This morning, Surgery. He looks up at me. "So where does the blood supply to the ovaries come from?" Panic. And, O Best Beloved, he flayed my forgotten anatomy open in all its hideous glory. I don't remember anything. Nothing. It has been many months since a surgical rotation, and I was never very good at vascular anatomy and when he glanced over the surgical mask and in a cool and unruffled tone commented This is basic anatomy. It is. And there's no excuse for forgetting it, not really. So I'm scrambling on the hunt for my Netter and my anatomy book, peering at Gray's, and generally feeling like an all-around first-year idiot again.
Plus, the patient delivered about fifteen minutes before I could grab the OB and ask to observe.
crushed