IBM
9181 Biomedical - Medical experience
The biggest fear I had, when I moved into IBM Biomedical, was that I wouldn't be able to cope with the medical environment. Fortunately, this proved wrong. In fact, as with most jobs I have undertaken, I managed to read myself into medicine in a matter of two to three months. Again as usual, I consolidated my knowledge and experience, by talking to the best experts in the country. This, incidentally, also set a wonderful foundation for my later sales campaigns. Accordingly, I became a real expert on haematology; and on plasma exchange in particular. In the case of the latter, I was ultimately to become one of the world's top experts -- whose opinion was sought by many of the leading international consultants. I especially remember a wonderful walk along the beach at Travemunde, near Hamburg, where I and Jean Hester, one of the world's greatest oncologists, together with her partner discussed future developments in plasma exchange. It was a wonderfully technical conversation which took off into the stratosphere
There were other experiences. One of the great tests of my squeamishness was seeing, almost as a medical student, the operations taking place in Salpetriere hospital in Paris. The theatres there, with their glassed in galleries above the operating tables, meant we were able to look down and see everything that was happening. I spent the couple of hours watching open heart surgery. It was, notable for the fact that it seemed a junior doctor spent most of the time opening and shutting the chest of the patient. But the star of the show, the consultant who actually did the bypass, was in theatre for less than half an hour. His juniors had to do all the most physical parts of the operation.
At one point they put in something like the reverse of a vice to spread the bones in the chest. It was a quite a horrifying scene, as was the way that the blood vessels were cauterized. Afterwards we went for a Chinese meal, we couldn't face a steak!
Actually, as the patient was largely covered in the green sheets, I didn't find this particularly upsetting. Much more upsetting was a hip operation. I think it was probably because the leg, with the bone exposed, looked so much like a leg of pork!
That was the most I ever saw of an operation. It was not, however, the closest I ever got to one. The Papworth team were interested in using one of our machines in their heart transplant work, so I actually went into theatre with them while they conducted open heart surgery; albeit for a more routine bypass. Accordingly, I was just a matter of a few feet away from the operation that took place. However, as in this case the green sheets hid everything from sight, there was little to see. On the other hand, it was very interesting experience, rounded off by having fish and chips brought in to the consultants office next door!
Incidentally, there was a great amount of controversy about the transplant unit staying at Papworth, which was a small hospital, rather than moving to Addenbrookes, which was the massive regional centre. There were many arguments put forward, but when you were in theatre there the real reason became obvious. All the theatres at Addenbrookes were white tiled cubes, hidden in the bowels of the hospital. At Papworth they were on the top floor, and one side was a wall of glass overlooking beautiful countryside. As they operated, the surgeons had Mozart played over the hi-fi. It was a wonderful place to work. It may not been have efficient, but it sure was effective.
For the record, IBM placed great emphasis on working conditions, and spent a fortune on them, but probably the best place I have ever worked was at the OU, where we were at first off campus in our own small office complex. The key to its success was having the copier and the coffee machine in the centre of the offices; so that we saw all our colleagues several times a day - and this, by itself, consolidated the team spirit.
Fortunately, I missed another operation in Cambridge. I was in hotel there, on standby, when they undertook a liver transplant. For some reason the hotel didn't manage to track me down, even though I was fast asleep in my room. I suppose I should be grateful for that, since in those days the operation was not just relatively unsuccessful but was incredibly messy. The surgeons needed the wellingtons they wore, since they were wading through inches deep blood! The operation took something like sixty pints of blood.
At times the medical experience had its amusing side, though. For example I found myself, at one teaching hospital, doing the rounds with the consultants and being asked to support their decisions. It was an amazing experience. As usual, the consultants discussed each patient in front of them; assuming that the patients wouldn't understand a word of what was being said - though of course they did. Even so, patients are so trusting in their doctors - foolishly so at times - that I believe if asked to sign for permission to have their head amputated they would!
Incidentally, inside most hospitals I was always thought to be a consultant. This was partly because I was one of a few people in a suit who moved purposefully through the hospital -- most of the others were visitors who had a lost look about them. In terms of medical staff, of course, most junior doctors – typically the housemen - wore a white coat, with their stethoscope hung around their neck; they were expected to have to use the stethoscope regularly. Registrars, on the other hand, had their stethoscope stuffed into the pocket of their white coats, since they used them more rarely. Consultants had no white coat, just a suit, since they expected their firm to do all the hands-on work with the patient. Thus was the hierarchy maintained and I - in my expensive suit - was automatically seen as a consultant; and the crowds of nurses and junior doctors parted before me as I made my progress!
In terms of the hen-pecking order, also remember going into some hospitals with my colleague who was a dentist. The consultants immediately probed us about who we were, and he proudly described himself to them as a dentist -- from which point they almost totally ignored him, since dentists are seen as failed doctors.
After one doctor's round, when we got back to consultants’ office, I found myself being put behind his desk as the consultant almost cowered in the corner. "Please will you explain what is happening, to the wife of patient" he pleaded. I had already got the impression that her husband, who had to sign a consent form for the operation, was still under the anaesthetic when people had held his hand to make the signature. However, I was happy to explain matters to his wife – who obviously was quite a powerful lady. Only after she had she left did the consultant tell me that she was the hospital matron!
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