(Featuring: The New Artemis Neuros)
If anyone ever tells you, “Just go talk to the neurosurgeons, they’ll happily help with your research,” please understand: that person hates you.
At Artemis Hospital, Sheen found this out the hard way.
She arrived in the Neurosciences floor armed with three things:
- A research proposal,
- A laptop,
- And a tragically optimistic smile.
The old legends had moved on. No Greenberg thunder, no Olivia eyebrow of doom, no Clark-style nasal detours.
In their place stood the New Era: seven men, one department, and zero collective interest in filling forms.
These were the new recruits.
The Cast of Mildly Willing Victims
1. Dr. Kabir Menon – Fellowship, Neurointervention
Man speaks fluent statistics and mild disappointment. He calls everything “underpowered,” including his own house Wi‑Fi.
2. Dr. Rohit D’Souza – Fellowship, Neurointervention
Perpetually holding coffee, perpetually holding sarcasm. If there were a meme for it, he’d use it as a progress note.
3. Dr. Arjun Singh – Associate Consultant, Skull Base
Neat hair, neat plans, deeply messy encounters with reality. Believes every case will go “as per plan.” Reality laughs.
4. Dr. Arjun Saxena – Associate Consultant, Spine
The other Arjun. Confused 80% of the time about being the other Arjun, clinically brilliant the other 20%. No one is sure which is which.
5. Dr. Rajesh Kapoor – then fellow now Associate Consultant, Neurointervention
Lives for aneurysms and color-coded angiograms. Has more clip types memorised than relatives’ phone numbers.
6. Dr. Farid Khan – Associate Consultant, Calm Overlord
The only one who looks like he reads full guidelines and actually remembers them. Legendary for killing chaos with one silent stare.
7. Dr. Deepak Sinha – Consultant, Neurosurgery
Walks like a consultant, documents like a resident. Famous for starting with, “This will be a short case,” right before a 9-hour operative epic.
8. Dr. Bobby Singh – Associate Consultant, Neurosurgery
Smiles like it’s Sunday, operates like it’s war. Has two modes: “Chill, ho jayega” and “Who filled this pre-op like this?”—no in-between.
And ofcourse our dear neurology associate consultants , Dr Vikram and Dr Mihir
And into this circus walked Sheen.
Chapter 1: Sheen vs. The Angio Bunker
Sheen started in Neurointervention.
Kabir and Rohit were in the angio suite, staring at a monitor like it owed them money.
“Hi, I’m Sheen,” she said, clutching her proposal. “I’m here with a research idea.”
Mistake number one: saying this out loud.
Kabir blinked. “Prospective or retrospective?”
Sheen smiled. “Prospective.”
Rohit choked on his coffee.
“Prospective?” Rohit repeated, like Sheen had just proposed awake neurosurgery without anesthesia. “On this floor? With these people? While we are alive?”
Sheen nodded enthusiastically. “I want to study hemodynamics and outcomes in aneurysm coiling and thrombectomy—BP trends, HR variability, contrast load…”
Kabir squinted. “So… my future: 80% of my life in Excel?”
He took the printed protocol, flipped through it, and said,
“Where’s the section where I go home on time? This is incomplete.”
Rohit peered over his shoulder. “Bro, this is cute. Look, she’s made a sample size calculation like we control bed occupancy.”
Sheen tried again.
“It’ll be simple. Just standardised BP targets, some extra documentation, a data sheet—”
“Standardised?” Rohit said. “Nothing here is standardised except delayed breakfast.”
Kabir sighed, but his eyes had that dangerous “ooh, data” sparkle.
“Fine. Show me your data sheet,” he said, like a villain in Act 2.
Sheen opened her laptop.
The spreadsheet had multiple tabs: demographics, procedural variables, intra-op vitals, complications, follow-up.
Rohit whistled. “That’s not a data sheet. That’s a side quest.”
Kabir leaned closer. “You’ve put in time stamps for BP readings?”
“Yes!” Sheen said proudly.
Kabir shook his head. “Excellent. Now all I have to do is perform complex neurovascular procedures while also acting like a human Holter monitor who knows Excel shortcuts.”
