But I digress. You may have noticed the word "easy" in the title, a word that I don't use often to describe my call days. But every now and then the Call Gods go easy on me for some inexplicable reason. I tend not to question it, but I always wonder WHY. Why take pity on me? Why spare me? And what kind of horrors will they have in store for me next time?
My call day started off with a bang. We had a morbidity and mortality conference that lasted from 8 until 9 AM, and after that I trotted off to the lounge for a coffee. As I was stirring in the sugar, my pager went off for the first time in the day.
Damn it. Well at least I get my coffee, I thought with a smile as I looked at the pager. Ah, a fall. No big deal.
And then it went off again. Oh, a stabbing . . . at 9 in the morning. How lovely.
Fortunately neither patient was seriously injured, but it still took me about two hours to get them both worked up, patched up, and discharged. I looked at my watch and thought, Perfect! Lunch time! And what a coincidence that I just happen to be famished. As I was walking downstairs to get something to eat, my pager went off again. This time it was two patients being flown in by helicopter after a car accident.
Lunch would have to wait.
And so my day progressed. Every time my pager went off, it went off twice. For the first 9 hours of the day, I had 10 patients, all coming in pairs. I felt a bit like Noah at one point, marching my patients two by two into the trauma bay. Minus the huge gopherwood boat, of course.
And then at 5 PM, it stopped. It all just . . . stopped. Apparently everyone in the city decided to stop crashing their cars, stabbing each other in the neck, and falling off barstools all at once. With what I thought was just a few minutes to spare, I went downstairs to get a sandwich for dinner. On my way down I stopped by the trauma bay just to make sure I hadn't missed anything. But all of my previous patients had been either admitted or discharged, and the trauma bay was gloriously empty and eerily silent.
So I went back upstairs to enjoy my vending machine sandwich as much as a vending machine sandwich can be enjoyed, and I sat down to do a bit of writing. Four hours later, my pager remained blissfully quiet, so I wasted just a bit of time online (fuck you and all your damned videos, YouTube), and then I lay down to grab what was sure to be 18 whole minutes of sleep.
And exactly 8 hours later I woke up with the sun shining on my very refreshed face. The first thing I did was grab my pager in a panic, absolutely certain that I had somehow slept through 12 traumas. But nay, the pager was still empty. It appeared that the Call Gods had taken pity on me. I don't know why and I didn't even THINK about questioning it, but I certainly appreciated it.
No wait, I wasn't complaining, Call Gods! I was complimenting and appreciating you! Really, I swear! I . . .
And there goes my pager. Of fucking course.