I, The Sucker

Stardate Log 271311
Surgery Core Day 1

After fuddling with thoroughly scrubbing my hands raw, I enter the surgery suit with my elbows raised, dripping soap and water. The room is surrounded by women, whom I shall here on now call Bitches, with their claws retracted and the hair at the back of their necks standing on end. Had I known this beforehand or had anyone forewarned me, I would have adorned full body armor, including spit proof face mask to ward off acid saliva that would melt the better half of my face.

Unsuspecting, I smile and curtsied, practiced good manners my mother taught me and before I knew it:
“Watch your hands! Keep them at the level of the nipple!”

I jump out of my skin and thought I had murdered a lamb.
Trauma Primary survey: 6-inch gash across the face with claws that were sharpened with glee.

The day moves on….I am trying not to contaminate myself by picking my nose or scratching my ass, so I put my befuddled hands on the draped patient and freeze.

“Don’t lean on the patient or put any weight on him!” Meanwhile, surgery instruments are placed on his face, the surgeon has his weight thrown over the man.

I am trying to be helpful now because she-who-hands-the-surgeon-his-tools-Bitch is not paying attention and jabbering away like no one’s business. So I hand the surgeon his pair of Adson’s. The day is saved and surgery moves on without a hitch or so I thought when this comes:

“I HAND THE SURGEON HIS TOOLS!”

After that, my life was hell.

Bitch took back the suction, which had been my tool in the OR, I the glorified sucker, who pays the institution for the opportunity to suck fumes and blood and shit out of the sterile field, and have, additionally, paid these people to rip me a new one any chance they get because their little menial lives are too pathetic to even comment upon whose sole importance in life is to hand the surgeon his tools just so they can say they participated in surgery, saved a man's life, and pointedly illustrated to me how she, Bitch, is the Queen of the OR suit. Nothing was ever said. Instead, when I asked for the scissors to cut suture after the incision has been closed, another one of my senseless “jobs”, Bitch ignored me and handed them to the surgeon, another little pointed message meant at fully maiming me.

And like that, Surgery scrub-in day 1 ended.
Trauma Secondary survey: My left eye has been gorged out, my tongue is nowhere to be found and I have lost both my arms.
Imagine…….I have 12 more weeks of this shit.