I’ve been mulling over whether or not to tell this story for a little while now. Today I was reminiscing about a few fond memories, and decided to share. I’m not a big fan of medical memoirs and this is an erotic story not a new volume of This Is Going to Hurt, so I’ll keep the job description to a minimum – but I’ll give a little context. Obviously details have been changed to preserve anonymity. **If you’d like to skip to the fun stuff, look for the bold text.**
I’d been assigned to the acute medical team of a London hospital in August 2020, that happy time in between waves of COVID where we pretended for a while like it had all gone away. I’m a junior doctor, with enough years under my belt now to manage most things on my own, with a little bit of senior advice here and there. As a junior doctor, my role was to work on the ward day to day, making ward rounds, chasing up outstanding tasks, seeing new admissions and managing deteriorating patients. Overnight I’d manage the ward on my own, calling the registrar for major emergencies I couldn’t solve on my own. That’s where I met Charlie (obviously not her real name).