So I have a part-time job now. I’m working a few hours a week at a local chiropractic office. Helping them collect on overdue accounts and other officey-type things. The work is easy, my co-workers are swell, and I get to wear scrubs.
Holy shit, why did no one tell me about scrubs before now? I’ve spent the bulk of the last three years in questionably clean sweat pants and fuzzy socks. Scrubs are better.
I got scrubs for Christmas and was tempted to wear them the rest of the day. Christmas. The day you wear your pajamas all day. I wanted to change into something more comfortable.
Since I discovered scrubs, I’ve had one question playing on an endless loop in my head: Why don’t women wear these things everywhere?
College girls who go to Target in Hello Kitty fleece and Uggs, get some scrubs, they have Hello Kitty prints. Eco-mommies who wear yoga pants to the farmer’s market, get some scrubs, they make them in organic cotton and recycled polyester. Grandmas in holiday themed turtlenecks from Wal-Mart, get some scrubs, they make some really ugly (but comfortable) holiday styles.
Yeah sure, they make scrubs for men too. But let’s face it, when you see a guy walking around in scrubs, you assume he’s an x-ray tech who wants you to think he’s a doctor. Not cool.
But when you see a woman in scrubs, she’s automatically a nurse. Case in point…
Thursday after work, I swung by the house to get Jack and we went to the grocery store. We were making our annual junk food run for New Year’s Eve. When we hit the snack cake aisle I knew it was going to take him a while to decide. Twinkies, Ding-Dongs, Swiss Cake Rolls, Nutty Bars, it’s a life changing choice when you’re eight-years-old. So I left him pondering and skipped ahead to grab chips and salsa. When I got back to his aisle, he had not moved and no snack cakes were in his hand. So I parked my cart and headed toward him, ready to pull out the “choose or go without” speech.
As I walked down the aisle, another family turned up the aisle and started in my direction. Then something horrible happened. The little girl in their cart started to choke. I don’t mean coughing like she swallowed wrong. I mean red faced, no noise, panicked eyes, CHOKING. I froze right in front of them. The mother said, “raise your arms above your head” and kept shopping. The little brother started to cry. The dad, jerked the girl up and started pounding her back. Then she gagged and out came a mint.
The dad then looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, “Thank you for coming to help.” Then he turned to his daughter and said, “That lady is a nurse and she was coming to help you.” The little girl looked up at me and said, “Thank you.” The mom said, “Come on, we need cereal.”
The first thing I thought was: Why I gotta be a nurse? Why am I not a doctor? Next was: Damn, I’m glad I didn’t have to fake my way through the Heimlich. Third was: I totally understand that mom’s reaction (or lack thereof).
Since that incident, I’ve decided to limit my scrubs to work and home. That babysitting course with bonus CPR training I had when I was twelve does lend a bit of credibility to my scrubs, but not enough to actually make me a trained medical care provider. I’d hate to be faced with a real emergency and have to say, “Sorry he’s bleeding to death, got any medical records you need copied?”