Beat.

Jul 31, 2010 15:25

It’s been one of those days - the sort that gets under my skin and makes me wonder why the hell I wanted to become a surgeon in the first place. Two patients have coded on me -one of them during surgery- and though I know that neither of them are my fault; that there was nothing I could do to prevent them; it doesn’t help the feeling of loss that creeps up on me. Most days it’s easy enough to flinch off death, push it away from me in a way that all surgeons learn to be good at, but today I’m tired.

Seattle Grace is a good hospital, I wouldn’t have moved across a continent for anything less, but it’s not at it's best at the moment and everyone knows it. We’re stretched thin across too many surgeries and too much paperwork. Half the time I can’t even find the interns - I’ve doing much of my own pre and post-op care. I’ve been on the clock for nearly thirty-six hours and it’s times like these that I wish there were more vascular surgeons in the hospital.

I drop by the nurses’ station to make sure they know that Mr Barbra needs his meds at the right time, before heading for the coffee machine. I stretch as I wait for my espresso, cracking my knuckles at the same time. I yawn and take a sip, leaning against the wall to check over my charts. I have another angioplasty in an hour but I need to check on another couple of post-op patients first.

cassidy, open

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