Working Weekends

For most people the weekend means time off work. Not doctors!

For us the weekend can be a most miserable time. The only pleasure is that for once there's no traffic as you drive to work on a Saturday or Sunday morning. Other than that, you can be certain that the common man's pleasure is going to turn into your pain when he lands at the hospital the victim of a drunken driving accident or after coming into sharp, irregular contact with the wrong end of a "friend's" broken beer bottle.

I often find myself with a bitter taste in my mouth when driving to work on a Friday morning listening to the radio DJ saying "It's the WEEKEEENNNDD baby!!!" and knowing that I will be working on that particular weekend.

Something else that I've noticed, which doesn't seem to be quite the norm, is that often on a Saturday evening I feel like a quiet place to drink a cuppa and read. It doesn't seem that many people feel this way on a Saturday. I've yet to find a suitable spot.

On one occasion I thought an outside cafe in the local Botanical Gardens would work, but the place was so full and not at all conducive to quiet time. I tried another cafe a few weeks later and it was full of older people watching sport and shouting in unison in encouragement or despair.

Today I am "post call" i.e. I was on call last night. I got a maximum of 3hours' sleep, in an uncomfortable bed in a room off a noisy passage in the hospital. My phone rang at 2h30, 3h00 and 3h25 again. When my alarm went off at 4h30 (time to take morning bloods and examine patients before 8h00 ward round) I didn't exactly feel rested.

Arriving home around 9h30, I thought I had enough energy for an active day, but after a bubble bath I decided on bed. In bed, I tossed for a bit, dozed for about an hour then gave up.

Now, all I'd like to do is sit quietly with a book and a cup of tea, and hope that by 22hoo I'll be tired enough to sleep heavily through the night and wake up full of energy for work tomorrow. My neighbours; however, have other ideas. Children are screaming and splashing in the pool. Braais are sizzling, beer bottles are clinking.

I suspect that I may have it wrong, maybe Saturdays are not meant for quiet evenings spent reading. I can't be sure.

What I can be sure of though, is that weekends are NOT meant to be spent working. Unfortunately, somebody's gotta do it...