THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1997, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Wednesday, February 5, 1997 TAG: 9702050038
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Larry Maddry
LENGTH: 88 lines
I WENT ONLY because it sounded crazier than a wounded rat in a coffee can. But I had the feeling that if anyone could pull off such a tour de force, it would be Dr. L.D. Britt.
I'm referring to a talk-and-slide presentation by the surgeon last Wednesday night in the Chrysler Museum auditorium, sponsored by the Norfolk Society of Arts.
The promotional material mailed to me by the Chrysler said Britt would lecture on ``Trauma Wounds in the Chrysler Collection and How They Would Be Managed Today.''
My first thought was: Just how much mayhem could there be at the Chrysler? Very little, I imagined - once you've discounted the bruises from flying elbows and vicious little wounds inflicted by hat pins during receptions. (It can be a war zone when patrons maneuver for position around that silver bowl of shrimp.)
Turned out there was more mayhem than I'd imagined. And Britt - who was valedictorian of his class at Booker T. Washington High school before moving on to Harvard Medical School - knew all about it.
And small wonder. He is the Brickhouse Professor of Surgery at Eastern Virginia Medical School and chairman of general surgery and chief of the Division of Trauma and Critical Care at EVMS.
He's also medical director of Shock and Trauma Center at Sentara Norfolk General Hospital, an art collector and a member of the Chrysler's board of trustees.
This was no ordinary lecture. Britt brought along photographic slides of trauma victims to assist him as he displayed images of the art works in the Chrysler.
He advised those in the audience to ``simply close your eyes'' if such sights as a hairbrush embedded in a person's chest or a torso shish-kebabed by a pole made them squeamish.
I hate to burden the public with my lack of professionalism. But it is very difficult - demmed near impossible, actually - to take notes on what is being said with one's eyes closed half the time. I have examined my notes from the lecture and find much of the scribbling illegible. Worse, there are huge gaps between scribblings - those I attribute to being in a dead faint.
There is a nice directness about Britt's speaking style. In discussing a life-sized marble sculpture of a seated Indian pulling an arrow from his leg (``The Wounded Indian,'' by Peter Stephenson, circa 1848-50) he said: ``I don't know what happened to this Indian, but it doesn't look good.''
The surgeon explained that he cautions residents never to pull out an impaled object anywhere but the operating room.
``My mother would have probably said to pull the arrow out,'' he said. ``But by doing that you increase bleeding by making the wound larger.''
St. Sebastian pierced by arrows was a subject for two prominent artists represented in the Chrysler's collection, the surgeon noted.
``Sebastian was an officer in the Roman Guard, a Christian sympathizer who proclaimed his faith and was ordered shot to death by arrows but survived,'' he said.
A painting of the saint by Nicholas Regnier flashed on the screen. It was done in 1620. Britt said the pearly tones of St. Sebastian's flesh were characteristic of the painter. ``It also shows the influence of Caravaggio with its stark contrast of light and darkness.''
Although the saint looked like a pincushion to me, the surgeon said it was not surprising he survived. The only wound Sebastian received which might have required surgery was one which possibly penetrated the diaphragm, a partition of muscle between the chest and abdominal cavities, he noted.
Fast-forward to a painting of George Washington crossing the Delaware (I can't tell from these notes but it had something to do with thermal trauma) and scenes of operating rooms with multiple bullet wounds in the victims.
There is a huge gap in my notes shortly after Britt explained the Bougeureau painting of Orestes, the son of King Agamemnon. Orestes is shown stabbing his mother in the heart. About 15 percent of folks receiving penetrating heart wounds survive, the surgeon said.
He flashed some examples on the screen. `It's not uncommon for people to stick fingers in the heart to stop the bleeding,'' he noted.
I vividly remember the photo of the hairbrush. There it was, embedded in a man's chest. Surgeons certainly do see a lot of interesting things, don't they?
``I've stopped asking patients how something happened to them,'' Britt said. ``They always tell them they were reading the Bible and drinking lemonade when. . .
``In this instance there was an altercation with the man's significant other, and this happened.''
Don't think I've ever heard anything quite like Britt's lecture. A bloody success, everyone said. ILLUSTRATION: Color photo by Bill Tiernan/The Virginian-Pilot
Dr. L.D. Britt discussed managing trauma wounds pictured in the
museum.