Surgical mishaps that result in death can leave devastating psychological effects on all the people involved. But here is a subtle one that was devastating to the patient and the young doctor who was a witness to it. This story happened few decades ago when I was a house surgeon. I was assisting our surgery professor who was removing a small breast lump. The woman on whom he was operating upon was a VVIP who had come from a faraway place to see this surgeon who was famous for his deft surgical skills.
As soon as the woman went under anaesthesia, the surgeon put a small incision and the lump was out in minutes, if not in seconds. And he started closing the wound with sutures. By this time, there was plenty of small talk going on between the surgeon, the lady anaesthetist and the theatre nurse. And then it happened: there was a small click and the needle just disappeared from the needle holder. This is not an unusual thing with the worn out needle holders that were available in medical colleges in those days. Coolly, everyone started looking for the needle and the small talk also went on as if nothing had happened. But the needle was nowhere to be found. By this time the professor had made a thorough search inside the breast also. A team of theatre assistants was called in to comb the theatre floor for the needle.
The surgery could not proceed without spotting the needle. Portable X ray units were scarce in those days. Everyone was getting exasperated. Finally, my professor turned to me and asked “Titus, did you see where the needle go?” I told him that the needle was inside the breast tissue. He started his search again in the breast tissue. Minutes went by silently. Even after half an hour he could not locate the needle. I stood my ground reiterating my stand. (There was also a reason why my professor trusted me.
He had told me this later. One of my cousins was a well-known senior surgeon under whom even my professor underwent training. After all, he thought—perhaps mistakenly—that I too would be of the same stuff. He always thought that I too would one day become a surgeon like my cousin.) With no other option left, the surgeon started cutting away the breast tissue. He persisted, ruthlessly cutting away the breast tissue. He had to, come what may. Finally he spotted the needle inside the breast and pulled it out.
The rest of the surgery went silently. There were no conversations at all. The surgeon did not come for rounds the next day. Instead, he sent me to change the dressing. The surgeon is no more. I am not sure about the patient. And me; I followed my mother’s advice. I did not become a surgeon.