one of the more bizarre things about about working at the weekend is that you look forward to Monday. Monday, when everyone else will be back so I don't get bleeped every 5 minutes by 4 different wards AND have to see all the surgical patients in A&E. Monday, when I get off work at 5 instead of 9pm. When the ratio of anxious relatives to doctors is not something like 50:1 - that '1' being me.
having said that, speaking to relatives and explaining things was one of the more enjoyable tasks over the weekend - people seem fairly grateful to be told anything - even if I had never met the patient before saturday and was making half of it up.
saturday was madly busy, but sunday merely seemed to drag interminably - talking to and examining patients, sticking people with needles, inserting catheters - until all the white-haired men and paper-skinned women blended together. Rubber tubes up shrivelled penises, a finger in stool-packed rectum, fungating breast cancers - by the end of it you simply cannot look at a naked body the same way again.