GUEST POST: Superhero Surgeons - It ain't all Sex, Drugs & Rock 'n Roll (by Bongi)

Welcome to the third, in an initial series of 3 guest posts by our Mpumalanga HeavyWeight... Bongi. He's witty, he's irreverant - he's a little whack.

But it's all in the name of demystifying the doctor. Or not.

Enjoy SUPERHERO SURGEONS - It ain't all Sex, Drugs & Rock 'n Roll!

If you like Bongi's work - visit him here! Wear a glove. Spread the love.

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yes i have an alter ego. yes, i dress in funny clothes with a cap covering my head and a mask covering my face. and yes, dressed as such i try to fight the powers of evil (mainly sepsis and bleeding and cancer and the like). i am ... a superhero.


but there is often little understanding for what goes on under the paper thin masks and baggy gowns we wear. certain …um…occurrences, well, occur with us just as much as with other people.

a common cold behind a theatre mask is no small thing. remember you can’t blow your nose. sniffing loudly only works for a while and attracts all sorts of strange stares. just leaving it is really the only option. the positive side of this is you suffer less from the mild dehydration that accompanies massive loss of …mucus. there is, after all, fluid replacement (it is a very short trip from your nostrils to your mouth over your upper lip). ‘nuf sed. somehow this never appealed to me though. so, for all you budding surgeons out there, when you have a cold, plug your nostrils with tissue before scrubbing up. once you’re scrubbed, it is too late. The side effects are only a slight change in voice which is a small price to pay to avoid the constant lip licking and salty taste throughout the operation.

then there is a running stomach. this may be one reason to excuse yourself, handle the situation and rescrub. however, there is the real problem of dehydration, confounded by long hours of standing and concentration. here may i suggest a drip. the gas monkey (anaesthetist) can quite easily give a quick bolus or change the vaculiter when needed. (quick note, i’m not pulling this out of my thumb. i have actually seen this). stay at home, i hear you say? somehow that just doesn’t work with us doctors. i’m not sure why, but it is very rare that a doctor will stay at home merely because he is sick. what sort of a superhero would that be.

the last problem that can be encountered is best explained by thinking back to my registrarship. i was assisting the prof with some or other laparotomy. my stomach had been giving me trouble for some time. up until just before scrubbing up with the prof i had found it necessary to quietly leave polite conversation to allow the release of colonic gas quite a number of times. but once scrubbed up, this avenue was no longer open to me. what could i do? i simply puckered up and held it all in. this worked well, but became progressively difficult. we were approaching the end of the operation, but i could pucker no more. finally i reached a point where i had no choice. i needed release. i decided to quietly let one slip as to not attract too much attention with loud noises. so, as the professor started to close the sheath, i did just that. i was just inwardly congratulating myself for the stealth with which the…um…operation had been executed when the professor stopped closing and dived back into the abdomen. in a dry voice he quietly says, “someone cut the colon.” as he started carefully moving bowel out of the way to better examine the colon. now imagine my embarrassment when i was forced to say’...

“colon? yes. cut? no”

GUEST POST: Tough Surgeon (by Bongi)

Second post (in an initial public offering - har har - of 3) by our man with the plan - BONGI!

Enjoy... I didn't. This one was particularly gross for us "mere mortals". Read more of Bongi's stuff here.

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A story that i thought quite funny at the time, illustrating us macho surgeons...

sigmoid volvulus. a wonderful condition which is very common in africa. not the type the textbooks talk about found in institutionalised old folk, but the type found in young black adult males. prevalence highest in uganda, decreasing as one moves south, but still pretty common in south africa. so in my registrarship, i became quite good at detorting the volvulus which is the emergency treatment in casualties. if this doesn't work or on sigmoidoscopy (siggy as we called it) if you see any questionable bowel, immediate laparotomy is performed.

anyway the patient came in and had a clear sigmoid volvulus on examination and x-rays. i got the siggy ready to detort and place a flatus tube. now, for the lay person, in this area of blocked colon, the feces has been rotting. yes rotten feces, the only thing to top regular or garden variety feces. the feces is also under extreme pressure, so as you insert the siggy, it deflates with vigor (explosively). many of my friends got showered with this rotten projectile fecal matter and often in their face when they detorted sigmoid volvulus on more than one occasion. i had evolved a way of doing it that decreased my chances of being the proverbial fan that was just about to get hit. yes, i think i was pretty good at it. in fact the picture above is me with my trusty siggy ready to detort a volvulus.

