burned his retinas; much like the burning in his urinary tract. More fear. He forced his eyes to open to the blinding light and sat up. He felt shaky hands grab his arm. He squinted his eyes to try and see who was there. It was his Fiancé, Vanessa. Oh joy of all joy’s his lovely Vanessa. Relief flooded through his body but it convulsed with more crying.
“Oh, God!” He choked, “What is wrong with me?” He hugged his shoulders, trying to regain control.
Vanessa sputtered, attempting to hold back her tears. “There was a mix up.” Her words were hushed and shaky.
“Mix up?” He choked down more fear. “What happened? Where am I?”
A trembling whimper escaped Vanessa’s plump lips. “You’re in the hospital. You had an infected kidney and they had to…” a choked sob broke her damaged composure. “They had to operate. But things got mixed up.” She finally broke down, curling up in a ball on the chair.
It suddenly all came rushing at him. Dr. Gribble told him it was minimal risk. The doctor swore he’d have him back on the field by the end of the month. That scrawny little nerd had sworn that he would be safe in his frail hands. But some tall, dark-haired pretty boy had walked in the room as the anesthesia was kicking in. He’d snapped those gloves on with pretention and arrogantly took center stage of the room. He’d been the one that cut his body.
An alien fury began to simmer in his belly. He doubled over in an attempt to control this overflow of emotions. He looked over at his stricken Vanessa and reached a quivering hand to sooth her. She recoiled from his touch, sobs rolling as freely as Niagara Falls.
There was a timid knock on the door and Jeff snapped around to glower at whoever had dared interrupt his failed attempts at comforting his Fiancé. It was Dr. Gribble, his balding head bowed in shame. “Mr. Lambert, there was a minor problem with the-“
Jeff leapt from the bed and grabbed Dr. Gribble by the collar. The anger in his belly had become a wild beast, ripping and tearing at his insides. “What the hell!” roared the beast in Jeff. It controlled him now, the angry reaching through his limbs and override any self control. “What is wrong with me?”
The arrogant dark-haired stranger came out from around the corner and placed a hand on my arm. “It’s not my fault. Your surgery and Ms. Johnson’s were mixed up. You were brought to my operating room where I preformed what I was supposed to.”
“Who are you?” snapped Jeff. He released the cowering Dr. Gribble and turned to the arrogant bastard.
“I am Dr. Anusha. I am a surgeon with a specialty in reproductive organs.” He did not flinch nor waver before Jeff’s boiling rage.
“So what the hell did you do?” Jeff seethed.
“Why don’t you just look in the mirror?” He pointed towards the wall behind Jeff.
Jeff blinked, taken aback by the matter of fact manner of Dr. Anusha. Fear gripped him again. He didn’t want to turn. His overflowing emotions were making him shake again. Dr. Anusha gently grabbed Jeff by the shoulders and turned him slowly toward the mirror. Jeff’s chest was bound in a tight wrap but he could still make out the pleasant lumps he had been enjoying in his dream not five minutes ago.
“ Ms. Johnson is still a Mister Johnson right now, but he was suppose to be getting a breast augmentation and a genital reconstruction surgery. Your probably feeling a bit hormonal because of the extra estrogen shot we had to give you after the post-surgery blood test.”
Jeff had stopped listening after ‘genital reconstruction’. He had already pulled down the draw string pants to see the bandages wrapped from his navel to mid thigh, the all too familiar appendage nowhere to be seen.

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RE: Mistaken Surgery - 3/22

Postby shoeless » Sun Mar 27, 2011 6:55 am

Rubbing the rough pads of his front paws together, a muskrat wearing faded green scrubs looked down on me with dark beady eyes. He tilted his head and said in a deep German brogue, “Know that it was my father you slaughtered that evening by the slough.”
The slough? Evening? Father? Gall Bladder. Where’s my doctor? Simple. Surgery. Gallstones. Slaughter.
My eyes struggled to fight the advance of the anesthesia rummaging within my blood. I needed to open them. I needed to see Dr. Pengully looking down on me and not a … a muskrat.

I heard jazz when consciousness crept back, jazz and a female voice. She was reading to me. I tried to recognize the book, but her German brogue muddled the flow of the words. My ability to concentrate on coherent sentences broke apart as each word tangoed for prominence. A simple word like whatever became a strung out celebrity with its own over-bearing arrogance -- vut-ehhhhh-ver.
I drifted back into the abyss.
Awaking again some time later, the jazz music was gone, but the words of the woman continued, “… da sin of the beast be thrown from the shore …”
I wished to sleep again. My body ached. I turned my head to the woman’s voice and blinked. Lounging cross-legged on an orange upholstered chair next to my bed sat a female muskrat reading from a scratched-up notebook. She wore a nurse’s scrubs and small booties. Upon noticing me, she tossed the notebook to the floor and said, “The doctor vill vish to know you are up.”
She hopped from the chair and walked two-legged from the room. I watched her hips sway back and forth as she left.
I turned my head to the ceiling and licked my sticky, dry lips. My throat felt raw. I lifted my hand to scratch at an itch above my ear. I felt shorter.
The muskrat I saw before succumbing to the anesthesia entered the room carrying a clipboard. He was followed by the nurse who read to me and a younger, important looking female, an intern perhaps.
“How do you feel?” He asked.
My mind chuckled at his brogue. “Been better.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean?” I was recovering from surgery. Of course I’d been better. He laughed and turned to the nurse smiling. “He doesn’t know yet?”
The nurse shook her head, a slight smirk rose from her cheeks as she looked down to the sterile vinyl tiles on the floor.
“Know what?” I asked.
The doctor laughed again. “Nurse, bring him a mirror.”
I brought my hand to my face and felt the rough pad of my paw on my cheek.


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