I think I’ll keep my kidneys

I had to go to the doctor today to learn how to handle a med. The office is attached to the hospital and as we were leaving, I see a doctor, wandering about, in full surgical costume – minus the blood stained backwards jacket, for which I am grateful – like he’s lost or something.

“What the hell.” I say to Sara and she just stands there with a look saying, I know, right? Is surgery really this informal now? And those booties and the weird hairnet are totally contaminated now. But no. It gets better. We get to the parking ramp, are heading up the stairs when two other doctors, similarly geared, come out of an elevator and head for the ramp. At this point I’m losing it. What the actual Fuck is going on here. Sara’s trying to remind me that they will probably change the protective clothing and I tell her that’s not the point before immediately asking her what the point is. She’s looking at me amusedly, but damnit, I know they aren’t going to be drop kicking a kidney into someone, but why the hell do they need to wear booties outside. As we reached the car. I told her that the next time I lose an organ or need people digging inside of me, I’m going to the other hospital. I don’t need a dropkicked kidney.

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