scrotum.
While I was always careful, I did feel an enormous extra pressure on me because his father was a barrister renowned in the field of medical professional negligence. As the Urology registrar on call, I had thought it best to first contact the head of department, even though he was at home.
Registrars are trainee specialists who, after graduating from medical school, have gone through three of the tiers of the hospital system, from entry-level intern (which lasts a year after graduation), to resident (the position between intern and trainee specialist), to securing a training position, which typically lasts for three years before the registrars are ready to take their specialistexaminations. As they are still trainees, albeit experienced ones, they report to the specialist on call. In this case, it happened to be the head of department.
In his sleepy state, the head had given me permission to perform the surgery, adding, âRing me if you have any troubles.â This was a standard response, in line with the truism that a registrarâs competence miraculously increases after midnight.
I had incised the boyâs scrotum and revealed his testis, which in fact was in torsion and terribly ischaemic â starved of blood and therefore oxygen. Irreversible damage had already occurred; I had no choice but to take out his testis. I did that and then closed his wound. It was now 1 am. I had been operating for over 16 hours in a row.
âDr Khadra here. I was paged ⦠again ,â I said down the phone once I had finished the surgery. I was cross and tired. I had not eaten anything since breakfast the previous day except for some biscuits, and my head was starting to hurt. It will probably turn into a migraine , I thought. Maybe I should take an anti-migraine pill .
âIâll just see whoâs looking for you.â It was the ward clerk.
The phone clunked. In the background, I could hear the general din of Emergency. It was obviously busy. Some nights, it seemed that every diseased human in the world had descended upon the Victoria Hospital intent on testing out the system and finding its faults. Tonight was such a night.
I was sitting in the theatre tearoom, where, in the past, before economic rationalism, one could actually get a meal. âHello ⦠Hello ⦠Helloooooo,â I said into the phone, speaking to no one in particular. I heard someoneâs voice nearing the phone, and then it clunked again.
âHello, who is on the line?â asked a new person, a woman.
âDr Khadra. Iâm the Urology registrar. Iâve been paged.âI probably wasnât doing a good job of hiding my growing exasperation.
âDid anyone page Urology?â she shouted to all of Emergency â and into my ear.
Clunking again â the phone being placed down on the desk roughly. I decided to hang up and just go down in person.
The junior resident â who was only just out of his first year as a doctor â was looking somewhat shell-shocked when he greeted me.
âIâm glad you came down. We have an absolute doozy here. I really need you to take a look.â As he spoke, he led me to a cubicle. I parted the curtains and saw a heavily tattooed obese man.
âHi. My name is Mohamed Khadra. Iâm the Urology registrar on call. What seems to be the trouble?â I asked as I nodded to the resident to let him know he could go. He chose to stay.
âYou donât look like a Mohamed,â said the tattooed man, smiling. âI expected you to be black!â I heard that comment at least once a day. I just waited for him to start talking about his urological concerns. âWell, me ring tore out,â he said.
âYour ring?â I could not quite grasp what he was saying, as this sounded more like a job for the Proctology department.
âYeah, me ring.â As he said this, he nodded towards his groin.
âDo you mind if I have a look?â I