Call me Schizophrenic, but every time I have my exposure at the Delivery Room  or Operating Room, I usually see myself inside an Old Roman Empire arena. I’m not super knowledgeable about gladiatorial combats, but this is how I see the combat inside the DR/OR:
I see the patients (being operated or about to give birth) as the warriors of this combat. They risk 50% of their lives just by lying there at the operating table. They are anesthetized, put into deep sleep, feel nothing, not knowing the outcome of their operation.
I see the physicians (the leader of the medical team), as the ruler of the entire arena. The future of their patients/gladiators lies on their licensed hands. They are the masters of the game; either the gladiators will be able to make it through or not.
I see the nurses, as the soldiers of the Empire rulers. They are present on the field to obey the meticulous instructions made by the rulers, they offer the rulers whatever they need (metz, forceps, clamps, suction tip, retractors, knives, needles, etc).
I see every life saving medications injected at them as their prayers. Through these medicines/prayers, their lives become less threatening and pain is minimized for them.
And most of all, I see the imaginary hands of God in every battle, in every operation, in every birth-giving process. It’s up to Him whether you live or you die. Whether you live to see another day after the combat, or be with Him for eternity.

After the bloody combat, the gladiator wakes up and finds himself alive and well.
He smiles.
He knew he was given another chance to live.
He then leaves the arena, and finally goes back home and be with his family.
Happy to be back, home sweet home.

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