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I knew if I went in to see one, I would no longer be able to hold back the flood.
    Worst of all is that part of what Mr Kent said was true: the stroke probably was the end of him. Even if he survived, the effect the stroke would have on his mobility would be a huge blow, especially with a prosthetic leg. Once mobility is gone it’s never good; it’s a very slippery slope, especially in the aged.
    Looking back now, I realise that Mr Kent’s stroke had nothing to do with either me or with the new aspirin. However, in Mr Kent’s mind, I was to blame. If he is still alive today, he probably still blames me, probably genuinely believes it was my fault. That is not a nice feeling, but I have come to understand that there are some things you cannot change and I can live with it.
    I left work that day feeling as miserable as I ever had felt in my life. I was still battling with tears. I was only 21 years old, and just like Mr Kent had said only a short time ago, still a boy really.

The meaning of teamwork
    Mr Simpson was 45, fit, and an avid golfer. His biggest worry was whether he would still be able to play after the surgery he was having the next day. I explained that if all went well in the operating theatre, there should be no reason why he couldn’t continue to play golf.
    Mr Simpson was by no means my first surgical patient, but he was the first patient that I had prepared for his type of operation. He was going to have a femoral popliteal bypass graft. Basically, the circulation to one of his legs was rubbish, and the surgeon was going to put in some new plumbing that would fix the problem. If the surgery wasn’t performed, Mr Simpson could eventually lose the leg.
    As horrendous as my recent experience with Mr Kent had been, I felt happier in my new environment. It certainly helped that I wasn’t dealing exclusively with sensitive matters pertaining to female health, but the main reason things felt better was because of the team I was working with.
    Katie was the nurse in charge for the shift, and she was great. Katie was always there to lend me a hand. Whenever I needed help with a wash, a lift, a wound dressing, advice of any kind, she was the person I turned to. Katie had already asked me several times if I was going to be okay looking after Mr Simpson on my own, and after reassuring her that I felt I could cope, she made it clear that I could come to her for help or advice, no matter how trivial. Knowing I had some support gave me a rare feeling of confidence.
    Everything went smoothly and Mr Simpson was wheeled to the operating theatre at 7.30 in the morning. I didn’t see him again until one o’clock that afternoon.
    ‘How was it?’ he asked me for the third time in the last hour. With leftover anaesthetic in his system and a pump infusing him with intermittent morphine, that sort of thing was to be expected. I reassured him all went well.
    The next day Mr Simpson was a bit livelier, and asking about when he would be able to play golf, but I still would not give him a definite answer.
    By the second day post-surgery, Mr Simpson was in fine spirits, mainly because there was live golf on the television. I left him in peace and reminded him to call if he needed anything.
    Thirty minutes later Mr Simpson’s bell went off.
    ‘My leg feels worse; it’s more painful than normal.’
    Up until now his pain had been well controlled, so it was a bit of a surprise that it should start being a problem now.
    I began to examine his leg, worried at what this could mean. I checked the pulses in his foot, to make sure the blood was still getting through. I examined his calf and his thigh. Thankfully there was no swelling. As a precaution I went to search for Katie and get her opinion.
    I never got a chance to chat with Katie as I was distracted by the call bell of another of my patients.
    Mr Dexter was one of my medical patients. He had pain in his chest, caused by angina. Simply put, the arteries supplying the heart were