BluE Scrubs

May I say that, this picture of 5 empty beds, with clean sheets sprawled over them, pressed and starched, slight desterilised, is phenomenal.

Only one patient in the entire unit? Not even an outlier from the forever heaving medical High Dependency Unit (HDU). Shocking!! Ok, had better shut up before needing my foot surgically removed from my mouth.

When I turned up at 2030, Linda was flipping through an OK magazine with slight delirium tremens from whole day lack of workload. Julie had reverted back to usual habit of obsessive compulsion for tea making. One begins to wonder what their blood tea level is. Sarah was watching the monitor while biting her nails. Probably going cold turkey as well. Oh no it’s the telly, not any old monitor.

Kevin had his tea with us while handing over the only patient we had on the unit. Buzzing came on from the CCTV, a nurse from the Accident and Emergency stood patiently outside.

Sarah got up.Let me get it

Julie stopped stirring the tea. No I’ll get it.

Linda appeared from the loo. It’s my turn to do it

I had a sudden blast from the past moment, of a certain TV advert which kind of captured the short lived chaos.

Bedak Cuticura sapa ni?? Saya punya!! Bukan saya punya!! Bukan, man punya!! Adik punya..adik punya.

Something like that.

They scurried over to let the poor nurse in and later fight for the blood gas analyser. Now this is another Halley Comet phenomena you only see tonight and one night only. Not even a kati of Librium or Methadone would touch these poor nurses. They just had to do something. Linda started talking about knitting. Hmmm

Sarah towed a TV out earlier from the pantry and we all sat through a program about a bunch of school teachers who, in a week, learnt to can-can from the real Mouline Rouge people and later came back to Cheltenham ladies college to do a performance, which I must say turned out to be an entertaining one if not spectacular.


One of them looked a bit butch with an army type cropped hair style. No way we thought she was going to walk down the thin line between being a hussy and sexy show girl. That was the geography teacher. The other one was very generous on the top half but I think she did the best split at the end of the show. She's one of the history of arts teachers. The school girls cheered and screamed. How often do you see your teachers flash their knickers at you?

I was surprised by how much lyrics I still remember from those musical years, I was 15 then.

Everynight at half past 8
You’ll see us if you’re not too late
We’re the top of gay Paris
Everyone comes miles to see..


Stepping kicking
Watch us as we go
Now twinkling toes
Are twirly silken
Stockings are swirling

Lazy flimsy things...

Twirl twirl kick kick HIGHHHH kick kick kick twirl and split. tadaaaaaaaa


It was all so emotional. Seeing those women doing something they’ve never done before make me feel ashamed of myself. These day, apart from the exam, I don’t really think much about doing something as exhilarating, or as endorphin rewarding as that.

The stage and me at one point used to be very very close till I decided I wanted to save lives for a living. Ironically, only last night I was being philosophical about death itself, and how little medicine actually contributes beyond a certain age. The equation would definitely plot a sigmoid shape graph if I want to be Aspegers about it. Y being number of life saved, and X the age. It’s all purely entertaining but I am sure to those women, they’ve at least discovered that if they put their mind to it and persevere, nothing is impossible.

Michael Buble appeared in The Parkinson show which was pleasing, and having Will Smith following that, talking about how he actually remembered or reminded his wife of their anniversary by getting the florist people to spread every single inch of the bedroom floor with rose petals, so that she wouldn’t walk on anything else but the petals, completed my TV dose for the night. His whole understanding about marriage and adultery just confirmed what a fine man he is. And of course his wit, it’s addictive.

These days, if I think about black humour about love, I think about these two. On one side you have Mario Winans singing Hurt No More and I Don’t Wanna Know, always getting rejected, betrayed, stood up and hurt, time and time again. You start thinking , why would any girl do that to him? One the other, you have Usher with his many Confessions, who constantly has to say sorry for somehow or rather ended up in another woman’s bed, and his inability to stay monogamous. You know the drill.

On the white side we all know Bridget’s men, Daniel and Darcy. It doesn't matter if it's black or white. It’s almost just a question of whether you want to fly high with a bad boy like Jemima Khan does and ditch him when he becomes all grown up and talk about nothing but the politics of Pakistan, or to be a dutiful wife having the uterus quilted from the numerous caesarean sections because you are too posh to push, and walk around with a t-shirt bearing your husband’s name.

Why can’t they all be like Will Smith?
Now I am being completely shallow and very much like a reporter for the Sun.

Oh Oh Oh too much free time. This is sinful. Oh please this is going to spoil me. Oh Oh Oh.. What am I going to do?

How many sugar Naj?