I was lying on my back on a gurney, getting my abdomen washed by the nurse.
She dipped Q-tip-like sticks into the brown antiseptic and then swirled them on my skin where the physician would make his incision. He would penetrate layers of skin and muscle to get into my liver and extract cells. He would send the cells to the laboratory to assess what kind of cancer I had. Eight days earlier, I had learned I had masses in my abdomen and chest. Three days earlier, I had learned the masses were cancer. That day I was on the gurney getting prepped for a liver biopsy, to find out what kind of cancer it was.
While one nurse washed my incision site, another nurse prepared the room. She was adjusting the lights, surgical equipment and my gown. And she rubbed her nose with her hand. Everyone rubs their nose. Humans unconsciously touch their nose or mouth more than 3.6 times per hour.
When we do this, we spread germs into our body from whatever we were touching before and spread germs from our body onto whatever we touch next.
I laid there and wondered if I should say something to her.
In medical school in the early ’90s, I had learned about the risk of normal nose bacteria infecting surgical sites. While on the gurney that day, I remembered a story about a patient with a massive infection in his surgical wound site. The hospital searched for the source of his Staph aureus. They found it in the surgeon’s nose. This story was told to us to remind us of the dangers of what we were seeing on the wards in medical school — which was still full of old-school clinicians who drew blood without gloves and washed their hands only intermittently.
Today things are supposed to be different. Hand washing before and after touching a patient is mandatory. And before and after walking into a patient’s room or touching medical equipment. The compulsory annual online classes for all clinicians include specific directions on how to wash your hands. There are signs on the walls and screen savers on the hospital computers reminding us to wash our hands.
But there I was, flat on my back, wondering if I should say something to the nurse. I was afraid she’d be upset with me if I said something — I was all but naked, lying on my back and pretty much in her hands. The hands that had just wiped her nose. I didn’t say anything. I tried to get my courage up to say something — but couldn’t. A few minutes passed. I decided it was too late to say anything. But I told myself if she did it again, I would say something to her.
And then she did. She rubbed her nose with her hand and then reached for the equipment table with that same hand. The equipment that would be in my liver in a few minutes.
I called her on it. Continue reading