This is especially apparent on Wednesday mornings, when we attend the "Heart Meeting", a collaboration between the cardiologists (who try and fix the heart with pills) and us (who try to fix the heart with knives). The meeting starts at 7, which is a sleep-in for us. We arrive early, dark circles under our eyes, wild-haired and untucked. At least one of us will be audibly sniffing/coughing/sneezing/bleeding from the ears. We slump into our seats and wait for the cardiologists to arrive.
Around 7:10 they start bouncing through the door. Well dressed, well ironed, bright eyed and bushy tailed. They make small talk about their tennis games, new cars and lives.
This week, one of the Cardio registrars sat down next to me. At the front of the room, my Reg sneezed. Then I sneezed. Cardio Reg looked at both of us and slowy, subtly, moved to another seat. I heard him whispering to a colleague, "The surgeons are sick again..."
I don't blame him. We are sick.
My tonsils are so swollen it feels like something must have laid eggs in them. Every time I swallow, I expect a torrent of spiders/maggots/plague monkeys to erupt from the tonsils and spill down my throat, mercifully ending the pain.
Of course, my GP just laughed at me. "Sam, you don't need antibiotics, you have a mild viral URTI. Get some rest, drink lots of fluids and take it easy."
I'm pretty sure my GP just told me to quit my job. Right? Right.
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