The grey-gowned figure in charge looks like a visitor from another planet. Between skull cap and mask, his head sprouts a startling pair of binocular spectacles. His hands move with confident precision and his even voice snaps with authority, but his very words seem part of an alien languagea communication designed solely for his colleagues:
Fours on Frenchies, please. Twos on threes . . .
Let's get those little bleeders up there. Give 'em a little current!
Swift yet unhurried, the tense drama of the operating room plays...