Life as a House Officer on a surgical ward at the Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh in the 1970s was arduous. My fellow Houseman and I worked 131/2 days a fortnight and were on call in the hospital for 8 of those nights. As surgeons-in-embryo, we were stimulated and excited by the work, but it was exhausting. One night at about eleven, tired after having restored some sense of order to the ward, I felt frustrated at having done nothing but work all day and all evening. I headed for the Residency’s billiard room which, to my surprise, was unoccupied.
The room was, in contrast to the ward I had just left, peaceful, silent, and dark except for the bright lights above the table’s green baize. I picked up a cue and the white ball, and knocked a few reds into the pockets. The gentle click of one ball striking another was strangely soothing. I went to pick a ball out of a corner pocket and noticed two hairs on the otherwise pristine table––two curly, thick, black hairs. There was no doubt as to their origin. Surely a first for the table, I mused. Or maybe not. As I walked back to my chill, empty room with its single bed, I was envious. I could imagine one of my fellow house officers and their consort racking up quite a score on the billiard table, while I was mundanely updating patients’ case notes and writing request forms for the morning’s blood-letting.
I got into bed still thinking about the billiard table, but fell asleep almost immediately. The phone rang soon after.
“Hello Doctor.”
Through the haze of sleep, I recognised the voice as that of the night staff nurse who had helped me insert an intravenous line just before I left the ward. She had been on several recent night shifts, and I had noticed her pert manner and tight, shorter-than-regulation uniform. We had flirted a little while I inserted the drip and, on leaving the ward, I thanked her for helping. “That’s alright Doctor. Anything for you,” she replied. I smiled and mentally christened her ‘Velvet Dynamite’.
“It’s just to let you know that Mrs MacKerrell’s drip, the one we just put in, is working well,” came her soft Scottish lilt down the phone.
I was in that twilight between wakefulness and sleep, and couldn’t readily identify the problem, for every phone call during the night was about a problem.
“Yes?” I questioned in a somnolent voice, trying to grasp the issue.
“Oh, were you asleep? I’m so sorry, Doctor. I didn’t think you’d be …”.
She paused. My irritation rose at having been woken, for sleep was precious to a Houseman on night duty. I couldn’t believe that anyone would be so inconsiderate as to wake me just to say that an intravenous infusion was working.
“I’m on my meal break,” she said. “Maybe I should come over and apologise for waking you?”
Minutes later, there was a soft tap on my door.