a general surgeon, unless I chose a specialty that required further training, but I didn’t think I will. As part of my general surgery residency, I had to spend a few months in every specialty, and I quite liked being a jack of all trades.
The changing room was full when I arrived. There was no such thing as shame in that room. We each had a tiny locker, and men and women changed side by side. Slipping into my scrubs and sneakers, I felt like myself again. I skimmed my hands down them, smiling at how familiar the fabric felt against my palms. I pulled up my hair in a tight bun, slipped my phone and my pager in the pockets of the pants.
I had been truly shocked the first time I realized pagers were still used, but I unraveled the mystery quickly. The pager signal was more reliable than the one for a phone. Since hospital walls had extra insulation because of X-rays and so on, there were certain floors where there was no signal at all.
After getting the list from my intern, I immediately told him that I’d want to catch up with him and the other three. I’d been gone for too long, and I didn’t want to miss anything. It was going to be outside of working hours, but he didn’t question it. We all did what we had to do.
“Sure. I’ll talk to everyone, and we’ll find a time,” he said.
“Thanks.”
The rounds went by quickly. I had immense respect for the chief of surgery. He was efficient and fair and didn’t hold back from the residents—he regularly asked us to attend complicated surgeries. I’d learned a lot from him.
The rest of the day was a mayhem as usual. On top of the usual workload, we had a stream of patients from the ER: two car accidents and one construction site mishap. I barely had any time to draw in a breath. Most days were like this, and I was used to them. The funny thing was, when it was just me and the patient, I didn’t feel any tiredness or sore feet or even hunger. Adrenaline kicked in, keeping me focused. The patient was all that mattered.
In the afternoon, they called me down to ER to tend to a young woman who’d been hit by a car. Luckily, it was far less serious than the previous two cases—the car drove off while the light was still red and hit her waist with the side mirror. She lost her balance, hitting the side of her head on the pavement. Her X-rays were clear, but she had an ugly wound at the side of her head that required sutures.
“We’re almost done, I promise.” I kept my voice steady and gentle, but it wasn’t until I paused, squeezing one of her hands reassuringly, that some of the tension in her body melted away.
“You’ll be just fine,” I whispered, squeezing her hand again before focusing on the sutures.
“There, you’re good as new,” I said once I was done, taking a step back.
I smiled, happy that the fear in her eyes had subsided considerably. Unfortunately, a new patient was rushed in the next second, so I couldn’t linger. The nurses were taking it over from there.
It was after I was done with my shift that every emotion I’d suppressed slammed into me.
In the short walk from the ER to the changing rooms, I stumbled twice, and a bout of nausea hit me. I leaned against the wall, fixing my eyes on the ceiling. Hmm... when was the last time I took a swig of water or had a snack? I couldn’t remember, which was a clear sign that it had been far too long. No wonder I was light-headed. Unhitching myself from the wall, I walked with measured steps. I couldn’t wait to get home and shower, get rid of the smell of disinfectant. It was one of the things I couldn’t get used to, even though it was part of my daily life. Some of my colleagues swore they couldn’t even smell it anymore, but unfortunately I did.
I left as soon as I changed, throwing my bag over my shoulder without even looking in the mirror.
Bed, here I come.
Once outside the building, I took a deep breath, basking in the cool evening air. The hospital’s back entrance was exclusively for personnel. Ambulances pulled in around the corner, but this patch was entirely ours. It was like a miniature park