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 Cocksucker Makes The O.R.Posted 08.10.2007 by rsantuc (10)
My story begins with me as a very green third-year medical student in the midst of a surgical rotation. My place in the pecking order was low. How low, you ask? Let's just say that I was lucky if the nurses didn't snap the chart from my hands with the comment, "You're not there yet, hotshot" or "You can have it when your opinion actually matters." My days typically started at four AM, when I began frantically running around trying to gopher information with the hopes of not appearing as a complete imbecile by the six AM rounds. The rounds were quick and to the point so that we could get in the O.R. for hours of surgery. If you were a student like me and you did a good job being the subservient gopher, you would be rewarded with an invite to the O.R.
The attending surgeon in the O.R. was an old Irish guy who definitely enjoyed his spirits, and who didn't call anyone by their name. My name was Cocksucker. Didn't matter where we were. Outside the patient's room: "What are his vitals, Cocksucker?" In the elevator: "Does the Cocksucker wanna be a surgeon?" And finally, after presenting and examining one of my patients, the invite to the O.R. came: "That's a good little Cocksucker. You'll be in with us today." My patient was a mentally retarded sixteen-year-old boy who came in for abdominal pain. He had been admitted multiple times before for dehydration and fecal impaction (which is just a fancy way of saying you are REALLY constipated). After several days of laxatives and after my attempts to physically remove the stool with my fingers, it was decided to take him to the O.R. for fear of he'd rupture his colon if it didn't come out soon. I remember while looking at his abdominal X-RAY, the radiologist turned to me smiled and said, "He's FOS." Full of Shit. It was my first time in the O.R., and it appeared to be everything I thought it was. I was ready to go -- all gowned, scrubbed, and masked. "Everybody," said the attending surgeon, "this is Cocksucker, and he is our arm." Everybody turned towards me in a professional way, smiled, and went about their business. The patient was on a special breakaway table with which his legs could be suspended with tension and supported by a rod that rested on his butt bone. The table could be swiveled in any direction so that the patient could be at any angle you wanted. But most important of all, the table enabled a posture that gives you direct access to the patient's rectum. The anesthesiologist gave the patient a medication that aides in relaxing the rectum and colon. The nurse, dumping surgical lube on a blue towel to the tune of five full tubes, signaled to me to put my hand up. She then rubbed the towel and smeared the lube all over my gloves, which basically reached to my elbows. "Stick your fingers in there, Cocksucker, and tell me what you feel." I remember going up to my knuckles with two fingers and feeling pebbles. I pulled out a few rock hard pieces of poop about a half-inch in diameter and showed them to the surgeon. "God dammit, Cocksucker! Looks like we got an internist here, folks." The attending surgeon nudged his way in and stuck his whole hand up this kid's ass and then actually broke off what was revealed to be a handful of white-colored, rock-hard shit. I remember thinking two things: "Wow, that's white!" and "It looks like a perfect cast of the colon." The surgeon let me try again. I stuck my gooey hand up to my wrist and started yanking out petrified shit, one handful after the other. Snap, snap, snap into the biohazard bag it went. And then the consistency changed to a mixture like sand in thick pudding... and the smell became AWFUL. With a scooping motion that reached me in up to about half my lower arm, I coaxed the crap out. It took all I had not to totally gag -- my eyes actually watered. But I could tell the other were affected as well. One of the nurses was running around with some neutralizing spray, but it was no match for that putrid stench. And this kid's anus was dilated to a size I could not believe -- about the size of a regulation softball. Finally, I thought I was done. My arm was up to the elbow and I could reach no more. But that's when it got really bad. The surgeon started mashing -- no, pouncing -- on the kid's abdomen, and shit started squirting out like a fire hose. Brown streams of semisolid black and green crap shot out of this kid's ass. I had it all over my gown before I realized what he was doing and got the hell out of the way. Mash, mash, mash -- it shot onto the ceiling, all over the instruments, and all over the floor. And then they started instilling saline up his rectum to try and break up what was left up there. And then there was more mashing of diluted Hershey flow. I was gagging, the surgeon had some really wild eyes, and the nurses were disturbed at both the smell and the sight. The patient's rectum was winking open and closed with the sounds of the loudest farts I've ever heard -- like someone blowing as hard as they could on a tuba. Then they started rotating the table up, and it was like changing your oil: just a stream for about thirty seconds. I couldn't believe that much shit was in this kid. Finally it was over, and we were all out of there in a flash. The kid had lost over forty pounds of crap. And I had gained a memory that has been burned into my mind and my soul forever. Post new comment
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