Flatus and Stool

well here i am, into my 5th month of surgical training. i don’t know what kind of perverse rationalization and/or profound self delusion got me into this mess, but here i am, knee and elbow deep in soap suds enemas and the glorious, if not malodorous world of general surgery internship.

somehow, when i was a kid, i never imagined that i would be waking people up at 5 in the morning, asking them if they farted, pooped, or peed. or that i would sometimes be digging my finger into a demented senior citizen’s bumhole in a sisyphean effort to scoop out loose excrement from a massively dilated rectum.

seriously man, what the hell?

debt? love of digital rectal exams? perhaps an unhealthy affinity for feculance. who the hell knows.

i have about 10 cases under my belt. picking out a lipoma is more fun than i thought. it’s like when you pick a good size booger, except better. except when you pick a booger you don’t have to write a post op note, dictate an op note, write post op orders, or see your booger back in clinic in a week.