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An Operating Room Experience Necessitating Prayer

Mr. Carlton was a man with end-stage renal disease who was to receive a living donor kidney transplant from his wife, who was to undergo laparoscopic donor nephrectomy. I was assigned to Mr. Carlton’s case, though his wife’s donor surgery would be occurring concurrently in the operating room (OR) across the hall. As we were dissecting down to Mr. Carlton’s right external iliac vessels where the transplanted kidney would be attached, the surgeon was asking me questions about kidney transplantation. “So, when we have a living donor, which kidney do we take?” he asked. “The left, because it has a longer renal vein,” I answered. “Correct,” he responded, “Now, is there ever a case where we won’t take the left kidney?” I wasn’t completely sure, but given this question was even being asked, instead of hedging my bets, I responded confidently, “Yes.” “Good, but why?” he asked. I paused to think, and then said, “Well, I guess if there’s a difference in function . . . ” “Right, in that case which do we take?” I paused again. I knew that if you took the good kidney, there would be a better chance of transplant success, but there would also be a greater risk of the donor going on to have kidney problems. “You’d take the worse one,” I said, “because if the recipient gets a kidney that fails, they’re no worse off than before, but if the donor is left with a kidney that fails, now there’s another person with end stage renal disease.” He nodded, “Right, what’s the first thing we taught you in medical school? First, do no harm.” Just as we were about ready for the kidney for Mr. Carlton, we were informed that while the kidney was out, his wife’s donor nephrectomy was becoming complicated and the surgeons were converting to an open procedure. While I and much of the team stayed with Mr. Carlton, the surgeon and resident went to help with his wife’s operation. Since starting this rotation, there have been plenty of occasions for empathy when I would meet with and talk to patients on the floor and hear their stories. However, I quickly noticed that these occasions seemed to be neatly separated from our work in the OR. Never was this as apparent as when for once, just the opposite was taking place, and I found myself sitting by Mr. Carlton’s anesthetized side while awaiting word of his wife’s condition. I sat in anticipation, maintaining the sterile field for what seemed like an eternity, with the steady rise and fall of Mr. Carlton’s chest punctuated only by occasional messengers who were sent in with updates. “It’s chaos in there.” As I looked down on Mr. Carlton, I thought of how worried he’d be if he were awake. I was the only one there to worry for him, and I sat in silence as the nurses and other OR staff drifted into various conversations. “They cut a blood vessel, it might’ve been the aorta.” As the situation became increasingly more worrisome, I wanted to do all I could to help Mr. Carlton and his wife, but I had no idea how to do so. Finally, it dawned on me: Pray. “They consulted vascular surgery. All of the surgeons are scrubbing in.” I sat and prayed everything I could think to pray. I prayed the Our Father on a