After my 36 hour shift, the last failed blood draw and a sound scolding, I went into the emergency stairway and cried. Respiratory rate 30/min, I cried my eyes swollen and my head dizzy and my fingers cold, and then the consultant needed me at the patient's bedside to round with him. I did it with my head down/tilted awkwardly.

I don't know how to explain the endless nightmare of call after call through the night, people nearly dying, people going actually demented, people needing tubes stuck up various places, people...dying. Failed blood draws. Having to prioritise between the patient shrieking and being violent, and the patient who is deteriorating ever so slowly, and the patient spiking some scary fever, and the patient who can't pee and is holding half a litre in her bladder. Hearing 'saturation 70%' on the phone and my mind blanking out because 90% = danger, 80% = intubate, and 70%, to me, means dead.

Sometimes I wonder what I'm here for. Am I here to 'cure sometimes, treat often, and comfort always'? Am I here to draw blood, make sure he's fit for op, make sure he stays alive until his body gets back into working condition and he can be discharged? What am I here for? I'm bewildered that I'm asking such an elementary question, but really, the last time I cried that hard..

Starting this weekend it'll be tougher, because I'll be the only one covering for my team (the other HO's going on a well-deserved break). And I don't know if I can handle it until I'm juggling these things, but I'm not being gung-ho when I say it could be worse.

Because it could be worse. It can always be worse. I know that now.

So I'm glad it's not. I'm glad I have a pretty good team. I'm glad there were people who comforted me after I cried. I'm glad I have the courage to do the difficult things I must do. I'm glad...that I have time for lunch everyday I guess. Fighting.