I Was Paralyzed. Could I Actually Cut Into a Child?

The day had finally arrived when I would have patients of my own to look after.

My first job was in pediatric surgery and now that I was actually going to have to look after tiny babies, I was terrified. Most of my time on the wards as a student had been spent looking after the elderly and the reality of pediatrics was daunting.

Luckily, I had two senior house officers to help me as well as the registrar, Tom. I wanted to be the female version of him. He was great with the kids, confident with the parents and loved by the nurses.

I was rostered to be on-call for the first weekend. It would be my second day as a doctor. The shift started on Friday morning, and I wouldn't go home until the following Monday. I hoped it would be quiet.

After the morning ward round to see the children going to theater, my boss told me that the first case on the list was mine. It was an eleven-year-old boy who needed an appendectomy.

The day had finally arrived when I would have patients of my own to look after. My first job was in pediatric surgery and now that I was actually going to have to look after tiny babies, I was terrified.

Most of my time on the wards as a student had been spent looking after the elderly and the reality of pediatrics was daunting.

Luckily, I had two senior house officers to help me as well as the registrar, Tom. I wanted to be the female version of him. He was great with the kids, confident with the parents and loved by the nurses.

I was rostered to be on-call for the first weekend. It would be my second day as a doctor. The shift started on Friday morning, and I wouldn't go home until the following Monday. I hoped it would be quiet.

After the morning ward round to see the children going to theatre, my boss told me that the first case on the list was mine. It was an eleven-year-old boy who needed an appendectomy.

"Seriously?" I asked.

"Yes. Seriously."

I couldn't believe it. I was actually going to do an operation. My mind was racing. On the one hand I was desperately trying to recall the steps of the operation and on the other I was panicking over what to do if my bleep went off when I was
scrubbed.

The consultant took me into the operating room and introduced me to the theatre team. He then took the batteries out of my bleep and told the nurse in charge to deal with it.

After he'd scrubbed up with Tom, it was my turn.

The five minutes it took to scrub my nails and wash my hands felt like forever. My glasses were steaming up because I hadn't pinched the nose of my mask tight enough and I was all fingers and thumbs trying to get gloves on while keeping my hands inside the sleeve cuff of the gown.

I pushed the scrub room door open with the back of my shoulder, holding my hands in front of my face to keep them sterile. I felt sick with nerves. Someone reached inside my gown from the back to tie it closed.

I grabbed the waist ties at the front, holding on to one while I passed the assistant the other. I twirled to wrap the gown around my waist. Once I'd tied the ends in a knot, I approached the table.

The lights were turned on. The stage was set. A small square of skin stained pink by the disinfectant was waiting for me, surrounded by green drapes. All I could hear were the background beeps of the anesthetic machine.

The scrub nurse passed me a blade. I looked at my consultant. He nodded. I knew what to do. I'd seen it done before. I turned to look at the anesthetist and asked him, "Are you happy?"

"Yes."

There was no turning back. My boss stood next to me, elbow to elbow, hip to hip. Tom and the scrub nurse were opposite.

Feeling the reassuring weight of the scalpel in my hand, I took a steadying breath. I knew where to cut. I'd read the books. But I was paralyzed. Could I actually cut into a child?

I pressed against the skin. It was like a hot knife going through butter. I switched to diathermy – an electric pen that uses a high frequency current to cut tissue and
cauterize bleeding vessels. I worked my way through the layers of fascia and muscle until I could see the thin layer of peritoneum glistening beneath.

After making a small hole in it, all I had to do was find the appendix inside. I wriggled my finger around trying to find something that felt like a worm. I stretched up on my tiptoes, twisting my arm around, sweeping my finger back and forth along his abdominal wall when I suddenly felt it.

"Wow. It does feel like a worm!"

"Good. Now break down the adhesions and bring it out of the wound."

After Tom had divided the blood vessels and tied two sutures around the base of the appendix, the consultant passed me the scalpel so I could finish the job. I triumphantly dropped it in the receiving dish, grinning from ear to ear. I'd done an operation.

In my first week as a junior doctor. Life would never be the same again. I dragged my housemates to the pub to celebrate, and as I headed to the bar, I bumped into one of the surgical registrars who'd taught me at med school.

"How's it going?"

"I've just done my first appendix! God, I love surgery."

"Good for you. But are you a real surgeon?" He leaned forward and whispered in my ear, "Did you get an erection?"

I watched him swagger back to his friends, no doubt thinking he'd shocked me. But I got it. The thrill. The power. The release.

I knew this was all I wanted to do for the rest of my life.

Above is an adapted excerpt from Under The Knife: Life Lessons from the Operating Theatre by Dr Liz O'Riordan, published by Unbound.

All views expressed in this article are the author's own.

Do you have a unique experience or personal story to share? Email the My Turn team at myturn@newsweek.com.