I just recently had to send a note to the son of a former boss of Elf Santa’s favorite respiratory therapist Christmas sweater. I wrote about his father’s kindness, and how universally admired and respected he had been, and how much I had loved him. Just a few sentences, nothing too flowery, just some sincere words to say, I am sorry for your loss, you are in my thoughts, and perhaps a personal observation or two. Popping my head in, I scanned the next day’s cases, made a few mental notes, and was about to head out again when the single patient on an otherwise empty board caught my eye. And no other resident had claimed it— what an amazing opportunity! Without a second thought, I headed off to scrub.
Elf Santa’s favorite respiratory therapist Christmas sweater, shirt, hoodie and v-neck t-shirt
Best Elf Santa’s favorite respiratory therapist Christmas sweater
From beyond the drapes at the head of the Elf Santa’s favorite respiratory therapist Christmas sweater, a switch flipped with a stiff staccato “thud” and the ambient tidal hum of the room stilled. The surgeon lifted the now bloodless heart from its cradle in her chest with the sort of ceremonial gravitas a new father might show to announce his infant son. The anesthesiologist swiveled in his chair, stood up, and excused himself without another word. No more beeping or whooshes or waveforms. No more signs of life. I returned my attention to the attending surgeon, now in the act of wrapping this final organ in a thin plastic baggie. It suddenly resembled less Simba than a supermarket tomato. The surgeon caught my eye, and with a parting phrase, “You good to close?” was gone with his prize.