I took a private jet to work today. I felt like a rock star.

We were travelling to a regional town in Victoria (the state where I live) to retrieve abdominal organs for transplantation. I got involved because I work for a liver transplant unit. Every liver transplant requires a four-five hour retrieval (2 surgeons) and a eight-ten hour explant and transplant (usually five or more surgeons). And we have done five in the last week.

(When I speak of “we” in this equation, I mean the surgeons I work for. I am a small part of the team, and one of the least experienced surgeons. This means my role is usually to fill gaps – cover the ward patients while everyone else is busy, operate on the (non transplant) emergency patients, or help with the retrieval.)

After we left the donor hospital today with kidneys and liver packaged carefully in ice, we flew home again, saving three hours travel time. Other members of the team had to drive home.

We flew out there because it was efficient to get the surgical/perfusion team there quickly. We even got priority clearance off the ground. On the way home, we were just lucky passengers. The VIPs were wrapped carefully in ice, and were met off the jet by grateful staff in waiting cars. The whole extravagant procedure was about the donor patient and their organs, ensuring that nothing we did would reduce the value of that gift.

Total rockstars.