Boy Slices His Wrist on His Snowboard — Five Hours Later …

The phone rang. I ignored it. It beeped a message. I ignored it. I do not fiddle with my phone on a ski lift. I figure that either the phone or I will fall off. I knew what the call was about anyway. Dinner that night. Ten minutes later the ringer sounded again. I no longer had a choice. I had to answer. It was not about dinner. Not even close. Given that I was not on call, I was not expecting to speak to someone in the ER.

On the other end, a surgeon I know was telling me that a 14-year-old had sliced his wrist on his snowboard. His fingers had no function and no blood supply. Would I please come in and help? I was supposed to be on vacation — not working. Clearly, I was going to do the case. To decide otherwise would have violated who I think I am. I am not going to lie. I had no desire on Earth to tackle the problem. I knew time was critical and that I would have to push. I got an ambulance to pick me up at the mountain and drive me to the hospital. As I walked to the OR, I was playing the usual mental games. Sometimes things aren’t as bad as described. This one was: 11 tendons, both major nerves, and both major arteries.

Five hours later the task was completed. Everything was fixed. Blood was again flowing. I was relieved and tired. Outsiders assume that everything will always work out. I know better. I was already trying to figure out what I would do if I got a call the next day telling me that the arteries were clotted. Paranoia defines me. No such call occurred. Instead I had three people phone me to sincerely thank me for operating on the boy. I had three other people give me real hugs. The response was unexpected and overwhelmingly gratifying. Medicine is a complicated, perplexing, and at times profoundly frustrating profession. Worth it? Absolutely.