3:03 pm and I'm finally getting a moment to sit down and eat lunch.

I've been here since six AM.

Before 9 AM, I'd already assisted in placing an arterial line, and bagging and attempting to intubate a second kiddo. Said intubation did not go terribly well, likely secondary to pulmonary hemorrhage.

Before 1 PM, I'd rounded on EVERYONE, alone and with my attending physician. I'd talked to a series of parents, all of whom are worried out of their heads and not hearing what I'm telling them.

(Before anyone jumps on me for saying that, I am, at least, trying to listen to what they're telling me.)

Before 3 PM, I'd started pressors on one child and switched two more to oscillating ventilators (this is a bad thing) and talked to the BMT fellow four more times on the phone.

And I confess to a bit of resentment. The ATTENDING gets to go home. The FELLOW gets to go home. Even the NURSES get breaks.

But I don't.

Onward, and upward. There has to be a toilet somewhere in this place.