It ain't over till the fat man wakes from anaesthetic...
The surgery was simple, though shifting the man was not. Now he knew how weightlifters must feel. The glands had come out easily enough after incision, almost like pus from a zit, swollen and almost runny. He had allowed his assisting nurse to remove them after he'd made the necessary cuts.
He didn't think compulsive sweating was contagious, indeed was fairly certain it was not, but chose not to find out.

Returning to admit, happily finding the duty nurse this time and thus not further risking an aneurism, he breathed out, looking forward to a quick shower in the staffroom.

He glanced at the desk, and saw a surgery schedule - Dorsett's. Figures that Fast Eddie would forget to keep the Holy Grail of his career on him.

He glared at the RN, who swiftly looked away. He then picked up the wad of paper, and began glancing through it. Appendectomy-Wallace, bone fragment removal-Clarke, hip replacement-Symonds, prostratectomy-Dubenko...Dubenko! Leafing to the carbon copy chart, he felt a smile spread across his face. Prostrate cancer, operable. Well, that assuaged the conscience.

Carefully destapling the chart, he took a pen from his pocket and put a line through the Dubenko procedure. He had a feeling he'd look after the good Lucien better than Dorsett would.