'Why is it called da Vinci?'
When I ask the surgeon this question, it is rather late in the day to be seeking information, but it's a small point that has intrigued me during the weeks leading up to my tryst with da Vinci Robotic Assisted Prostatectomy. I have been thoroughly educated during those weeks about the various options available and this is the one I have chosen.
By the time I get round to asking this, the hour has come. I'm standing around in the operating theatre chatting to my surgeon. Wearing one of those flowing white hospital gowns that tie in a bow at the back and looking slightly distrait despite my studied attempts at a casual-nothing-fazes-me equanimity, I look like a Roman senator who's just made it to the Ides of March meeting but is still unsure about the order of business.
'That's it there,' says the surgeon, 'that's the da Vinci robot.' He waves a cheerful arm in the direction of what struck me then as a large, chunky structure which Field Marshall Erwin 'Desert Fox' Rommel, or Major General George 'Blood and Guts' Patton would have instantly recognised, but I wouldn't vouch for the accuracy of my recall. The bustle of gloved, white-clad, masked and plastic-hatted people in the operating theatre was alien territory for me and, I have to admit, more and more daunting.
'Why is it called ...' I started to ask again, but my query was lost among a new round of instructions. Even my smiling, affable surgeon was getting right down to business. He explained that they would be putting an adhesive on my back and that it might be a bit cold. This happened even as he spoke: invisible hands parted my gown and stroked my spine with stuff that was exquisitely cold. At the same time, the surgeon pointed out to me a peculiar sort of valley in the smooth surface of the operating table.
'Put your bum in there,' he said, 'wriggle round till you're comfortable then lie back.' I knew very well that when I lay back, securely anchored by my bum in the space provided, the adhesive would hold me in its grip. I also knew, from earlier briefings, that the reason for all this was that, once anaesthesitised, I would be tipped upside down and that the da Vinci would have its way with me while I was inverted, damn