Panic
by robspace54
The characters, places and situations of Doc Martin, are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.
Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.
The lights seemed unusually bright this morning. I squinted under the unremitting glare of the surgical lamp and stared at the patient's leg. The calf was draped below the knee and at the ankle. I touched the ankle and felt the strong pulse. "Good," I muttered.
The damaged area of the calf was red and swollen, humped into a firm mass four centimeters across. I prodded it and it felt rock hard, worse than when I had seen it in pre-op. These superficial thrombophlebitis cases were rare, but the patient was recovering from a DVT and had tumbled down a full flight of stairs, creating the haemotoma deep in the left calf I was about to repair.
The surgical trainee handed me my usual scalpel. I took it from him without a word. The surgical site was well scrubbed, stained orange by the antiseptic cleanser. I glanced at the anesthesiologist, and she stared back at me over her mask.
"Stable," she answered. "Ready when you are, Mr. Ellingham."
On some strange impulse I stepped to the side and gazed at the patient's face. Lying on her stomach I could just see the curve of her cheek, a hint of her dark hair exposed under the surgical cap. There was a bite block in her mouth, her pale lips clamped down on it and I could hear slow inspirations and exhalations.
"Problem?" I heard someone ask.
"No," I addressed the anesthesiologist. "Just…" suddenly my mouth had gone dry.
The scene in the pre-op area came to mind. The patient was 57 years old, female Caucasian, in generally good health, but for blood pressure medication, heparin for a deep vein thrombosis, and antibiotics for her other fall injuries which were minor. She had a cast on her left arm from mid-forearm to fingertips to stabilize a broken wrist.
Two people, a man and a woman were at bedside. The husband's (I so assumed) face was wet, along with a younger woman who from her facial structure and build must be the daughter. Both of their faces were drawn and tense. Eyes wide and staring as I entered.
I gave them a brief them introduction of myself, examined the leg, and explained what I would do. Resect the tangled mass of clotted veins, perform an anastomosis if necessary, etc.
They muttered their thanks and then moved closer to the women in bed, holding her free hand, combing her hair with their fingers, touching her face, kissing her as I watched. Their behavior made me feel… uncomfortable for some reason. In irritation I looked at the wall clock; this was wasting time, and yet… I could see they were worried. Concerned.
I addressed the patient. "I'll…" I began and she looked up at me, her green eyes wide and staring. Clearly frightened, for I saw tears suddenly run from her eyes. Anything more I might have said froze in my throat, so I whirled on my feet and fled.
Now she was face down on the table ready and waiting for me to correct the injury.
"Ehrm right," I cleared my throat, reached up to adjust the too-bright light, angling the beams away slightly.
I stared at the scalpel in my hand, then took a step to my right, moved next to the surgical table. The mass below my blade was waiting, so I braced my index finger along the top of the scalpel and made two elliptical incisions, creating a flap which I could peel away. Yellow fat appeared as my blade parted the tissue followed by a steady flow of blood from severed capillaries.
"Gauze," I commanded, and the trainee dabbed at the trickling blood. I watched the gauze he held turn light red, and a darker color as more of the fluid was absorbed.
Now the light seemed to get very harsh, my head began to pound, my palms went warm and wet, and the room seemed to whirl. "Cautery," I managed to say through a flood of saliva in my mouth.
The trainee flipped the switch on a control, handed me the cautery instrument, and I sealed the worst bleeders. A whiff of cauterized flesh puffed into the air, with some light smoke. It smelled like steak on a barbecue, only with the odor which human flesh made when it was burned, which was quite unlike… unlike… unli... uhm. What was I thinking? What was I doing? I stared at the metal thing in my hand and had no idea what it was.
I could not think, and felt the room start to tilt, as my stomach heaved, so I pulled my mask off, and vomited onto the floor while the room got a lot darker. My head spun, and I fell, followed by a thump as my head hit the tile floor.
Dimly I heard shouts. "Oh my God" and "Mr. Ellingham?" "Doctor?"
I let go; quit trying to think, see or hear, and let the darkness welcome me.
Author's Notes: Thrombophlebitis (throm-boe-fluh-BY-tis) is an inflammatory process that causes a blood clot to form and block one or more veins, usually in the legs. The affected vein might be near the surface of the skin (superficial thrombophlebitis) or deep within a muscle (deep vein thrombosis, or DVT).