I step out of the shower, wrap a towel around my waist, and step out onto the carpet. Opening the cabinet I grab my bag and in short order have my face and neck slathered in foam. I shave quickly and throw on some aftershave, briefly doing the Home Alone Face Slap as I always do. Teeth get brushed.
I quickly put on my jockey shorts and uniform pants, pressed straight. Socks go on next because I never remember to put my socks on before I put my pants on. I slide my feet into my old reliable Bates zip ups, freshly polished. Undershirt is next, followed by belt and a quick trip back to the bathroom for deodorant and hair gel (I'm Italian - it's a rule, okay?) and then back to my closet for my shirt. It sits quietly on the hanger, my disco patch staring up at me from the sleeve: Let's go, it says. Let's go save some lives today. What hell are you doing staring at me when we could be out there working?
I put on my shirt, button it, and tuck it in. Pen, sunglasses go into front left shirt pocket. Pocket knife into right pocket. Cell phone into left pocket. Unit keys clipped onto my belt, Id tag into my shirt. Walking out to my car, I see my reflection in the window. I haven't worn this uniform in over 3 months. I take a deep breath and step into my truck, grab my sunglasses and put them on. My clipboard, steth, and vest are resting in my back pack next to me.
* * *
Well, I finished up my treatment and have moved into a recovery house in Metropolitan Area. I finished my checkout with our FTO today and should be back in action Saturday.
Look out, America! MedicMarch is BACK!