Routine

There is genuinely nothing new to flag this week, and honestly, that’s a relief. It’s been the same cycle of notes, the same tired explanations from the registrars, and the same bone-deep exhaustion that comes with a twelve-hour shift. I’m becoming increasingly convinced that what we’re all reacting to isn’t a medical anomaly, but a psychological one. It’s stress—stress on the staff, stress on the infrastructure, and stress on a public that has been through the wringer over the last few years. When you’re pushed to the edge of your capacity, your brain starts looking for patterns to explain the chaos. Stress makes the shadows look longer, and it makes a patient’s silence feel more ominous than it actually is. We’re all just tired, and tired people make for poor witnesses. I’m going to try to stop over-analysing every patient who doesn’t make eye contact. Sometimes a blank stare is just a blank stare. I’m going home to sleep for fourteen hours and pretend that ‘Undeadwatch’ was just a fever dream brought on by too much caffeine and too little sunlight.