On Call

There’s nothing quite like being on call. As I write this I am all alone in my little call room. As call rooms go it’s fairly comfortable – I have a bed, a bathroom, a TV, a desk with a computer…everything I need, really. Some calls are insanely busy – a hectic continuation of the day, with hardly time to swallow a drink of water before the morning arrives. Other calls are slow – a strange calm blankets the place. It’s not exactly the calm before the storm, but rather more like the eye of the storm – there is destruction swirling all around, which inevitably will blow my way. There are two aspects to call that I’ve never gotten completely used to. The first is the waiting. The pager will eventually go off, or the phone will surely ring. The door will knock. Someone will need something. When? Soon. At least, probably. Knock and the door shall be opened? Sort of, only I’m the one opening it (which may be very anticlimactic for some!). People ask questions of me – all sorts of questions, all day and night long – because they need to. Otherwise I wouldn’t need to be here. I remind myself that it’s an honor. The second is the loneliness. As a surgical resident, like it or not – and it turns out – I’m alone quite a lot. I don’t necessarily mind it, I guess. I can think, write, catch up on things…all alone. I’m getting pretty good at it, though something tells me I’m being prepared for something. I’m haunted by an old man who worked at a little restaurant near where I went to grad school. I went in late one night for a dinner, and while I normally went in with my classmates this evening I was by myself. He noticed this and made a comment about how I was alone – “but you’re supposed to be alone, I think,” he added. It struck me as an odd thing to say – perhaps he knew something. And so what will this call bring?