so, getting back to the story; i called the students to see the procedure, because this could be their only chance to see it. i set everything up and started the siggy, with an enterage of students, a house doctor and a rotating medical officer standing to observe. i got to the twist, observed to make sure there was no necrosis and started gently inserting the flatus tube. it slipped easily in. and as usual there was a sudden and massive release through the tube of rotten feces and particularly rancid flatus. i stood there trying to control my gag reflex. it would be considered an acute loss of cool if the tough surgeon was seen to be gaging at anything by his awe struck juniors (tongue in cheek for those who wonder). i just couldn't. i gagged over and over again. now i was struggeling to prevent myself from vomiting. despite this, my prominent thought was that the students would think i was a wimp.

then i looked up. every last one of them had bolted. not one had mannaged to overcome the stench to stay and watch. i laughed. all my ego driven worries about what they would think of me were in vain. obviously if a surgeon nearly gagged then mere mortals (tongue in cheek, flamers) like medical students and doctors would obviously not be able to be in the near vicinity of such a thing.

the patient did well, got his elective colectomy the next week and went on his merry way.

GUEST POST: Fashion Statements (by Bongi)

Ladies and Germs ... Please give a hearty, clinically clean, surgically scrubbed welcome to our first guest poster - Bongi from Other Things Amanzi! Welcome my man...

This is part of a drive to get more contributions to All Scrubbed Up. We're about a year old now and readership is growing rapidly. More content for you, our medically minded audience.

This is part 1 of a 3 post series. If you like Bongi's work - TELL US! It's a fascinating insight into Mpumalanga medicine (and this time, what they wear!)

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Fashion Statements

sometimes we as surgeons are restricted by the most mundane of things. back in my kalafong days, more often than my first world visitors could imagine, entire theater lists would get canceled because of lack of theater attire (scrubs). this gave rise to a funny story and, indirectly to a more recent and somewhat more serious story.

story one.

i arrived in theater one morning in kalafong, ready and eager to operate. there were no theater pants, only tops. i quickly found out there were none available and the matron was on the verge of canceling my list. i checked my gas monkey (anaesthetist). he got one of the last pairs and was dressed for action. the sister was also appropriately attired. it was just me that couldn't enter the theater complex.

not to be blocked by such a minor thing, which was anyway an administrative error and therefore, i reasoned, should not disrupt theater lists, i made a plan. i took a sterile drape and wrapped it around my waist like a sarong and strutted out into theater.

my fashion statement it would seem was too much for the matron, because before i had made even 5 meters, she came rushing up to me with a clean pair of theater pants (she had apparently just created them from subatomic particles using a process of fusion) and insisted i go back to the change room to make myself decent. no fashion sense it seems.

the second story was more recently.

i was called to the theater at the local provincial hospital in the early hours of the morning. it seems they started a laparotomy for a gunshot abdomen and were now in deep water. i dived into my car (i reasoned i would soon be diving into their deep water with them and i wanted to get my eye in) and raced to the hospital, trying to fully wake myself up as i went. i parked and charged to theater.

there i encountered obstacle number one. the change room door was locked. no problem, i would just go in through the main door.

obstacle number two was the main theater doors had been locked using a piece of wood wedged through the door handles. i shouted into theater, but there was no reply. i reflected that, although they had called me in at some ungodly (but not unsurgical) hour, they had not allowed easy access. the telephone call had lead me to believe that the situation was critical. i could not let a mere locked door get in my way. i broke it down. inside i found one of the sisters sound asleep. my supplications to open the door as well as my violent attack on said door had, luckily, not disturbed her no doubt well deserved rest.

obstacle number three awaited me in the change room. there were no shirts. at this stage i was feeling slightly less than my usual cheery self. i was in no mood to waist more time. i dressed in theater pants and entered theater with a naked torso.

there was stunned silence. the medical officer was speechless. he started explaining his operative dilemma, but as he looked up and saw me he went quiet. if i wasn't in such a bad mood i'm sure i would have laughed. i started scrubbing. (i suppose i should say something like my godlike torso faintly illuminated by the one light in the scrub room, but that is implied, of course).


soon i was donned with the operating gown and got to work. no longer blinded with jealousy, no doubt, the medical officer found his voice again and could explain to me the situation. my mood also improved and soon the normal intraoperative banter was being exchanged as if it wasn't 3o'clock in the morning and as if the consultant hadn't just turned up half naked after breaking down the theater door and of course as if there wasn't someone whose life hung in the balance.