When Time Stands Still
Inside the operating theater, the sun doesn’t rise or set. Time is measured only by the steady beep of the anesthesia monitors and the focused intensity of the surgical team. For fifteen consecutive hours, a group of human beings pushed the limits of their own endurance. Under the relentless glow of the theater lights, the outside world ceased to exist.
There was only the patient, the procedure, and a silence so heavy it could only be felt when the stakes reached their absolute peak. In those hours, your body screams for rest, your muscles ache from being held in a single position, and your mind begs for a break—but you don’t stop. You can’t. Because on that table lies someone’s mother, father, child, or spouse. Someone’s whole world is on the line. Continue reading…
