Dr Braver left the operating room, his boots covered with blood and theatre gowns drenched. He looked like he had just fought a lion. Drained and completely exhausted by the six-hour operation, he collapsed into the easy chair in the surgeons’ room, puffing quietly at his pipe.
Sister Markman tapped at the door. And when Dr Braver opened, she said, “See,” as she showed the damaged laparoscopic equipment to him, “The lens’ been broken and the 5 mm port has been bent. And the suction line is blocked.”
Jackie Markman was a brick. A manly woman. Her shoulders were high and large and her long thick legs were made to support the massive tummy and gigantic breasts. She would fit into any Sumo wrestling team. Her large bulging eyeballs made her head look too small.
She squeezed her round body through the set of theatre trolleys. Dr Braver looked at her and shook his head. He removed his pipe and puffed a venomous cloud spiralling over the giant body that stood in front of him.
I stood in front of the changing room, watching Dr Braver and Sister Markman as they faced each other, looking like a pit bull terrier and chihuahua.
“And what am I supposed to do?” He thundered. “I’ve used the instruments on a patient. Not on myself. And if the instruments have been damaged during their use, what am I supposed to do? To repair them or pay for them?”
“I have not asked you to repair or pay for them. Though you may if you so wish!” Sister Markman replied. She moved forward and looked straight into his eyes and continued, “I am only letting you know that the scope will not be available for your list tomorrow. And there will be no 5 mm port. That’s all I’m saying, Sir.”
Dr Braver stood up and Sister Markman stepped back. Pointing his long spidery fingers, almost touching her nose, he said, “It’s all sabotage; isn’t it? You don’t want me to do my list. You’ve said it. And you meant it. You can cancel the list if you like. That’s your problem.”
“It may be my problem. But if the right instruments had been used for the right operation at the appropriate time, there would have been no problem,” Sister Markman said and walked away from the surgeons’ room.
Dr Braver paced up and down the surgeons’ room, angry and confused. He lit his pipe again, sat down in the easy chair and puffed away on his pipe as he considered how he would make Sister Markman pay for what he regarded as an ‘unprovoked confrontation.’ And then he got up and strolled back to the operating room. And as he peeped into the theatre, he said sarcastically to me, “Eh boy, I’m sure the top of the wound will start to heal before you finish closing the abdomen!”