BluE Scrubs

It was only a feint knock on the door but enough to startle the patient. He looked up from his semi reclining position and immediately beamed a wattful of smile. I don’t know why but I felt both the despair and relief at the same time. A feeling hard to put into words.

There was a premature silence following that. I struggled and possibly failed miserably at trying to avoid looking at the monitors, the tubes, the drains and the rest of the ritual when I visit all my ITU patients. In my best attempt, I said so they didn’t put that tube down your nose doctor? It came out croaky as if there was a lump in my throat.

No they haven’t because I have been a good boy. He did his smug face and I was totally comforted by his familiar smile. I giggled and coughed away.

I think you’ll like the card. I changed the subject while handing him the blue envelope.

It’s not rude is it Naj, he said while opening it. He reached for his glasses.

While quietly reading it, the crowfeet at the corner of his eyes gathered fast. He let out a flock of feathery chuckle. And a bashful sigh.

‘Do you know why hospitals serve so much soft food’?
So when you throw it out of the window you won’t hurt anyone.

I have read them a few times before signing it and still found it obligingly funny being read by him. I asked him how he’s hanging on without engaging in the pathology behind his laparotomy. His vibrant facial expression slightly ceased to moderately excited.

Well so far so good Naj. Thanks. He cunningly changed the subject about me moving to Scunnie soon, doing grown up jobs. He wished me luck and the rest of it. I was not really interested in talking about that particular subject as I am actually dreading the whole shebang to do with moving. Everybody is dreading this changeover and you can feel it everywhere. The ambience in late July is very much ‘Oh why things have to move on’.

I have grown to love this place so much and all the beautiful people I work with. All the surgeons, the ODAs, the porters, that Italian orthopaedic SHO, that Spanish Surgical SHO and the list goes on. Not one day or one night similar to the other. But they say all good things must come to an end and everything that says hello must say goodbye.

In my pigeonhole, the department squeezed a moderately wrapped going away present. A picture frame of a perfectly composed little harbour, against the sky so baby blue you want to paint your room that colour, and the reflections of the boat so clear, you wish it’s just what it is for the next ten years of your life.

I love this department to bits and in X years time I don’t want to forget any of them. Knowing me, X can be as low as one or even with decimal point.

I hate goodbyes I really do.