Rohit clapped Sheen on the shoulder.
“Add one more column: ‘Number of times fellow regretted career choices per case.’ Binary outcome. Always 1.”
And yet, somewhere between complaining and caffeine, both fellows agreed to join.
Condition 1 (Kabir): “You do the data cleaning.”
Condition 2 (Rohit): “I get meme rights for every complication.”
Chapter 2: Double Arjun, Double Trouble
Neurosurgery Brain Room. The sacred battleground.
Inside, the Arjuns were arguing over who was “the original.”
“I joined first,” said Arjun Singh.
“My MCh is older,” said Arjun Saxena.
“Your hairline is older,” Singh retorted.
Sheen entered like a woman entering a lion enclosure with a salad.
“Good morning, sirs. I’m Sheen. I’ve come with a research project.”
Both Arjuns froze.
Arjun Singh: “Is it on skull base?”
Arjun Saxena: “Is it on spine?”
Sheen: “It’s… on everything.”
They recoiled.
She opened the laptop again.
“I want to combine data from neurointervention and neurosurgery—aneurysm clipping, coiling, TNTS, decompressions—track BP targets, outcomes, complications—”
Arjun Singh held up a hand.
“One second. You want us to document… more than we already do?”
Sheen: “Just a few extra variables—”
Arjun Saxena laughed the defeated laugh of a man who has seen 37 pre-ops and 14 postponements in one day.
“Tell me, Sheen,” Saxena said. “If I spend this time filling your form, who will see my OPD of 64 lumbar radiculopathy patients asking if yoga can fix slipped discs?”
“I’ll make it as short as possible,” Sheen promised.
Singh peered at the sheet.
“This has more columns than my ward has beds.”
Saxena added, “And more follow-up than my last relationship.”
Just then, Dr Deepak Sinha walked past the open door, heard the word “research,” and visibly flinched.
“Sheen, right?” he asked, stepping in. “Is this one of those studies where I have to remember BP, sodium, fluids, urine output, and also my own sanity?”
“Yes, sir,” Sheen said cautiously.
Deepak sighed. “Fine. Add one more variable: ‘Number of times consultant said this will be a short case and lied.’ That’s your real predictor of outcome.”
From the corner, Dr Bobby Singh looked up from his pile of consents.
“Will this form finally stop people writing ‘BP normal’?” he asked. “Because if it does, I’m in. Otherwise, I’m only half in.”
Sheen, sensing an opening, replied, “We will actually define ‘normal,’ sir.”
Bobby smiled. “Accha. Then I’ll even fill it between two craniotomies. But if anyone writes ‘as per condition,’ I’m sending them to you.”
But then Sheen mentioned the magic words.
“We can present this at a major conference.”
Both Arjuns went quiet.
“Conference?” Singh asked.
“Abroad?” Saxena added.
“If the data is good,” Sheen said.
Singh sighed. “Okay, I’m listening.”
Saxena: “Me too. As long as I’m not labeled ‘Arjun 2’ in your paper.”
Deepak added, “And I better not be ‘etc.’ in the author list.”
Sheen reassured them:
“In the manuscript, you can be ‘Dr. A. Singh’ and ‘Dr. A. Saxena,’ and ‘Dr. D. Sinha’ and ‘Dr. B. Singh.’ Equal confusion for everyone.”
Chapter 3: Mihir the Clip Collector
Dr. Mihir Patel walked in carrying what looked like a small tackle box.
Inside were aneurysm clips. Many, many clips.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Sheen is starting a study,” Singh said. “On BP and outcomes and emotional damage.”
Mihir sat down, interested.
“Will it involve aneurysms?” he asked.
“Many,” Sheen replied.
Mihir leaned forward. “Continue.”
Sheen explained the vascular component:
Clip vs coil, pre-op BP, intra-op swings, rebleeds, vasospasm, follow-up.
Mihir nodded slowly, processing.
“So you’re telling me… I get to do what I already do, and then you turn it into a graph that proves I was right?”
“If the results say so,” Sheen said.
Mihir smiled dangerously.
