The Surgical Reg

Necrotising fasciitis! Two words that instantly twist the guts of any surgeon with an icy squeeze.  It’s bad enough when the back of your mind whisperingly flirts with the possibility of this dreaded diagnosis whilst reviewing a patient with a perfectly innocent, garden-variety cellulitis in the light of day. It’s a little more troubling when, later that night at 3am, you suddenly sit bolt upright clutching at the damp bedsheets, utterly convinced that somehow you missed the first subtle signs. It is of course worse by far to peek under the bedsheets and instantly just know. For a disease that is supposedly vanishingly rare according to the textbooks, I feel that in my short career I have already encountered more than my fair share. Four cases of barbaric, destructive, ruthless dissection are seared into my memory. The overpowering smell. The sensation of human flesh liquified to a grey soup. The putrefaction of normal anatomy to the point where a deluge of stinking liquid leaks ou...

I have been on-call this weekend. For the most part, it has been a dreary affair, with the ward round of the 40-odd surgical patients interspersed only with popping an abscess or two, and trudging to A&E to see the next non-specific abdominal pain that they're not sure what to do with. Fortunately however, the next phone call was a referral for a  74 year old gentleman presenting with abdominal pain, distention and vomiting. The CT demonstrated a closed loop small bowel obstruction, with venous congestion of the affected loop. I got on the phone to the anaesthetist and theatre co-ordinator to give them the good news. As it was Sunday, and my consultant had only popped in to be briefly acquainted with the new admissions so as not to fall foul of Trust Policy, I let him know what I was up to when the ODP was on their way to retrieve the patient from A&E. Once the anaesthetist had done their bit, I carefully examined the relaxed virgin belly, attempting to palpate anything tha...