THE SURGEON'S RITUAL.

Cromwell Argus, 30 September 1929, Page 4 (Supplement)

THE SURGEON'S RITUAL.

The minute attention to detail, which is part of the ordinary training of a surgeon, is reflected in the ritual which he adopts, as a routine practice, when about to undertake an operation. He removes his coat and waistcoat, collar and tie. In some cases, in place o? his ordinary clothes he dons white "ducks."

Having rolled up his shirt sleeves, he proceeds to scrub his hands and arms with hot water and soap, using a "sterilised" nail brush, i.e., one which has been boiled, or soaked for some time in a disinfectant. From now onwards he must touch nothing that has not been rendered "sterile" or free from germs. He uses running water at the basin, the temerature of which he regulates as he wishes. But, inasmuch as he may not touch any taps with his hands, for taps are not sterile, he is provided with a special basin, with three levers underneath, which he works with his foot. On pressing one pedal, he obtains hot water, with another —cold, and .a third works the plug. When he has thoroughly "scrubbed up"—the technical term —he turns to the sterilised drum or metal box, whose contents have been passed through the steam "steriliser." From this he removes a long white gown, which he puts on by pushing his arms through the sleeves, and hitching himself into it; this he must do himself, as no unsterilised hands may touch this gown. A nurse then takes the three or four pairs of tapes attached on either side and ties them across the back, fastening the neck likewise.

The next step is to apply the cap and mask. This is sometimes made in one piece, which covers the entire head, leaving only two holes for the eyes. Or there is a "porkpie" cap and separate piece of gauze, furnishel with two pairs of tapes, with which it is secured. The gauze covers the nose, mouth, and chin, leaving the eyes looking out just above. Although he has given many minutes to the vigorous scrubbing of his hands, the surgeon does not yet look upon them as "clean" in a surgical sense; and, as he cannot boil them as is being done with his instruments, he does the next best thing. He proceeds to pull on a pair of very thin rubber gloves which have themselves been boiled, or subjected to steam sterilisation. This would be a tedious matter in the ordinary way, for wet gloves stick to the fingers, and refuse to go on: so he fills them with water, and then works his hands into them, squirting out the water in all directions. Of if they have been dry-sterilised, he finds, tucked into one of them, a small piece of gauze, full of sterilised fiench chalk. With this he freely dusts his hands, and they will now slip easily into the gloves. He then folds the sleeves of the gown tightly round each wrist and pulls the rubber well over, thereby securing everything in place. He now somewhat resembles a Grand Inquisitor, and is what is called in surgical parlance —"washed up" and ready for his work.

FROM VARIOUS SOURCES. Young Wife (after their first squabble): "I regret I ever married you!" Brute of a Husband: "So you should! You did some nice girl out of a jolly good husband!" The good thing about the self-made mac is his opinion of himself. "You've already had leave, Ferguson, to see your wife off on a journey; for your mother-in-law's funeral; for your little girl's measles; your bey's christening—what is it now?" "I'm going to get married, sir." "Look here." shouted the agitated customer, rushing into the chemist's, "you gave me strychnine instead of quinine." "Then that will be another fourpence, sir," said the assistant. "That is a sunset my daughter painted. She studied painting abroad, you know." "Ah, that explains it! I've never seen a sunset like it in this country." Betty: "I'm awfully cold, Fred. I should like to have something round me." Fred: "What would you like to have?" Betty: "Oh, anything.'" He brought her a coat! "Your sou is still pursuing his studies at school, isn't he?" "I believe so; he's always behind!" Grandpa (to Grandma): "And another thing—l will not have you going out pillion-riding!" After much labor tbe tourist had toiled to the top of Vesuvius. He gave a perfunctory look into the crater, then turned to his guide and said, expectantly: "Well, what about the drink we're going to have?" "Dreenk," repeated the guide. "But that is impossible up here, sare." "Well, I'm hanged," said the disgruntled tourist. "Wait till I get hold of the fellow who told me this place was simply overflowing with lager." The Girl (to seaside acquaintance): "Please don't take hold of my arm. Whatever should I say to mother if she saw us?" The Fellow: "Oh, you could say I was your brother!"