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Show 94 Arrogance, In Training "I am a good surgeon!" he is saying even as he is entering my room. He does not bother to stop the door from banging shut. I am staring up from my wheelchair at this man who is so young that it appears he does not need a razor even twice a week. He is too tall for his high voice. He is speaking in either Bravado or Ignorance; I am coming to understand the dangerous intonations of these foreign languages. "I've put in twenty of these port-a-caths since I've been here!" he is bragging. Some of these people entering into my room should come with warning labels, I am thinking. In this case, "Having this intern assigned to you could be dangerous to your health" might be appropriate. I am doing the math. It is mid-September and he has been an intern for no more than three months. Three weeks if he just began. He is now on his surgical rotation, one month long, which means he has spent maybe part of fifteen days of his barely post-pubescent life in a surgical suite. His scalpel will be poised near at least one necessary artery. |