Archive December 2017 XVIII, No. 12

Behind Closed Doors: Surgery for Santa

I'm pretty sure I saw St. Nick in the OR the night before Christmas.

Paula Watkins

Paula Watkins

BIO

santa hat

'Twas the night before Christmas
when all through the OR
No one was stirring like they usually are.
No surgeries were scheduled for the very next day
And all those on call hoped to keep it that way.

The staff were all snuggled at home in their beds
And visions of the holiday danced in our heads.
I'm in my flannel relaxed by my tree
The cat from my neighbor curled up on my knees.

My phone gave a ring and gave me a start
I knew who it was down deep in my heart.
The cat on my lap fuzzed up with a hiss
And hit the floor running as if she'd been dissed.

The supe was all calm with a cool level head
It gave me the feeling I had nothing to dread.
I put on my coat to my car I did dash
My car gave a roar and I moved in a flash.

The moon gave a luster on the damn fallen snow
I shudder from cold that was zero below.
In front of my wondering eyes should appear
A man on a bike dressed like a reindeer WT ???

I arrived to the hospital, to the OR I flew
Passing the ER and its usual zoo.
I changed into scrubs while noting my flannel
I laughed because when home
I forgot to dismantle.

The case cart sat in a room without clutter
With the staff that was with me,
things would run smooth as butter.
We set up the room as quick as a wink
And I hustled to PACU before you could blink.

On a stretcher, a patient, so lively and quick
I swore when I saw him he looked like Saint Nick.
He'd been dressed all in fur from his head to his foot
And a little bit tarnished with ashes or soot.
His eyes how they twinkled, his dimples how merry
his cheeks were all rosy, his nose like a cherry.
I checked in his chart for his BAC level
It made me feel guilty and somewhat bedeviled.

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