Heavy nights

Heavy nights.

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Heavy nights

These heavy continuously busy nights in the OT,  physically as well as mentally challenging.  Dealing with the shattered brain thinking something’s in it might still work and giving divine respect to the master controller of human body.  Escaping from the dirty world into the OT taking utmost responsibility,  the most satisfying act. Despite the new endeavours, seems to be masked by the excitement of handling a pulsating graceful brain. These late entries into casualties, scrubbing in alternate OT s,  hurrying for a rescue burrhole,  making cutting chai at 3am, fighting with anaesthetists and nurses for urgent cases, playing a temple run game in between cases to keep awake, nonsense chatting with assistants during surgery,  from Russia with love though the night, hilarious dancing steps through haemostasis, sing along Dr raj songs, hurrying through dinner in late nights in between cases, shifting patients alone,  cursing seniors for fast surgeries, lazy juniors shifting unprep patients. sinful deterioration late night and double OT,  demoralizing  shunt tracks, distressing OT lists, annoying number of trauma cases,  long never ending handovers, stiff hands at end of OT, cramping legs,
disturbing calls though sleep,
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and people to meet during rest of the
time, morning show movies, sleepless days and ‘cannot sleep’ night duties,  nonsense questions, nonsense answers in preops.  wat to say bout my night duty,  it’s quite an experience…

Needless to say we have seen all these and at the same time a bit unsure about the future generation facing these moments!!!

The Poetry Of

The poetry of a certain South Indian childhood means that you have bathed in at least three waterfalls and been blest by more than one elephant. You know with a knowing that predates language: the scents of jasmine, of camphor, coconut oil, and filter coffee. Know them the way you know the particular sound of your mother’s bangles. The way you know the sound of the latch on your front gate, and the sound of wet laundry slapping stone. You belonged to an off-key choir of schoolchildren who chanted morning lessons in unrecognizable English and ear-splitting unison. Your to-go meals were eaten aboard trains and came wrapped in banana leaf and newsprint, neatly secured with twine. All your uncles rode motorcycles.

You are an encyclopedia of wonderfully specific wisdom. You know what a hill station is, and are familiar with the many shades of cow dung. Also the urgency of…

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Not at all fed up

As things go around well in any profession there is always a sense of of insecurity.  Things are so awkward and disgusting for a layman are becoming so routine and indifferent.  You have to see the most intolerable mistakes by even the most authoritative and yet appreciate the decisions. Life is a cartwheel and there is no time even think back what good or bad I have done…..    life of a neurosurgery resident..