Sheer Insanity

I was beginning to think of myself as pretty dull. Only a few blogs in, and that's all I got. Close the shop, folks. Then over dinner with some friends, a story that had long disappeared from my mind was unearthed. Now, even at the risk of my mom calling me to ask if I completely lost my brain in my early 20's, I will tell you the tale....

I used to work at a hoity-toity clothing store. I was poor, happy, and dressed pretty well. Life was good, and I was more trusting of people then than I am now. One night a man came in. He was in his 40s or 50s, I suppose. He was extremely tan and had the whitest teeth I had ever seen. Who doesn't trust someone with a perfect smile? Anyway, this guy chatted for awhile and told me that he could cut my hair. I was poor so I declined on the basis that I had no cash. He insisted and said I didn't have to pay! Well, alright! I waited for the shop to close, let him cut my hair, let him clean up the scraps while I finished closing, and we went our separate ways. Pretty normal.

About a few months later he returned and cut my hair plus my coworkers hair. The routine ensued every month thereafter. He was so friendly! My coworker and I enthusiastically welcomed his visits, so now we would put up a sign: "Back in 15!" We would go to the stock room, let him use his could-be-weapon scissors to harmlessly trim our locks. This went on for 2 years.

Then.....one night I wasn't there. He came in. Gave my friend her haircut, and said he would do the usual clean up while she got back to work. Said friend went to the front of the store and remembered she needed something from the back. She made her way casually to the stock room, rounded the corner, and found him. Shoving hair in his pants.

Yep. All these years. It wasn't until then that it had even occurred to me that I was: closing and locking my store, going to the back room alone with some guy armed with a potentially deadly weapon, and taking a seat while he gave me his crocodile grin and cut away. Seriously.

Don't know how else to end this one. It's a doozy, so I will let you simmer on that.

yours,

Tiffany

Electro Feel

Warning: this might be gross.

Last week I was given the opportunity to be a spectator in the O.R. and watch as multiple lung masses were cut out of a patient by a very skilled, badass, 76 year old thoracic surgeon. Yes, I said 76. When the doctor arrived in the O.R. he high-fived me and gave some very important instructions: I want you to stand directly behind me on a step stool, but if you feel like you are getting the least bit light headed I want you to sit on the floor and take off your mask - it's ok, the O.R. is a theatrical place. The room was busily and systematically prepared, the patient came in, the CRNA put them under, and I anxiously took my place. The surgeons were ready for work.

The Doctor: Tiffany, what are you going to do if you get light headed?

Me: I'm going to sit down and take off my mask.

The surgeons opened the skin and made their way through the layers of adipose tissue to expose the ribs.

The Doctor: Tiffany, if you feel light headed what will you do?

Me: I will sit on the floor and take off my mask.

The Doctor: That's right because if you don't you will fall, hit your head, get an epidural hematoma, and die. Then I will be mad.

Me: Ok.

He snapped two ribs, explaining to me their anatomy. So cool, and yet one thought kept creeping into my mind: don't faint. I wasn't the least bit grossed out. In fact I loved every second of observing, but all the talk of fainting made me wonder if I would. I thought to myself, "sing a song, sing a song..." to shut out the noise. As if on eternal repeat I sang (in my head) Electric Feel by MGMT. It's a good work out song, and an even better operating song. Every few minutes I would be interrupted:

The Doctor: What will you do if you feel weak?

Me: I will sit on the floor and take off my mask.

The Doctor: Good.

I saw the lung deflate, the masses removed with equipment completely foreign to me (whatever it was, it cut and stapled at the same time), and the doctor let me see the coolest thing of all: the heart!

The Doctor: Put your arm on my shoulder and lean over here. See, there is the aorta, the pulmonary arteries, the inferior vena cava. Going up you'll start to see the carotid...

The sight of it, the vital importance of it was electrifying. I felt like I was gaining so much knowledge...and momentum to care about what I do.

Cut to this week. I love going off the floor, so I volunteered to take my patient to podiatry. Bad idea. The people in the office were awesome. I got to take staples out of a crusted over incision where a big toe was removed due to gangrene. Skin flaked everywhere. Bits of dried up ooze haphazardly falling my direction. The dry scalish bits of skin were folded back with tweezers by the podiatrist. This guy loved what he did. He did it with great interest. I, on the other hand, felt my knees going weak. I thought, "I will sit on the floor. I don't have a mask. I will sit down." I made my way to a chair (which Dr. Badass would have hated, as he said I wouldn't make it). I did. I listened as they found more gangrene ooze under the other toes. I peaked and wished I hadn't. The nurse assured me, "You'll get used to it! You probably just didn't eat enough breakfast." Thank God I didn't. Let's face it: I'm not cut out for podiatry.

yours,

Tiffany