“I will recruit every aneurysm in Gurgaon.”
Then he saw the CRF.
“Why is there no column for TYPE OF CLIP?” he demanded.
Sheen blinked. “I thought—”
“You thought wrong,” Mihir said. “We need Yasargil classification, length, angulation, and clip attitude.”
“Clip… attitude?” Sheen echoed.
“Yes. Angry clip, tired clip, overconfident clip. It affects outcome.”
From the doorway, Deepak murmured, “Also ‘budget clip’ when store doesn’t have what you actually want. Please add that.”
Sheen opened a new column. Sometimes, resistance is futile.
Chapter 4: Vikram Wants Electrodes in Everything
Dr. Vikram Iyer strolled into the Brain Room like a man who wanted to modulate someone’s thalamus for fun.
He heard “research” and immediately pulled up a chair.
“What’s the topic?” he asked.
“BP, neuro outcomes,” Sheen began.
“Boring,” Vikram said. “Where are the electrodes?”
Sheen hesitated. “Uh… it’s more hemodynamics-based—”
“We can add a sub-arm,” Vikram said. “DBS patients, peri-op BP, stimulation parameters. See? Now there are electrodes.”
“Okay, we can include functional cases,” Sheen conceded.
Vikram’s eyes lit up.
“Also, psychological variables.”
Arjun Singh groaned. “We don’t have time to treat their brains, and now you want to treat their childhood?”
Vikram continued unfazed. “Think about it. We can correlate BP spikes with surgeon shouting, drilling time, and the moment the scrub nurse says ‘Sir, that tray is not available.’”
Sheen paused.
“That… is actually interesting.”
Vikram leaned back, satisfied.
“If this paper doesn’t change practice, it will at least explain why everyone here needs therapy.”
Bobby, flipping through MRIs, added dryly, “Add one more: ‘BP when patient’s relative asks if we can do surgery after their cousin’s wedding.’ That’s your real peak.”
Chapter 5: Farid, Lord of Quiet Approval
Finally, Dr. Farid Khan arrived.
The room fell automatically quieter, as if someone turned down the chaos volume.
“What’s this meeting?” Farid asked, sitting down.
“Research,” Singh said. “Complicated research. With forms.”
“Conference potential,” Saxena added quickly.
Farid looked at Sheen. “Explain.”
Sheen gave the short version this time:
“One combined neurointervention + neurosurgery study on hemodynamics and outcomes. If we pull it off, it’ll be big.”
Farid thought for a moment.
“Who will do the data entry?” he asked.
Sheen: “Mostly me.”
“Who will chase follow-up?”
“Also me.”
“Who will get blamed if something goes wrong?”
“…me?”
Farid nodded. “I support this project.”
The room collectively exhaled.
Farid added, “I’ll help with the protocol and ethics. But no one is calling me at midnight to ask how to fill column G.”
Kabir (from the doorway): “Too late, I already planned that.”
Deepak raised a hand. “And please, in the ethics form, don’t write ‘minimal extra work for surgeons.’ That’s the biggest lie of all.”
Chapter 6: The First Day of Data Collection (aka: Chaos in 4D)
On Day 1 of actual data collection, Sheen realised three things:
1. Surgeons answer “BP okay?” with “Haan haan, normal hai,” which is not a number.
2. No logbook ever has all the fields filled.
3. Neurointervention fellows speak in half-sentences during cases.
In the angio suite:
Sheen: “Kabir, I need systolic BP every five minutes.”
Kabir: “Bro, I need three hands, one more nurse, and a separate brain. Pick one.”
Rohit: “Relax. Just write: ‘BP: stressed but coping.’”
In OT 1:
Sheen: “Arjun sir, target BP?”
Singh: “Low-ish but not too low.”
Sheen: “That’s… not a number.”
Singh: “Write ‘as per intra-op condition.’”
In OT 2:
Sheen: “Saxena sir, was there any significant intra-op BP fluctuation?”
Saxena: “There was a fluctuation in my faith in the human race, does that count?”
In OT 3:
Sheen: “Mihir sir, did you use single or multiple clips?”
