Life and loathes of a new doctor

Surgical shift night
Night 1 of 7
Time: 23:03
Number of venflons: 37 (it seems that many anyway)
Pyrexial patients: 7

I've just finished a grand round of the wards, writing up fluids and night sedation. How ironic that I will soon crave sleep while my patients are insomniacs. I make a mental note to prescribe paracetamol, anti-emetics, and temazepam as needed when clerking patients in.

Night 4 of 7
Number of hot meals: 1
Weight lost: 2.5 kg

I curse my day shift colleagues for leaving me so many ghastly jobs. I picture them gathered together eating steak dinners, laughing and joking heartily while comparing the menial tasks they have handed over. As they supp from fish bowls of fine wines I take another slug from my only solace: a thermos mug of tar thick coffee. I've drunk so much coffee over the past few nights that when I glance in a mirror I see I am Corrigan's sign positive.

Night 7 of 7
Episodes of caffeine induced palpitations: 3
Microsleeps: 7
Days without alcohol: 8 (no withdrawal seizures thankfully)

There just seems to be something wrong about finishing a night shift then cracking open a beer when you get home. I know some people enjoy a refreshment before the postman has even been, but I can't stomach booze alongside my cornflakes.

And so the week ends. I have written up enough intravenous fluids to fill an Olympic swimming pool. By some fluke of good fortune there were no major catastrophes. I hand over to the day shift, feeling like a conquering hero returning from a tour of duty. I am actually quite disappointed to discover that the trust hasn't laid on some sort of celebratory buffet to mark the occasion.

The next week I am back on day shift. When the night shift preregistration house officer for this week saunters onto the ward I truly feel sorry for them. As I head home to my own bed that evening, however, I think of the lyrics famously sung by Bono: "Tonight thank God it's them instead of you."