Seriously. I know we're all doctors - and supposedly learned men of science. But believe me, no other career apart from flamboyant show business carries more superstitious baggage.
Deaths come in threes ( and occasionally sevens ). Wear that lucky surgical cap with the dancing hippos. No wearing blood-red in the maternity wing. No talking about the hospital wards being terribly quiet that night. And certainly no swapping on-calls unnecessarily.
Perhaps it's because medicine might be primarily based on facts and figures but there's still a whole lot of the mysterious unknown rolled up in that volatile mix - with differing amounts of faith, luck and magic. Who can ever predict what's going to happen to a patient? Even with the greatest mathematic calculations or scientific explanations, no one can ever tell whether someone's going to take a turn for the worse or miraculously get better.
Which is why I didn't swap calls tonight. So I'm not gonna tell you how good ( or bad ) it's going so far today since I wouldn't want to jinx myself unnecessarily. :)