Abstract
“When blood gets onthe field you can’t seethe plane correctly.” I hearfrom the other sideof the surgical drape, its thinfabric a tactile expression of the dividebetween form and function, but lifeis abstracted on both sides, mineno less for including mere unconsciousmotion. Perhaps I let your bloodpressure drift too high, or maybethere were small, unseen vesselsoozing. Blame for the suboptimaltiming of life means resisting wiggling,dancing, crying. Your living bodymoves—too messy, toomuch. Mine, too. Operating on deadbodies would be easier, evenarchetypal: no squirming, pulsing,leaking. . . . beautiful like a platefrom Netter. By that measure,surgery improves as we approachdeath—an asymptotewe sometimes reach.
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