Once, when walking down the main theatre corridor, I had had a brief view through the small port-hole window of the neurosurgical theatre’s door of a naked woman, anaesthetized, her head completely shaven, sitting bolt upright on a special operating table. An elderly and immensely tall neurosurgeon, his face hidden by a surgical facemask and a complicated headlight fixed to his head, was standing behind her. With enormous hands he was painting her bare scalp with dark brown iodine antiseptic. It looked like a scene from a horror film.
