Call Four
As I write these words, I am calculating how many hours I was at the
hospital yesterday and today. I arrived after four in the morning on
Wednesday, and I
left shortly after noon on Thursday. That's 24 hours plus another seven or so,
or about thirty-one hours. That's about right for a call night.
I believe there's a rule that one is not supposed to work more than
thirty hours at a time at the hospital. I usually exceed that mark on
call. I don't regret it for a minute of my precious, sleep-deprived
time. I learn the most when I am on call because when I am on call, the
patients on the ward are mine.
I am currently on the Hematology service. We have twenty-four patients
of which six are mine on a daily basis. When I am on call, all
twenty-four are mine, and I relish that.
I love hematology and oncology more than any other service I have
experienced. This was true last year also, when my only heme-onc
experience was of the pediatric variety at Children's Hospital. Most
patients, whether it is pediatric or adult, have leukemia.
Baldness is the norm. End-of-life issues are always casting shadows
under the ninth floor of the Spain-Wallace ward, like a shark, waiting
to gnash and steal, always held at bay until the end.
My patients are fighters. Their spouses are fighters. Their families and
communities come together and keep the shark at bay. On the Hematology
service, hope is greater than fear. Patients are dying, but they are
living too, and they are struggling with burdens that I can not fathom.
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In Call One I wrote about being intimidated by one of my patients,
who has leukemia and who spent his professional life as a physician.
Moreover, he is a friend of one of the people who supported my
application to medical school. I felt pressure to perform to my best
level. It didn't take too long for that pressure to dissolve, like
finding a groove during a speech. The nervousness is lost and the
natural flow of what's required takes over.
