brazilian death metal
Apr. 9th, 2020 03:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Sometimes Dr. Friend tells us tidbits about operating room life. One of the running things I always ask about is what music plays in the operating room. Surgeon always gets to pick, that’s the rule. That’s just how it works.
The transplant the other night, the surgeon was a super polite Japanese guy who opted for Brazilian death metal. “If it is too loud, guys,” he said earnestly, “we could turn it down,” and the rest of the team was like what the fuck is this but decided it was within tolerance and could stand.
The one before that, the guy had a salsa playlist, and it was fine for the first six or eight hours but eventually Dr. Friend was like “bud it’s four thirty in the morning do you think we could tone it down a little”
“Who adjusts the music, though?” I asked. I’m just envisioning all these people scrubbed in for surgery and the music’s on somebody’s ipod, is that sterilized too?
“No,” he said, “it’s usually playing on a streaming service on one of the computers in the room, and there’s a circulating nurse who isn’t sterile who usually has a hand free to deal with things like that. Once in a while we have to yell I’m still listening to get the nurse to go jiggle the mouse.”
“Please tell me it’s not somebody’s free Spotify account with the same commercial every three songs,” I said, and he was like ughhhh and assured me it wasn’t, but that would be hilariously infuriating.
(A long-ago story of his involved the surgeon once starting his playlist with that Peaches song about Suckin’ on my titties like you wanted me and Dr. Friend frantically gesticulating at him to cut it because the patient was not actually unconscious yet. Fortunately the patient’s reaction was a thumbs-up.)
Sometimes Dr. Friend tells us tidbits about operating room life. One of the running things I always ask about is what music plays in the operating room. Surgeon always gets to pick, that’s the rule. That’s just how it works.
The transplant the other night, the surgeon was a super polite Japanese guy who opted for Brazilian death metal. “If it is too loud, guys,” he said earnestly, “we could turn it down,” and the rest of the team was like what the fuck is this but decided it was within tolerance and could stand.
The one before that, the guy had a salsa playlist, and it was fine for the first six or eight hours but eventually Dr. Friend was like “bud it’s four thirty in the morning do you think we could tone it down a little”
“Who adjusts the music, though?” I asked. I’m just envisioning all these people scrubbed in for surgery and the music’s on somebody’s ipod, is that sterilized too?
“No,” he said, “it’s usually playing on a streaming service on one of the computers in the room, and there’s a circulating nurse who isn’t sterile who usually has a hand free to deal with things like that. Once in a while we have to yell I’m still listening to get the nurse to go jiggle the mouse.”
“Please tell me it’s not somebody’s free Spotify account with the same commercial every three songs,” I said, and he was like ughhhh and assured me it wasn’t, but that would be hilariously infuriating.
(A long-ago story of his involved the surgeon once starting his playlist with that Peaches song about Suckin’ on my titties like you wanted me and Dr. Friend frantically gesticulating at him to cut it because the patient was not actually unconscious yet. Fortunately the patient’s reaction was a thumbs-up.)
no subject
Date: 2020-04-09 03:40 am (UTC)If I was the patient, I'd be chastised by the nurse for trying to dance while being anesthetized.
no subject
Date: 2020-04-09 12:31 pm (UTC)