It’s one am, and I’m still at work.
In fact the entire team have been here doing this one operation since before 8. The only one not aware of the passing of time (hopefully) is our patient, who is in the drug induced coma we call anaesthesia. Everyone looks tired, but the two surgeons look absolutely dead on their feet, while still seeming to be doing a good job. I wonder if anyone is questioning their life choices? We’re still a couple of hours away, too. This is the longest anaesthetic I’ve ever given.
…..
2 am, and the surgeon has told us we can put some music on. I’m taking this as a positive sign that the fraught stuff is over and the end may be in sight.
It’s nearly 4 am and we’re almost done. I feel surprisingly OK. I’m the oldest person here. I never would have dreamt this operation would take so long or that I would cope with it so well. I hardly feel. It’ll be nearly dawn by the time I get home, might need to give the dogs their breakfast before going to bed. I have an office day so I’ll get there when I get there.
5:30 home in bed. The dogs have been fed. Our patient woke up beautifully, comfortable and oriented (orientated?) in spite of twenty hours of surgery and anaesthesia. Gratifying. I finally started to feel a bit sleepy driving home, which has just now reminded me of my uncle that I never met, he was an O and G specialist who crashed while driving to or from the hospital in the middle of the night sixty or so years ago. There’s no doubt being sleepy impairs your performance in ways we didn’t understand years ago. Anyway, I made it home and am ready to sleep, who knows how long for?