Reviews › Frank Burns’ Surgery by Patient 503 (Un-Exteriorized)
Frank Burns’ Surgery by Patient 503 (Un-Exteriorized)
Reviewer
Patient 503 (Un-Exteriorized)
Category
Service
Episode
Margaret's Engagement
Report
An Experience of Utter Negligence
When I was hauled into the 4077th after taking shrapnel, I didn't expect a private suite, but I did expect basic, competent care. What I received was far worse than the shrapnel wound itself.
My case was handled by a surgeon—and I use that term loosely—named Major Frank Burns. This man's surgical philosophy seems to be based on speed and corner-cutting, not patient safety. I suffered a significant perforation that required meticulous, textbook repair. Instead of properly exteriorizing the section of intestine to prevent a disastrous infection—the standard, recognized procedure for this type of injury, as I was later told by actual doctors—Major Burns decided to stitch everything up tight. Why? Because, as I understand it, he was too impatient to wait for the proper signs, or perhaps just too convinced of his own sloppy skill.
I quickly developed peritonitis—a complication that turned my recovery into a living hell and required an emergency follow-up surgery. The fact that my medical records are now apparently used in lectures as a textbook example of what happens when a doctor is too much of a coward to do the right thing speaks volumes about his catastrophic level of malpractice.
The rest of the camp staff—the nurses like Major Houlihan and the other doctors (Pierce and Hunnicutt, I believe their names were)—were fine, efficient, and frankly, furious on my behalf. They saved my life after Burns nearly ended it. But the fact that I was treated by a man who possesses the ego of a four-star general and the surgical skill of a nervous intern is a profound condemnation of the entire facility's administrative oversight.
If you are unfortunate enough to be wounded, avoid this tent at all costs. And if you hear the whimpering voice of Major Frank Burns approaching your gurney, I recommend getting up and running back to the front line. It's safer.
When I was hauled into the 4077th after taking shrapnel, I didn't expect a private suite, but I did expect basic, competent care. What I received was far worse than the shrapnel wound itself.
My case was handled by a surgeon—and I use that term loosely—named Major Frank Burns. This man's surgical philosophy seems to be based on speed and corner-cutting, not patient safety. I suffered a significant perforation that required meticulous, textbook repair. Instead of properly exteriorizing the section of intestine to prevent a disastrous infection—the standard, recognized procedure for this type of injury, as I was later told by actual doctors—Major Burns decided to stitch everything up tight. Why? Because, as I understand it, he was too impatient to wait for the proper signs, or perhaps just too convinced of his own sloppy skill.
I quickly developed peritonitis—a complication that turned my recovery into a living hell and required an emergency follow-up surgery. The fact that my medical records are now apparently used in lectures as a textbook example of what happens when a doctor is too much of a coward to do the right thing speaks volumes about his catastrophic level of malpractice.
The rest of the camp staff—the nurses like Major Houlihan and the other doctors (Pierce and Hunnicutt, I believe their names were)—were fine, efficient, and frankly, furious on my behalf. They saved my life after Burns nearly ended it. But the fact that I was treated by a man who possesses the ego of a four-star general and the surgical skill of a nervous intern is a profound condemnation of the entire facility's administrative oversight.
If you are unfortunate enough to be wounded, avoid this tent at all costs. And if you hear the whimpering voice of Major Frank Burns approaching your gurney, I recommend getting up and running back to the front line. It's safer.