‘Thanks,’ Dr Rogers tells him as we wheel the patient towards the Rapid Assessment Triage area, known as RATS for short. He turns to the ashen-faced man on the trolley. ‘David, can you hear me?’ he asks.

The man nods under his mask.

‘You’re in hospital, and I’m Dr Rogers. I’ll be looking after you until you go to theatre, along with my team. Are you in any pain right now?’

The man shakes his head, and I’m sure we’re all thinking the same thing. He’s in shock. Dr Rogers’s eyes meet mine and I can see the concern in them. This is going to be a difficult job. If we can’t stabilise him, there’s a good chance he might die before he even reaches the operating theatre.

For the next two and a half hours, we work flat out. David’s pulse becomes weak and erratic at one point, and we start to fear we are going to lose him. It is a real struggle to work out what’s going on inside him so we can let the surgeons know. If there’s one thing surgeons hate when they open someone up, it’s surprises. The initial shock has now worn off, and it’s safe to say that David is deeply unhappy. Thankfully, his vital signs are slowly improving, so Dr Rogers eventually steps back and declares him stable enough to go and start waiting for the operation to remove the railing. As the porters wheel him away, Dr Rogers mops his brow.

‘Good work, team,’ he tells us. ‘With any luck, he’ll live to fight another day.’

‘Let’s hope they get it all out,’ Ruari, the charge nurse who’s been acting as scribe, remarks. ‘Otherwise he’ll be a nightmare to go on holiday with. Can you imagine the airport scanners?’ He puts on an officious tone. ‘Can you come this way please, sir? Our scanners have detected metal on your person. Are you carrying an offensive weapon? You fell on a railing and there’s a bit still inside you? Do you honestly expect me to believe that?’

After such a long period of intense focus, the shift in tone is welcome and we all laugh.

‘Right,’ Dr Rogers announces once we’ve regained our composure. ‘Let’s go and see what else is going on, shall we?’

After the battle we’ve just been through, the collection of injuries in Majors seems a little humdrum, at least to begin with. I’m helping to patch up a guy whose drill slipped and went through his hand when I hear Dr Rogers’s voice outside the bay.

‘Dr Milne,’ he says, his tone worryingly saccharine. ‘I know we’re busy, but I need to borrow you for a moment. Urgently, please.’