Hysterectomy; Trauma; The Uterus That Saved a Life

by Larry Puls @larrypulsauthor

Trauma; Hysterectomy

The uterus. Arguably, the most fascinating organ in the human body. No bigger than a tangerine ninety-eight percent of the time, no smaller than a watermelon the other two. Fertile soil, doubling as a temporary home, a safe haven, where the beginnings of life take hold. Where an embryo morphs and divides, transforming into billions of unique cells that make up the intricate pieces of the human body. All woven together and permanently bonded with a soul. The baby incubator that graciously and generously supplies all the nutrients and oxygen a small child will need to thrive. It provides the human race with the most beautiful, precious, amazing, heart-warming gifts we call children, made in the image of God.

A Gun in the Hospital; A Shooting

by Larry Puls @larrypulsauthor

Medical School, Fear

Kaboom... Kaboom... Kaboom...

A tsunami of terrified people running in every direction, some left, some straight, some right. We suddenly see them bounding into our hallway packed with gurneys, equipment, and injured human lives. Twenty or so people, fleeing towards us into a "safe" zone. Who could possibly know how safe it would prove to be? The wave of frantic runners was stirring up increasing chaos. Panic that stimulated more panic. All the frightened individuals were now engaged in a game of musical rooms, trying to secure safe places for themselves. Someone bad must be stalking the ER and we were all in harm's way. Fears forced the treatment room doors open. People dove in, and then barricaded themselves inside respective fortresses. My first patient was no exception, flying off his table as well, with his stitch and needle swinging from his arm. Desperation was plastered on his face, on every face.

Run for Your Life; Who Said Medical Education Was Worth Dying For?

By Larry Puls @larrypulsauthor

Medical Education, A Brush with Death

Three AM. The witching hour. I was twenty-four, naïve, roaming the hallowed halls of Parkland Hospital, trying to piece together what I’d learned from my first two years of medical school. Living on short naps. Living on a hope that one day, all of this would make sense. Our team’s mantra was, "sleep is for the weak". I think that’s how it went. Such a different world back then.

We finished rounding. Yes, three AM. Did I say that already? Do patients really want to be seen then? Mine was not to reason why, mine was but to do and (?)... Concluding the floor work, I was hopeful I might slip off and sneak a little sleep before prepping for “morning” rounds. But that thought disappeared with a phone call, a pleading request. Help was needed down in the Emergency Department. A backlog of cases had been created by the nebulous Dallas Knife and Gun Club—or so it seemed. My next three hours had just been defined. Not going to be pretty.