Oh, come on! You know it as well as I do. I sometimes think that the reason "they" became nurses, other than a karmic fulfillment or the need to be needed, for example, is that "they" actually like the way that um, "they" look and feel in "their" scrubs. Campy, foot loose and freaking fancy free in their well-worn cotton, the fabric of our lives.
Ohh, if only that fabric could talk, it could tell a gazillion stories about what has been splattered/sprayed/spilled/leaked/expelled/projected/ejected/squirted/spouted and spurted onto and into the very micro fibers of...those scrubs, into the cellular memory of this holy garment. Seriously, these are more than just duds one wears to work.
Behold the reverence.
These leg coverings that reach to one's ankles with draw string waists are a living and walking testimony to the experiences of their hard core seasoned wearer. They tell an incredible story, with the right attitude and accessories, of course. (more on this later).
I call these chicks nurse campy fancy pants. For now, I will refer to them as NCFP's.
Usually, in higher acuity settings such as NICU, ICU. CCU or, er, etc., the scrubs are less pretty, if you ask me. That's how I have perceived it for the last couple of decades, anyway. No flowers, hardly a Looney Toons cartoon scrub to be found. Betty Boop? Fuggetaboutit. We are talking industrial quality- distressed - militant street-wear, the road warrior's identifier clothing. Nothing cute about it. This is serious, and everyone in the NCFP's vicinity will perceive it as such.
You have your hard core cobalt blue that fades into a soft sky color, and the bright green that over a few hundred launderings have literally "stood" witness to life, death and beyond, which morphs into the standard tile color of the bathroom in a 1945 sanitarium.
Not to mention the texture ... wow! Soft and molded to the body, worn. I'm talking practically see- through in all the "high friction areas".
Seriously, we all know what it's like to wear a new crisp pair of scrub pants. I am sure any "normal sized" woman has experienced chafing, especially if the pants were not washed before wearing. (coincidentally, there is a DSM-IV code for this diagnosis which is referred to as PDWUWSS - premature desire to wear un-washed scrubs syndrome).
Anyway, one day, NCFP wakes up, throws her hair in a bun and slips on her favorite bottoms. Slips. She develops a bounce in her hard core nurse campy fancy pants (NCFP) step, completes her hygiene and grooming regime, climbs in the car, and proceeds to her shift. In terms of accessorizing, in her ears are a pair of twinkly sparkly silver dingle dangle earrings which she enjoys as a part of her whole look. Ohhhhh!!! She cannot wait until later. The shoes, the revered clogs are worn. They perfectly caress her pounding and striding tootsies like a glove and add a bit of personality to her step, as they slightly "clog" on the floor. Did you know that? High heels make a clicky sound, and clogs make a cloggy sound. Get it straight.
Suddenly, it happens. Her hair, while the majority of it remains loosely in the bun atop her pretty little fancy campy dome, begins to softly whisp from the top and the sides, a clear indication, a medal of valor, really, which sigh..gives ultimate permission to have the 'tude. Later hath arrived.
The slipping on of the pants clearly is the reward of many intense shifts and act as the indication that, well, they are finally as well worn as she is. The dingle dangle sparkles at the ends of her delicate lobes are the perfect juxtaposition, the perfect comparison, the perfect complement to the whisp situation while the campy fancy pants are soft, so soft, so used, so experienced, and perfectly cover the planks that are supported by the clogging of the clog. Herein lies, her story. The story which is titled, "I am a nurse. A nurse campy fancy pants", nurse. Long may we twinkle, whisp, clog and shine.
