It's Tuesday morning and Wonderwoman and I have been following the Surgeon around like terriers for days. We knew that Wednesday is surgery day; all day. All we have to find out is which OR and when to meet him. But, for him to tell us, we must be ever-present, bad smells.

The rest of the crew has already seen (and scrubbed in) on a whole day of surgery the previous week. I am keen to catch up. So keen.

We are to attend a lecture at the University. In Vietnamese. The Surgeon is a senior lecturer, and he gives us a tour of the facilities before the lecture. After, we will taxi back to the hospital and head home (or to the bar, whatever). It's 11am.

During the tour of the grounds progresses, the Surgeon quietly says to me; "You will come to OR tonight? I am on call at 7. You will help." I nod enthusiastically.

At 6.45pm, I walk my friends to the Irish Pub, then head on to the Hospital. I can hear music on the PA in the street. The Ha Noi nightlife is pumping. Motorcycles are everywhere. Cellphones are ringing nonstop. The smell of dinner is thick in the air. I rock up to the surgical building. It's a good 300m from the ED; inside it's very, very quiet.

I change into scrubs. I tie the thick cotton surgical boots over my thongs. I put on my mask I've just bought for 12000 dong at the corner Pharmacy. As usual, all my valuables are around my neck , underneath. I tentatively walk to the OR door, and the young nurse just inside the door smiles with her eyes and offers me a seat; there is no scrubbing in or out for observers.

I quietly watch, along with half a dozen other Medical Students. All of them nod to me, then elbow past to see. At the end of each operation, the students move quickly to another theater.

I step just outside and wait for the Surgeon's next surgery to begin. He walks off somewhere. The nurse offer me some Pho. It's amazing; the tastiest I've had. We sit on the floor and they practice their english. They're quite good. It's 9pm.

A mouse runs across the corridor, and all the nurses shriek. I jump up. They shriek more at my reaction. They ask if I need new underwear. I tell them that I am surprised my pet followed me to the hospital. They laugh. They pour me more Pho.

Another surgeon arrives. He is big and burly, and the first person I've met here who's taller than me. "Palez vous Francais?", he asks. "Non, je suis desolee. English." "Hmph." He calls the anesthetist, and gets him to explain that he will be repairing a broken humerus. Would I like to watch? Yes, please.

The anesthetist apologises for how bad his English is. It's excellent. We talkvas he places a brachial plexus block. When he is finished, he puts his gown under the patients head and walks away. As is usual in Vietnam, the patient is still wide awake.

We talk about many things, including poverty, capitalism, wages, neuromuscular-junction blocking drugs, families. He tells me where to find good surgeries during the day. We talk quietly as the surgery begins. Five minutes in, the theater is full of students again. Each one inspects the radiograph - a clean break.

We all watch the orthopedic work; the surgeon puts in two plates, and screws them tight. I watch as the nurse squirts water at the smoking drill-tip. I am thankful that I wear glasses when the blood splatters on the surgeons face mask. No one else has glasses on.

When the fracture has been reduced and fixated, the vascular team set about repairing the vessels. This is too slow and boring for the students. They head off. The burly surgeon stays to watch. He says to me, "You are here from start to finish. Very dedicated." I nod. We watch. It's 10:30pm.

Ten minutes later, the burly surgeon turns to leave. When he reaches the door, the young nurse says something to him. He turns to me and asks "I have elbow now. A young man. Scrub in." I smile and nod. "Thank you."

It's nearly midnight. The gown is hot. Gloves that I wear usually without issue have become dark with sweat. My cap is wet. My forehead glistens. It's at least 30 degrees in the OR. A nurse giggles and wipes my brow without being asked to. The surgery has been going for ten minutes.

"How did the patient do this?" I ask.
"Moto."

I am standing at the patients head, near the monitor. The kid is sixteen. I look into his eyes. He looks back and smiles. The surgeon repositions the surgical site. "Hold it here. One hand only." He gives me the forearm. I hold it turned to the kid's chest, out of the way. I can feel his pulse.

The burly surgeon gives me the suction. "You know how to use?" Yes. (I think so). The nurse fits the wire pins into the drill bit. Bzzzzzzzzz. Water. "Suction!" Suction. Bzzzzzzzz. Water. Suction. Bzzzzzzzz. Water. Suction. Three pins in.

"Now we close. Can you stitch?"
"No"
"Okay, you cut. 10 millimeters."

He begins to suture. "Cutty." I cut. One, two, three, "Too short!", four, five "Good!", six, seven, eight "Too long!", nine... fourteen stitches. There is nodding all around. The surgeon steps away.

"We are finished." It's well past one in the morning. "You have stayed long. Go home now. Celebrate." The nurses are dressing the wound. The medical students wait at the OR door to plaster.

I walk back through the streets, sweaty and exhausted. The night has eaten the city. It is silent. My senses scream at me. The sound of the drill. The smell of burning bone. The taste of my sweat. The feel of the cold steel scissors.

And the patient's eyes. His smiling eyes.