I shut the door to my little room and turned off the lights. Shit! The throbbing in my head was coming back full force and I tried to massage my temples, trying to ease the pain. I knew it was a futile attempt but still I had to try. The pills I took five minutes ago hadn't kicked in and I cursed under my breath. Outside, I could hear the nurses shouting.
"Where is Dr. Mackayla? Should we shift the patient into the theatre?"
"I saw her go into her room. I think her migraine's acting up again." Somebody answered in a softer tone.
Fuck! There was no way I could put off this surgery. The patient had acute appendicitis and I was the only surgeon in the building at this time of night. I should've sent the patient away to another hospital but I'm pretty sure the Chief Surgeon would literally disembowel me with his bare hands if I'd done that.
"Never turn down an emergency case, Mackayla. I don't care if you are dying. The patient's life is more important and who knows, if you save his life you might even end up in heaven if you die soon after the surgery."
The Chief Surgeon had a very morbid sense of humour.
Maybe I could inject myself with Tramadol or maybe even Morphine. Nobody cares if I'm as high as a kite while I perform the surgery as long as it is successful right? Plus, I know I could perform an appendectomy in my sleep. So, doing it while stoned probably wouldn't hurt. Right?
The door opened and light streamed in showing me a silhouette of a person standing there. I whimpered as the bright light hurt my sensitive retinas. Fuck you, pain causing stranger!
"Dr. Mackayla, are you alright?"
The soft voice belonged to Dr. Robin, the anaesthetist. I screwed my eyes shut as I replied.
"Dr. Robin, I need a favour," I croaked out.
"What do you need?" he asked, concern lacing his tone.
"Can you please shut the door?" I whispered.
He quickly complied and I heard his careful footsteps come closer. After he settled on the chair beside me, I felt his hand rest on my shoulder and squeeze comfortingly.
"Talk to me," he said in a quiet demand.
"I need you to inject me with morphine," I stated while clutching the sides of my head. Why won't this headache disappear? Stupid brain vasculature!
Robin cleared his throat.
"Do you often take drugs before a surgery?" he asked in the clinically neutral way, we doctors use to address patients.
Did he think I was an addict? Shit!
"No!" I yelled and then groaned.
"I have a migraine and my usual medication doesn't work. I need something stronger. Please help me!" I pleaded. I was well beyond the point of caring about my reputation. I just needed this pain to go away. Preferably now.
I heard him move his chair closer and felt his arm encircle my shoulders, gently pulling me into his embrace. I hoped he wouldn't notice the tears on my face but I'm sure the thin blue scrubs he wore would easily absorb them. My shame would be painted across his chest. My inner monologuing was confusing my pain addled mind.