I handed in my fortnightly timesheet yesterday. I worked 168 hours. I will be paid for roughly 100 of these. The other hours are apparently my donation to the hospital; the gift of my sanity, health and life.
My bosses laugh about it. "Cardiac surgeons work the worst hours," they say with a note of pride. They equate their work hours with masculinity and identity as surgeons. These are men who don't see their kids and don't mind.
The women (nurses, of course) of cardiac surgery are not much better.
The snapshot is a woman in her mid-thirties, wearing excessive mascara (when you wear a scrub-mask, you've only got your eyes to work with) and tanned within an inch of her life. She talks loudly about her gym sessions, flatters the surgeons and ruthlessly undermines any new female on her turf. Say, the new intern.
I get a continual barrage of snide remarks ("God, you look tired", "Your sniffing sounds disgusting", "We got you the extra large gown", "Don't think you can do what the guys do in here") and daily subtle gestures to let me know that I'm not wanted.
The worst was Tuesday night. An emergency case; a woman with a dissecting aortic aneurysm. I scrubbed at 2:30 and was still standing at 8:45pm. We were all exhausted and hadn't eaten since breakfast. One of the nurses brought some lollies in and, being careful to keep sterile, tucked a snake or jelly-baby behind each surgeon's mask. First the boss, then the registrar. Then the anaesthetists. Then the other nurses. She looked at me pointedly, smiled and took the rest outside.
Alas, I can't just hate women. My boss, Matt, is equally kind. "Sam, your stitches yesterday looked like shit", "Sam, you're embarrassing me with those hand-ties", "Sam, don't be so weak". And maybe I am weak.
But yesterday, our patient arrested on the table and blood fountained across my head and mask as we re-opened the chest. Matt turned to me and said, "It's the intern's fault" and laughed like a drain. I had been scrubbed for 8 hours at that point, had not spoken a word, eaten, drunk or peed for those 8 hours and now there was blood all over me.
I stood there and took it. And I didn't cry till I got home.
So I'm not as weak as they think.
Fuck this job. 9 weeks to go.
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