The night started out slow. Beautiful slow night. All the patients were sleeping, even the nurses managed to sneak in a good nap in the corners of the stations. No supervisors around and we managed to have a little fun joking around and surfing the net, just wasting time.
It’s been a while since I’ve seen the wife. Since I started working nights our intimacy time which used to amount to not much has dwindled down to nothing. Along with the stresses of city hospital night floating come the needs to release those same stressors. At three AM in the morning my testosterone level seem to soar and if there’s no immediate problems on the floor my observation skills, so well taught to me in medical school, begin to look for additional observations to “observe”, and my imagination begins to take control.
The old stories of blond beautiful bombshell nurses were either a myth all along or are now long gone, especially where I practice. Our nurses suffer from the general obesity crisis which plagues our children and doesn’t make for a bright bombshell nursing future. Our medical students and interns though, well, that’s a different story. When we say “student” we speak of twenty something bright eyed geniuses who stare at us with smiles of admiration. At 3 AM my subconscious speaks to me in ways too filthy to mention here. It is exactly at those times that I hope for a patient in distress, maybe a code or two, maybe a “shortness of breath” somewhere on the floor, any kind of diversion.
Or maybe, just maybe, we’d all run to save some poor soul who’s myocardium has decided it had enough. We’d sweat over him and we’d beat his heart to death. In our chaos we’d flash a g-string over here and skin over there. And all that adrenaline and all that rush of energy would ignite our passion. We would beat on that heart and we would shock and we would suffer together and maybe after it’s all done we'de find a call room and…
Oh god…I miss my wife!