Sweat trickled down my brow as the murmur of the observing surgeons and trainee surgeons filled my ears. I'd succeeded in avoiding any "teaching" for over a year, but had finally caved in to the endless requests from colleagues, other famous surgeons and of course the students. At least I'd have half a year of so of reprieve from the requests after this.

"Saw." The words a bark, emerging from my mouth without any input from my conscious mind.

My hands moved in a blur of blood and steel before me. I was performing a heart transplant, I knew that much. But despite doing this for years, I still had no idea about the terminology, the nitty-gritty. I'd tried to learn, but it just wouldn't stay in my head. On top of that, the sight of blood makes me nauseous.

As always, I tried to unfocus my eyes and allow my body to do what it did best.

"Hold this." My mouth said to a nurse, whilst I attempted to stare at the ceiling, I could still, dimly, see myself pulling the breastbone apart.

"Scalpel." The murmuring grew slightly.

"Holder."

"Forceps."

"Take this." A wet slapping sound. "Donor heart." I felt my hand gesturing impatiently.

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"Sutures. Needle."

I spared a glance downwards, seeing my arms buried in the patients. At least it was almost over.

A few bloody moments later, and thunderous applause erupted around the room.

"Fantastic..." I heard someone murmur, "so fast - like an artist."

I tried to turn and face them. Shake some hands, accept their congratulations, avoid the questions, and get out of here.

I couldn't move. With dim horror I realised my hands weren't done.

"Scalpel." The words uttered from my mouth in the same impatient bark, and my terrified assistant's eyes widened in alarm as she realised I wasn't done.

I started cutting. The room was instantly quiet, applause cut off mid clap.

"What is he doing?" I made out from behind me, "I... I... don't know, there aren't any other procedures to be done for this patient, certainly not a craniotomy" Both were still talking very quietly, no one wanted to disturb me. The entire room was simply observing. They trusted me far more than I did.

"Electric saw."

I watched with horror as I began sawing open the skull.

For once my hands slowed down, the motions gentle and slow - they typically moved with brutally fast efficiency.

"...a tumor!"

"...how did he know?!"

As my hands closed the hole in the skull, I prayed it was over. Finally I felt control return to my body, and turned, exhausted, to face the crowd as I stripped off my clothes. The applause was deafening.

The questions came in a barrage.

"How did..."

"Why..."

"Can you explain your technique with..."

I stumbled through them, shaking hands and receiving endless thumps on the back.

Finally I made it out the door and with a few deft twists, ducked down a side corridor and found a cupboard to hide in, releasing a deep sigh.