A Practice in Patience

    Today the lights bouncing off the hanging bulb seemed to intensify over the surgeon's table. John could see every sharp shadow that highlighted Carver's hollow face. The sclera around his nickel chloride green hued eyes were tinged with red rust. Carver could hardly keep a sleepy expression off his face. Carver was loudly yawning, stretching the sleeves of his white lab coat, upward as his arms arched in a circle. Beneath his lab coat, a half tucked cobalt chloride hued dress shirt, had been clumsily buttoned, as if he had buttoned it with his left hand. John could see the creak off his olive skin, and the taut pattern of wrinkles, peak between the empty space of his mismatched buttoning on the upper portion of his shirt. He had been close enough, that John could see every red papule conjugating on the stubble of his chin. He was in badly need of benzyl peroxide, a tea tree oil wash, and definitely a toner with a water based formula.

John on the other hand, was a skinny nearly underweight half Chinese and White man. He wore a pair of thick framed glasses, which obscured his Methylene blue eyes. The name John was neatly stuck on a pressed lab coat, over a light blue dress shirt, and a pair of ironed slacks, with his cellphone stuck into the back pocket.

John hotly stared at Carver, as the man took out a small silver flask and began to chug it down. An overwhelming stench of alcohol lingered on him. He scratched his balding scalp as he gave a toothy grin after feeling John's gaze on him.

"Get the thing John. Go on fetch." Carver said pointing a finger in the direction of the supplies storage. John glanced down to see the cart, to see what instruments Carver had been to alluding to.

" You mean the laparoscope and the trocars, Doctor?"

"Yeah yuh know what I mean Shawn."

In this small white room, crammed in with a man whose breath smelled like vodka, surrounded by nothing but sterile white equipment and walls- John had seen hell. This was the material of nightmares, of badly made jokes of what they'd be doing fresh out of college by his fellow sleep deprived Biochem and Chemistry majors. John had been surprised that Dr. Carver had never been sued for malpractice, or had his medical license revoked.

John quickly came back with the trocar and the laparoscope. Today Carver would be heading a simple obstruction removal surgery. Apparently the patient Marita Cortez (Hispanic woman, history of diabetes in family, lactose intolerant, taking medication for sleep) drink had been laced with one of those expandable water toys. It wasn't until a feeling of nausea had hit her the next day and the vomiting of bile that had made her aware of the incident.

Carver headed quickly to his station, grabbing a bowel grasper, after injecting anesthesia into the woman's arm. It had taken him three attempts before Carver had somehow managed to prick the woman's arm. Carver shakily, taped the plastic tube into her arm. He fumbled with the medical tape, loudly muttering under his breathe, as the adhesive had stuck to his middle and index fingers.

John stared with dilated pupils, at the little dots that lined the women's arms. He was sure the patient would be sore the next day, and had taken to cleanly wiping the area of intrusion with alcohol wipes. The anesthetic began to flow through the small clear tubes, from an IV bag above the patient's head. It was only a matter of minutes, until the patient would fall under the full effects of the anesthetic. Cortez's breathing started to relax, and she looked around aimlessly - head nodding up and down as she tried to fight off drowsiness. Her eyes slowly fluttered open and shut, finally clamping up. She had stumbled forward, gravity pulling her to a slightly hunched position. John pushed her onto her back, making sure she couldn't choke on saliva. John looked to the corner of the room to see Carver, pick at a blockage of mucus in his nostrils, wiping the remnants on his lab coat.