I write this post laying in bed, my left arm covered in several layers of gauze and a throbbing pain slightly creeping through the powerful painkillers. Recently returned from the Doha Clinic, I have just had my first surgery in the Middle East.

It all started two days ago when I thought I had an ingrown hair on my left arm, despite the region in which the so-called red spot having no hair whatsoever. Ignored for sure, I carried on with my usual activities and training schedules unaware of what was really happening.
Last night, whilst on a normal night off at our very own Irish Bar, the pain and swelling became so unbearable, that my arm tinted in tones of red and forced me to call it a night and take a taxi straight into the Emergency Room.

The expert was not on duty. With a pill and a grin, I was sent home and told to return early in the morning.
This morning happened in a swirl of blur moments. The hazy morning in the desert sporting a mild sand storm and tinting the sunrise in golden, the Indian taxi driver breaking through red lights in the hot wind and the hospital itself, a maze of bleak white corridors broken by the bright colours of Indian saris and the plainness of the black burkhas.

Tired and still in pain, I see a doctor who, in three minutes and by touching the already stiff and swollen arm shoots a dry question in the air: ‘Have you eaten anything? Because you need surgery now’.
Without hesitation and with the thought of a Snickers bar eaten two hours earlier, I reply I have not. Within ten minutes, I am wearing a very revealing blue robe and rushed into a small operating room.
I lay in the cold bed, the lights almost blinding my sight. The doctor advises me to relax and asks my name. Next, I lay in a recovery room, my batch mate from India recording my slurred statements with his camera phone and my left arm in a excruciating yet numb pain.

My diary reads:

‘Back home now and with my whole five senses fully recovered, it’s really funny to remember everything that happened , specially due to the fact that my first ever surgery was held thousands of miles away from home!’

The good news are that, with this medical experience both at the hospital with the surgery, and with the First Aid training, I have officially finished ‘Plane School’, proudly knowledgeable in Heimlich maneuvers and most importantly CPR.

I have also been notified of roster changes, and my first Observer flights, or ‘suppy flights’, have been assigned: an overnight in Damman for the narrow-body family (A320, A319 and A321) and a quick turnaround to Dubai for the wide-body aircrafts (A330 for now).

Graduation to follow next Thursday and a trip to Dubai on Friday for the Ditching training.
It is time to fly.