Finally, some action. Went on a donor run with an attending I haven’t worked much with before.

My main conclusion from this is, that the popular conception of surgeon’s hands as delicate is quite wrong.

The attending handed me about eight liters of ice to break up (to pack into the abdominal cavity to cool the organs after cross-clamping), and instead of, like other transplant surgeons I’ve worked with, growling in frustration after watching me for five seconds and taking over, left me to finish the job by myself. Which was salutary, but painful. Between the ice and the hammer, and then tying knots in nylon afterwards, my hands are all scraped up, and my arm is going to be sore for days. I need to take up weightlifting.

The surgeon not knowing me was also nice because he assumed that anyone sent would be familiar with the proceedings, and let me actually cut a lot of things. Since he kept talking as though I was a senior resident (I did explain, eventually), presumably I didn’t do too bad of a job. Real surgery, finally. Now┬áI just need to work on the sewing-up-after-cutting part.

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