Unexpected item in the bagging area

On Friday I packed up my belongings and moved out of the uniquely bizarre NHS accommodation and back to Hull all ready to start my three week attachment with the heart surgeons.

This is something I've 'organised'* myself and so, after liaising with the relevant secretaries and their deputies about schedules and workloads, I turned up at 8am on Monday morning and made my way to the cardiothoracic unit to see what was happening in the hopes that someone would know I was coming.

I introduced myself at theatre reception and explained that I would be working with Mr Heart Surgeon (true identities have been cunningly concealed to protect... well, me, actually). I was directed where to change and emerged minutes later and followed the sound of Mr HS's voice booming from down the corridor. Fortunately he recognised me and, greeting me with "Hi! I thought you were coming next week," he introduced me to his fellow heart surgeon with, "He's a 4th year student and he's here to shadow the SHOs for two weeks as part of the course." Unfortunately, the only part of that statement which was accurate was the pronoun correctly identifying my gender, but to be fair, he's a busy chap and probably saves more lives a year than I do, so I gently informed him I was in my 3rd year and this was a 3 week optional placement that I had organised* myself with the aim of getting some insight into this field.

I was hastily dispatched with, "Well, there's not much going on here at the moment. Everyone's in ITU. Go through those doors - follow your nose - and you can join the ward round."

Fair enough. ITU might be interesting. Lots of people. Most of whom are unconscious.

My nose led me to a very busy ITU so I approached someone who I thought looked most like a doctor and explained about Mr HS etc, etc. "Well, I'm an anaesthetist but that's Mr HS's team over there," pointing to a group of about 12 medics standing round one of the bays.

I can think of little else more intimidating than walking up to a group consisting of a consultant surgeon, three registrars and about 8 junior doctors and just 'tagging along' like a gigantic lemon without anyone knowing who you are or what you're for or even acknowledging your presence. By this stage I was sweating profusely into my deeply unattractive blue nylon scrubs and becoming increasingly aware that I was the only one wearing (borrowed) theatre clogs that looked as though no one had cleaned them since Lister invented his carbolic spray in 1869.

But not to worry. After much discussion about magnesium and potassium levels, ITU rounds came to an end and the gaggle all trooped out and headed down the corridor. I decided I should follow (trotting slightly, as it's impossible to walk very fast in theatre clogs without kicking them off) and find out what Mr HS's team were up to since still noone knew who I was. At the first bend in the corridor 3 of them went off to the left the rest went right. Ok, stick with the big group. At the next junction the group split again. They're now quite a long way ahead (stupid clogs). This keeps happening until I turn a corner just in time to see the suited guy and his SHO go onto one ward and the remaining two go onto another. Dilemma. But there's an old Scottish saying**; "If in doot, go with the suit". So I chased down Mr Suit and went through the whole explanation about Mr HS again. Mr Suit sent me to the correct ward.

By this stage I had been there half an hour and was already feeling rather like a burden. But fortunately a kind SHO took me under her wing and a morning of blood taking, clerking and examination ensued.

The afternoon was spent in theatre, or at least most of it was spent in the anaesthetic room learning the departmental gossip. But I got see a bypass graft, albeit an abandoned one, with the promise of something more practical next time.

The medical school is very keen on us having the "ability to deal with uncertainty". I'm learning why.

*This word may be an inappropriate choice.
**No there isn't.