poured out before bed
When I was on surgery but a few months ago, I worked closely with a superb chief resident who had a special affection for Adele. We did a number of (extremely) long cases together (to the tune of 18 hours, at times…pee break, anyone?). As is often the case in those more hands-on jobs, standing up to your elbows in innards can seriously cramp your internet-radio style, crippling, for example, your innate inability to hit the “I’m still listening” button on Pandora. Dr. Chief, ever resourceful, would hook his iPhone up to the OR sound system during our long cases and blast his extensive play list. Extensive though it was, there were quite often repeated pieces. One of the songs at the top of his list was this one, meaning I heard it multiple times every day (not that I’m complaining). Now, whenever I hear it, I think of the the complicated bilateral inguinal hernia repair we slogged through together, the 12 hours I spent in a Whipple procedure with him and a brilliant surg-onc attending, the urgent appendectomy I scrubbed in on, the delicate sarcoma removal we sweated over, etc, etc, bloody etc.