chief of surgery, the chief of medicine, and the chief of research all looking down through the glass. Then she understood.
It was 6:21 when Benson was wheeled in. He was now heavily pre-medicated, relaxed, his body limp, his eyelids heavy. His head was wrapped in a green towel.
Ellis supervised Benson’s transfer from the stretcher to the chair. As the leather straps were placed across his arms and legs, Benson seemed to wake up, his eyes opening wide.
“That’s just so you don’t fall off,” Ellis said easily. “We don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“Uh-huh,” Benson said softly, and closed his eyes again.
Ellis nodded to the nurses, who removed the sterile towel from Benson’s head. The naked head seemed very small—that was Ross’s usual reaction—and white. The skin was smooth, except for a razor nick on the left frontal. Ellis’s blue-ink “X” marks were clearly visible on the right side.
Benson leaned back in the chair. He did not open his eyes again. One of the technicians began to fix the monitor leads to his body, strapping them on with little dabs of electrolyte paste. They were attached quickly; soon his body was connected to a tangle of multicolored wires running off to the equipment.
Ellis looked at the TV monitor screens. The EEG was now tracing sixteen jagged lines; heartbeat was recorded; respirations were gently rising and falling; temperature was steady. The technicians began to punch pre-op parameters into the computer. Normal lab values had already been fed in. During the operation, the computer would monitor all vital signs at five-second intervals, and would signal if anything went wrong.
“Let’s have music, please,” Ellis said, and one of the nurses slipped a tape cartridge into the portable cassette recorder in a corner of the room. A Bach concerto began to play softly. Ellis always operated to Bach; he said he hoped that the precision, if not the genius, might be contagious.
They were approaching the start of the operation. The digital wall clock said 6:29:14 a.m. Next to it, an elapsed-time digital clock still read 0:00:00.
With the help of a scrub nurse, Ross put on her sterile gown and gloves. The gloves were always difficult for her. She didn’t scrub in frequently, and when she plunged her fingers into the gloves she caught her hand, missing one of the finger slots and putting two fingers in another. It was impossible to read the scrub nurse’s reaction; only her eyes were visible above the mask. But Ross was glad that Ellis and the other surgeons were turned away attending to the patient.
She stepped to the back of the room, being carefulnot to trip over the thick black power cables that snaked across the floor in all directions. Ross did not participate in the initial stages of the operation. She waited until the stereotaxic mechanism was in place and the coordinates were determined. She had time to stand to one side and pluck at her glove until all the fingers were in the right slots.
There was no real purpose for her to attend the operation at all, but McPherson insisted that one member of the non-surgical staff scrub in each day that they operated. He said it made the Unit more cohesive.
She watched Ellis and his assistants across the room draping Benson; then she looked over to the draping as seen on the closed-circuit monitor. The entire operation would be recorded on video tape for later review.
“I think we can start now,” Ellis said easily. “Go ahead with the needle.”
The anaesthetist, working behind the chair, placed the needle between the second and third lumbar spaces of Benson’s spine. Benson moved once and made a slight sound, and then the anaesthetist said, “I’m through the dura. How much do you want?”
The computer console flashed “ OPERATION BEGUN .” The computer automatically started the elapsed-time clock, which ticked off the seconds.
“Give me thirty cc’s to begin,” Ellis said. “Let’s have X-ray,
It was 6:21 when Benson was wheeled in. He was now heavily pre-medicated, relaxed, his body limp, his eyelids heavy. His head was wrapped in a green towel.
Ellis supervised Benson’s transfer from the stretcher to the chair. As the leather straps were placed across his arms and legs, Benson seemed to wake up, his eyes opening wide.
“That’s just so you don’t fall off,” Ellis said easily. “We don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“Uh-huh,” Benson said softly, and closed his eyes again.
Ellis nodded to the nurses, who removed the sterile towel from Benson’s head. The naked head seemed very small—that was Ross’s usual reaction—and white. The skin was smooth, except for a razor nick on the left frontal. Ellis’s blue-ink “X” marks were clearly visible on the right side.
Benson leaned back in the chair. He did not open his eyes again. One of the technicians began to fix the monitor leads to his body, strapping them on with little dabs of electrolyte paste. They were attached quickly; soon his body was connected to a tangle of multicolored wires running off to the equipment.
Ellis looked at the TV monitor screens. The EEG was now tracing sixteen jagged lines; heartbeat was recorded; respirations were gently rising and falling; temperature was steady. The technicians began to punch pre-op parameters into the computer. Normal lab values had already been fed in. During the operation, the computer would monitor all vital signs at five-second intervals, and would signal if anything went wrong.
“Let’s have music, please,” Ellis said, and one of the nurses slipped a tape cartridge into the portable cassette recorder in a corner of the room. A Bach concerto began to play softly. Ellis always operated to Bach; he said he hoped that the precision, if not the genius, might be contagious.
They were approaching the start of the operation. The digital wall clock said 6:29:14 a.m. Next to it, an elapsed-time digital clock still read 0:00:00.
With the help of a scrub nurse, Ross put on her sterile gown and gloves. The gloves were always difficult for her. She didn’t scrub in frequently, and when she plunged her fingers into the gloves she caught her hand, missing one of the finger slots and putting two fingers in another. It was impossible to read the scrub nurse’s reaction; only her eyes were visible above the mask. But Ross was glad that Ellis and the other surgeons were turned away attending to the patient.
She stepped to the back of the room, being carefulnot to trip over the thick black power cables that snaked across the floor in all directions. Ross did not participate in the initial stages of the operation. She waited until the stereotaxic mechanism was in place and the coordinates were determined. She had time to stand to one side and pluck at her glove until all the fingers were in the right slots.
There was no real purpose for her to attend the operation at all, but McPherson insisted that one member of the non-surgical staff scrub in each day that they operated. He said it made the Unit more cohesive.
She watched Ellis and his assistants across the room draping Benson; then she looked over to the draping as seen on the closed-circuit monitor. The entire operation would be recorded on video tape for later review.
“I think we can start now,” Ellis said easily. “Go ahead with the needle.”
The anaesthetist, working behind the chair, placed the needle between the second and third lumbar spaces of Benson’s spine. Benson moved once and made a slight sound, and then the anaesthetist said, “I’m through the dura. How much do you want?”
The computer console flashed “ OPERATION BEGUN .” The computer automatically started the elapsed-time clock, which ticked off the seconds.
“Give me thirty cc’s to begin,” Ellis said. “Let’s have X-ray,
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