Sherpa

Remarkably, I am feeling rather good today. Full day, lots to do, busy, and I was up for it. Enjoying my work. A plan is in action, I don’t have to stew over why now, what’s happening to me. The time for intellectualizing the issue is over, I need a different way in, and that is in the works. Nothing more for me to do, but stay calm and… um, carry on.

Patient, big guy, in pain not only for where he was having surgery, but also the other side – which seemed to be bothering him even worse.

“So, when do we do the other one?”

“Tomorrow!” he booms.

He’s loud and funny, and we like him. He’s a bit difficult, but apologizing enthusiastically. An Extrovert, used to being in charge, but appreciative of people who know what they’re doing. We keep him laughing, he makes us laugh.

As he’s about to be induced, the resident anesthesiologist puts the full O2 mask on him, and he orders her, “GET THAT OFF MY FACE!” She tries to explain as she is getting her drugs going, and he repeats the demand several times. “GET THAT OFF MY FACE!!!”

“No.” I say, and hold it more firmly.

He mumbles it out one more time, quieter, as the drugs take hold.

I have seen many people irritated with that mask, pulled on it, asked for it to be gone, complained of it. But I have never been brusquely ORDERED to remove it, with the clear expectation that he’d be obeyed. Dude, you are not in charge here. On this point, I am.

Once one decides to trust a particular expert, it’s wise to let them lead the dance. Keep a certain reserve, of course, but let the sherpa do the job.