Stretched out on a table in a large, bright operating theatre at the Royal London hospital, a patient is awaiting Shafi Ahmed’s first incision in a procedure that will remove cancerous tissue from his bowel. Around the table a team dressed in blue scrubs and face masks are gathered, exchanging the odd word, while cumbersome machines bearing bundles of wires hum gently in the background. Everyone is focused on the task in hand, getting ready to play their part. Except me.
Scrubless and without so much as a scalpel to pass to the surgeon, I am a mere spectator to this intricate event, a bystander gazing around the room in fascination while others labour at a life-changing task.
Not that the surgeons are bothered. Because although I feel like I am standing at the edge of the operating table, in reality I am sitting in my office chair.