Surgical Misstep

Camber Morton’s head rested on a cushioned metal circle, exposing the back side through the circle.  He fidgeted while the anesthesiologist adjusted the gadget affixed high up on the back side of his shaved head. A nurse had taped his eyes shut a few moments before the anesthesiologist entered the surgical theater, so he didn’t know what she looked like. He thought she sounded young, though.

She called it an ‘intrusive deep delivery appliance.’ “Once we turn it on, you’ll feel a cold sensation as it sprays a topical anesthetic on your skin. Next, it will make a small, shallow incision in the numbed scalp.”

Camber already knew the steps that would be undertaken in the procedure. The surgeon, Dr. Shalafondra Gomez, had explained it to him in detail. But it was different, hearing the abstract explanation from Dr. Gomez; today, he felt the device strapped to his head, anticipating the incisions in his head and chest.

“After a pause,” the anesthesiologist continued, “it will inject more of the anesthetic into the incision and pause again. As it progresses, it will spray a biological glue, which seals the tissue surrounding the device to prevent bleeding. It will continue that process until it reaches your brain’s occipital lobe. At that point, Dr. Gomez will insert the fiber-optic transmitter. You will see flashes, maybe some colored bursts like fireworks, while she adjusts the transmitter.  Once she has it firmly affixed, you’ll see through the lens of her head-band cameras.”

It seemed to Camber that it took an hour for the device to work its way to his occipital lobe, though it actually took around five minutes. He had expected at least a little pin prick of pain, but he felt nothing but that one burst of cold. Dr. Gomez said “Good morning,” when she entered, but he couldn’t make out what else she said. It seemed she was talking to other people in the room; it was medical talk he didn’t quite understand.

Despite knowing the fireworks were coming, the first flashes surprised him. It was like viewing a full-on fireworks finale, the sort of explosive displays that erupted from the garnitures he once created for Fourth of July celebrations.

Suddenly, the flashes stopped. In their place was a clear view of his own face.

“Wow! This is remarkable. I can see myself. I can see the equipment behind me and the operating table.” He saw the anesthesiologist. She looked to be all of eighteen years old.

“Good,” came the reply from Dr. Gomez. “That’s what we were after. I want you to see what we’re doing; it will help you get a better sense of how to use the prosthetic when it’s fully integrated with your muscles and tendons.”

Camber’s left arm had been blown off just below the elbow when a fireworks mortar exploded prematurely while he was preparing it for launch. The blast shredded the lower part of his arm. Somehow, it left him able to move his arm and bend his elbow, but all sensation was gone from his shoulder on down; he couldn’t feel pain, heat, cold. Nothing. It was that fact that had prompted Dr. Gomez to decide to do the prosthetic surgery without general anesthesia, though the anesthesiologist would stay at the ready, “just in case sensation returns at the most inopportune time,” she said.

Camber thought the prosthetic device looked fragile. It consisted of a brown plastic cylinder at the top, where the electronics and computer circuits were housed, with two stainless steel rods emerging from the cylinder. The rods connected to a maze of metal that looked like mesh, and then to another series of smaller, thinner rods that would be Camber’s new fingers. Almost the entire length of the ‘fingers’ were encased in tan rubber that looked to Camber a little too much like condoms in use.

Camber watched as Dr. Gomez made precise incisions into the stump of his arm. The second she made a cut, it began to bleed slightly, but the hands of an assistant wiped away the blood and, using a device that looked like an air-gun, sprayed something on the cut, stopping the bleeding.

“We’re using biological glue to stop the bleeding,” Dr. Gomez explained. “Internally, it will be absorbed into your system when the wounds heal. Externally, it will peel off when it’s completely dry.”

An hour and fifteen minutes later, Camber’s view of the surgery changed to a view of the operating room as Dr. Gomez raised her head and stood upright.

“All right,” Dr. Gomez said, “I’ve attached extensor tendons to the prosthesis, see?” She lowered her head to just above the spot where his arm joined the device. Camber could see what looked like a stainless steel hose clamp,  connecting tissue to one of the rods.

“Yes, I see.”

“Okay, now, I want to see if you can move your new arm, but just a tiny bit; don’t try to lift it, just move it very slightly.”  Dr. Gomez raised her head so Camber could see the full extension of both parts of his left arm.

The arm moved slightly.

“Good! Now, you may not be able to control the hands yet, but let’s give it a try. See if you can make a fist.”

She leaned down again so Camber could get a close-up view of the clot of condoms.

He made a fist.

“Great! You’re ahead of the game! We’ll finish this up and then we’ll talk about the processes you’ll need to follow to get this to heal.”

The teenage anesthesiologist spoke. “We’ll retrieve the optical fiber and remove this intrusive deep delivery appliance, now.”

Camber felt a slight tug at the back of his head, then his vision went black.

“The fiber is resisting. I can’t seem to get it to detach from…oh my god!”

He heard a flurry of movement and then lost consciousness.

WHERE DOES THIS GO? I HAVE NO IDEA. PROBABLY NOWHERE.