Midway through lunch, Doc got the call she'd been waiting for. The club sandwich, fondled lovingly only moments ago, found itself brutally flung to the side as she stood up with an electric sense of purpose, sending her chair flying across the floor.
She barked confident orders into the phone, "I'm coming. Prep the subject.". But her heart was a toy monkey, all wound up, clapping manically.
No stop lights heeded, no schoolchildren or old men with walking sticks allowed right of way. She bulldozed her way through traffic and within fifteen minutes made a screeching halt at the doorstep of the Institute. Keys still in ignition, she leapt out and rushed past the doors, which magically parted for her. Slipping across the polished floor, finding balance along the walls, she almost didn't make the corner that led her into her lab.
Her lab. Usually a chamber of isolation, tucked away in the back of the Insitute's building. Most passersby assumed it was a supply room full of chlorinated cleaning fluids & wilting brooms. Not today. The lab was humming with nervous energy. Doc's entire team was there, waiting with their eyes on the door for their leader's entry.
She burst in with a flourish and slightly out of breath. Assistant Moxy sprung to her side, shoving a tablet containing the latest data into her hands, while guiding her limbs into surgical scrubs. Doc hurriedly scanned Specimen A's stunning results, her smile widening, then disappearing behind a mask Moxy tied around her mouth & nose.
As she approached the operation theatre's entrance, the corner of her eye caught Dr. Spoote sidling up to her - "So, Doc, this is it, huh? This is your moment."
"Let's hope so, Spoote. I'm very confident."
"Of course you know this could go either way...."
"Let me interrupt you there Spoote. The subject is prepped - we don't want to fry the poor thing's nerve-endings now, do we? Or let me rephrase that - we don't want to waste the Institute's millions now, do we?"
Dr. Spoote stepped aside. Doc strode in, her eyes zeroing in on Specimen A, as she drew every fibre of her being into a nucleus of focussed concentration.
"Scalpel," she said.
The team gathered around her now, waiting for that single cut to begin the rest of their lives. Glory, sweet glory awaited each one of them.
Doc stood there, scalpel perched above Specimen A.
"Hmmm."
The team inhaled in unison.
"Oh dear," she said, "What exactly are we doing here?"
She barked confident orders into the phone, "I'm coming. Prep the subject.". But her heart was a toy monkey, all wound up, clapping manically.
No stop lights heeded, no schoolchildren or old men with walking sticks allowed right of way. She bulldozed her way through traffic and within fifteen minutes made a screeching halt at the doorstep of the Institute. Keys still in ignition, she leapt out and rushed past the doors, which magically parted for her. Slipping across the polished floor, finding balance along the walls, she almost didn't make the corner that led her into her lab.
Her lab. Usually a chamber of isolation, tucked away in the back of the Insitute's building. Most passersby assumed it was a supply room full of chlorinated cleaning fluids & wilting brooms. Not today. The lab was humming with nervous energy. Doc's entire team was there, waiting with their eyes on the door for their leader's entry.
She burst in with a flourish and slightly out of breath. Assistant Moxy sprung to her side, shoving a tablet containing the latest data into her hands, while guiding her limbs into surgical scrubs. Doc hurriedly scanned Specimen A's stunning results, her smile widening, then disappearing behind a mask Moxy tied around her mouth & nose.
As she approached the operation theatre's entrance, the corner of her eye caught Dr. Spoote sidling up to her - "So, Doc, this is it, huh? This is your moment."
"Let's hope so, Spoote. I'm very confident."
"Of course you know this could go either way...."
"Let me interrupt you there Spoote. The subject is prepped - we don't want to fry the poor thing's nerve-endings now, do we? Or let me rephrase that - we don't want to waste the Institute's millions now, do we?"
Dr. Spoote stepped aside. Doc strode in, her eyes zeroing in on Specimen A, as she drew every fibre of her being into a nucleus of focussed concentration.
"Scalpel," she said.
The team gathered around her now, waiting for that single cut to begin the rest of their lives. Glory, sweet glory awaited each one of them.
Doc stood there, scalpel perched above Specimen A.
"Hmmm."
The team inhaled in unison.
"Oh dear," she said, "What exactly are we doing here?"
*******
"But her heart was a toy monkey, all wound up, clapping manically."
ReplyDeleteI'm keeping this one.
To be honest, that was the only line in this whole thing that worked for me too... :)
ReplyDeleteSaving your post for reading after work!
Awesome stuff, this! The heart=toy monkey line is my favourite too!
ReplyDeleteNo way, there was so much more that worked for me. The names. I loved the end. I love it when the author fucks around with the reader. I don't mean the Dahl-ish twist where readers go "OMG!" but more of the "Oh crap I got taken for a ride" end. A tease :)
ReplyDelete@Gargi: Thanks! : )
ReplyDelete@AM: Yo, it's like...i mean...yeknow...a metaphor for life and all yo. Sorta.
Funny and very black!
ReplyDeleteThanks B!
ReplyDeleteMore often, the plan B comes well after the incision is made.
ReplyDeleteNot related, but true, intra-op decisions are the hardest. Tough decisions, but have to be taken quickly. Every day, every case.
I love my job!
Ahhh...it takes a doctor to get the actual point :) Incidentally, what type of doctor are you?
ReplyDeleteI am a surgeon :)
ReplyDelete