I can’t remember the last time I had a day off every week. For the last few months, I’ve been getting my days off in odd clumps here and there, and then working two or three weeks straight at a time. The one good thing about this month is that the chief is giving days off every week. I almost don’t know what to do with myself. The concept of not going to see how my patients are doing for one day is quite startling.

I’ve read nearly the entire section on trauma in Greenfield (the most gigantic, detailed surgery textbook there is, from a basic science perspective; Master of Surgery tells four ways to do every operation ever invented, but that’s beyond what I need right now). All I’ve got left is the chapter on pregnant trauma victims, and then a lengthy chapter on stings and bites and poisons and cold and heat, and the obligatory chapter on trauma. For the last week, this reading program has led to me calling the nurses in the evening to fix things I discovered about my patients. Sometime soon, I’ll know these things during the daytime, when I need them. I love surgery textbooks. In addition to statistics and scientific facts, they describe how to do things; just by reading the words, you can picture how all kinds of fascinating surgeries should go, things like repairing injuries to the innominate artery and the retrohepatic vena cava, things I’ll probably never see except in a book.

I’m also well on my way to stocking the house with enough crocheted blankets to seriously decrease the money I spend on electricity this winter. (Last year I gave away all the blankets I crocheted; this year I’m making some to keep.)

On the other hand, the days off are in the middle of the week, in exchange for working a full day on Saturdays and Sundays; which means no church all month. I can’t remember the last time I got to church in the morning; that’s bad.

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