Random Droppings

One of the evening technicians called me at home tonight, to report on my surgical patient from two days ago -- and to say that he thought the sutures had been pulled out.

After the heart-stopping moment passed, and I could think clearly, I asked "Why do you say that?"

"Because we can't see any sutures," he said.

I breathed again.

"That's because I buried my sutures," I said.

"Oh."

"Thanks for calling! I really appreciate the update!" I said.

No, really -- I do. I want them to call me with even the slightest concern, because I never know when it will be something truly serious, like the bloating patient from a few years ago that kept fooling people into thinking nothing was wrong, until the Saturday morning when one tech called me and I heard that note in her voice. She later remembered which patient it was and poo-poohed her feelings, but I'd already decided to take her seriously and we saved his life. Twice, actually, but that's more detail than anyone really needs.

I'd rather run to work late at night and find a healthy patient than not be called and have a dead patient.