Mihir: “Yes.”
Sheen: “…Yes to which?”
Mihir: “Yes to ‘stop asking me while I’m closing.’”
In OT 4:
Sheen: “Vikram sir, any intra-op issues?”
Vikram: “Patient fine. Team needs DBS.”
In OT 5:
Sheen: “Deepak sir, can I note exact BP targets from your notes?”
Deepak: “Sure. If you find them. Even I’m trying to decode what I wrote at 3 a.m.”
In OT 6:
Sheen: “Bobby sir, was BP stable?”
Bobby: “Stable-ish. Write ‘borderline, but everyone pretended it was fine so we could finish.’ That’s reality.”
By evening, Sheen’s spreadsheet looked like a war diary:
- “BP: probably okay, surgeon said ‘chalega’”
- “Anesthesia says ‘stable only,’ unclear”
- “Fellow too busy panicking, data missing”
- “Consultant handwriting illegible, assuming BP existed”
***
Chapter 7: The Debrief and the Betrayal of Excel
A week later, Sheen called a “progress meeting.”
Translation: “Please come so I can show you how much chaos you’ve created.”
She projected the Excel file on the Brain Room screen.
There were:
- Blank cells
- Creative cells (“BP: thoda zyada, thoda kam, overall theek”)
- And one entry in Rohit’s handwriting: “BP: emotionally elevated.”
Kabir adjusted his glasses.
“This is… messy,” he said, sounding half-horrified, half-impressed. “We might actually get something out of this.”
Saxena pointed at a row. “Why does this say ‘Surgeon shouting: 9/10’?”
Vikram grinned. “That’s my subjective scale. We needed secondary outcomes.”
Mihir traced a column.
“Look. In my aneurysm cases, once BP stabilises, outcomes are consistently better.”
Singh shrugged. “Once the drilling stops, everyone’s BP stabilises. Including mine.”
Deepak pointed to another row. “Who wrote ‘BP: normal for this hospital’? I want that person in my OPD. That confidence is therapeutic.”
Bobby leaned forward. “And here—someone actually entered exact numbers. Who was this unicorn?”
Sheen quietly raised her hand.
Farid watched silently, then finally spoke.
“You realise,” he said, “if we actually standardise this, this could be a good paper.”
Rohit nodded. “Title: ‘Artemis Neuros: We Tried To Be Serious And Somehow Got a p-Value.’”
Kabir added, “Subheading: ‘A prospective observational study of BP, brains, and burnout.’”
Deepak suggested, “Third line: ‘Featuring consultants who promised short cases.’”
Bobby: “And residents who finally learned that ‘BP normal’ is not a measurable outcome.”
Sheen just sat there, exhausted but weirdly proud.
Somewhere in that Excel jungle of half-answers and full chaos, a real project was taking shape.
***
Epilogue: The Real Primary Outcome
By the time the protocol was refined, ethics forms submitted, and the seventh version of the data sheet created, the neuros team had quietly changed.
Kabir started actually reading recorded BPs instead of just instinctively frowning at them.
Rohit began writing semi-real numbers instead of “BP: yikes.”
Singh and Saxena stopped fighting over who was “original Arjun” and united over more important things, like avoiding extra paperwork.
Mihir grudgingly accepted that “clip attitude” was not an official variable.
Vikram made peace with the fact that he could not implant electrodes in everyone, only some people.
Farid caught juniors writing “BP normal” and calmly asked, “Define normal,” which traumatized them into accuracy.
Deepak reluctantly started mentioning actual targets in his orders, because “for research” somehow felt scarier than mortality audits.
Bobby began circling vague notes in red and saying, “Think of Sheen’s data sheet before you write this,” which was worse than any M&M.
And Sheen?
She walked the corridors with a half-broken laptop, a half-sane brain, and a fully committed dataset.
One day, when this monstrous, hilarious, wildly imperfect project finally becomes a paper, the results section will talk about numbers, outcomes, and significance.
But everyone who worked on it will know:
The true primary outcome was this:
Artemis Neuros actually agreed on something.
And no one resigned.
