Disclaimer:

These are my personal reflections and observations, not those of my employer, the Upper GI team, or the NHS at large. No patients were harmed in the making of this blog — although several colleagues may have been mildly traumatized by my coffee consumption levels.

So:

I’m officially on annual leave this week — and not a moment too soon. Last week was dominated by the post‑graduate doctor strike, which started on Friday, and somehow I found myself covering two of those days.

Now, looking back, it’s interesting to note that of the three shifts I worked (Friday, Saturday, and Sunday), Friday was undoubtedly the toughest — despite the fact that I was “just” covering my own specialty.

As has been widely reported in the media, surgical services were less affected than other areas. Hardly any elective lists were cancelled in our hospital; if a list could run, it did. On paper, fewer patients should have meant an easier day. In reality, it felt far from it.

Friday Challenges

Friday’s challenge wasn’t numbers — it was acuity. We had one particularly unwell patient who required discussions with the medical registrar, gastroenterology, and several other specialties.

These conversations, as anyone in the NHS will know, are rarely straightforward. By the time I left at 6pm, everything had been resolved, but it had been a steep learning curve.

That evening, however, I managed a welcome change of scenery. I headed over to the board game club night at the Holiday Inn and tried out the brand‑new Lost Ruins of Arnak temple board (Owl) from the recently released Lost Ruins of Arnak Big Box. After a day of chasing ward jobs and cross‑specialty referrals, trading stone tablets for compasses and facing down temple guardians felt almost… restful.

Weekend

Saturday was a different story. I arrived a little early, just in case the senior surgical team were unsure how to set up the legendary “Mega list” of all surgical patients in the hospital. (For the uninitiated: this is basically the surgical equivalent of “herding cats” but on an Excel spreadsheet.) Thankfully, things went smoothly.

Sunday went better still. By then, all the patients were known to us, which made for a calmer shift. The colorectal team also had a practitioner in for half a day, which was greatly appreciated given that my knowledge of their patients was limited.

The surgical assessment ward was managed by a registrar and an SHO (yes, I know — such old‑fashioned terminology, but still part of the vernacular), while I took care of the main surgical ward.

No dramas. And for once, I wasn’t called into theatres to assist — always a small mercy.

Meanwhile, as I was on the wards, my wife was busy keeping me updated with photos from our son’s first martial arts tournament.

He had a brilliant day — medals, smiles, and high kicks all round — while I was knee‑deep in hospital logistics. It felt a little surreal to see his tournament unfold in real‑time through WhatsApp notifications between bleep calls.

By Sunday evening, though, I was more than ready for a break. Six working days in seven had taken their toll, and I found myself practically skipping out of the hospital with a “Too Good To Go” bag from M&S — proof that sometimes small wins are the sweetest.

This week, the tempo is entirely different.

Instead of covering wards, I’m covering family logistics: tennis camp twice, a tennis tournament in Martock on Thursday, and, if all goes well, a family trip to Stonehenge on Friday.

To round things off, there’s a work do on Friday evening, before the new rotation of post‑grad doctors begins next week.

For now, I’ll savour the calm — because in healthcare, calm never lasts for long.