BluE Scrubs

I was sitting in the coffee room waiting for the patient to arrive from B3 for today’s emergency laparotomy. Rereading the In Style magazine issue Nov 2004, drooling over some stuff, mulling over some things cleverly and not so cleverly written,. ‘How to make your man beg for more’. Ya right. Flip, flip.

It was way past dinner time but Debbie looked like she’s going to have her first meal for today.
We exchange monotonous hiyas, you know like..

U ‘aight Naj..
Aight Debs..

She said something about not seen me for ages and I told her about my holiday. I sounded like a travel agent for ‘Visit Bali 2005’.

She pushed and pat and scooped and smeared the big bowl of what looked like a very colourful yummy salad. A big portion enough to last her all week as well.

What’s wrong Debs, isn’t that nice? One of the other nurses asked her.

‘Oh God just look at this. He’s put in absolutely everything under the sun and it’s horrid’. She jeered while twirling the fork flicking some small pieces of mushroom.

Her expression was a clear resentment of that bowl of salad. She put it on one side and made a beeline for the toaster.

I looked at the salad and yes there was a lot there, and had probably everything in the vegetable isle at ASDA, but HE made it for her.

‘Your boyfriend made that Debs’? I asked. I needed confirmation.

‘Yeah, Andy’s made that, this morning, he said it should be good for me. He knows I hate salads. Urghhh. Men’.

Tongue in cheek, she made some toasts.

I don’t know why but I felt like I wanted to say sorry to Andy,
I felt like I wanted so much to have an ‘Andy’.
Not for ‘Andy’ to make salad for me but to say to my ‘Andy’, I’d never do that to you baby.

Oh well like I deserve any ‘Andy’ at the moment. On call yet again tomorrow.


***

Meeting the nurses in ICU nowadays makes me feel all the more mellowed. They’re like my mums, friends, and evil step sisters all wrapped up in a cheesed up tortilla. Hot spicy yummy obnoxiously sinful but wholesome. Bliss.

Helen heard about the letter I received to go to Scunnie for the Senior SHO post in August. I know that doesn’t make sense at all having a double senior in a title, but it’s there in black and white.

‘Why are they so horrible to you then? Can we make a petition for you not to leave?’ she almost sounded like a disappointed mother.

I shrugged my shoulders, dopey eyed and scoffed the cake she brought in. Corrrr she makes the best chocolate cake and she must be the best smelling mumsy nurse ever ever.

Dr. Mc the consultant walked past and everybody went quiet.

Did you see that? He looked 10 years younger! Has he had a facelift or something?. Somebody whispered through some rolled sheets of A4s.

Dr. Mc is ancient, should really be at home polishing zimmer frame by now but he still does some odd ENT lists now and again. His eyebrows grow horizontally forward and defy gravity. It gets even more livelier when Dr. Mc is furious. His hair, wisps and sparse. Miserable is his middle name and his belly is his trademark.

But…that was him in his body possibly of 10 years ago, tanned, trimmed (still with belly or course) his cheeks pinked up and sounding jolly?

What’s going on?

‘He’s shagging somebody. That’s what it is’, Barb said.

Yeahh…and they all agreed and went back to work knowing all too well.

Me: Really? (Bewildered with mouthful of cake)

Ok Really now, on call tomorrow, must hit the sack. Lights off.

Highs: Thoracic epidural went in less than 7 minutes.
Lows: Colecystectomy guy went into bronchospasm scared the shit out of me. Almost leaked.