The Job

It’s not personal. It’s the job. I know everyone has a dislike of me, even a hatred, but I can’t help who I am. Most of the time I sit alone, bothering nobody. I am pretty content with being isolated. I find people can be annoying and even disturbing. When I encounter people they often greet me with fear. Sometimes they even cry. I really don’t understand it. I try to help others but they just don’t let me do my job.

Besides the attitude problems I face every day, my job can be dangerous. Six months ago I was grabbed and thrown into the garbage. I bet you don’t see that every day at your work. It was really pretty awful. There was quite a bit of commotion over that- as there should be. My assailant was arrested, of course. There’s no point dwelling on it- so I prepare for the day.

The lights are dim here as I sit in the corner waiting to begin my work day. Serious people enter the room speaking in a low voice. I approach the table. There is a quiet discussion of the mission at hand. I sat on the tray with other scalpels, clamps, scissors and metal things that didn’t look familiar to me. The victim, I mean patient, was wheeled in. He said he was “ready” but he seemed to turn away from me and my associates.  I sit, ready to sink into soft flesh and bath myself in warm blood. He appears to be thinking those same thoughts.

Our patient made a few lame comments such as “I’m glad it’s not Monday” and “I hope you had your coffee this morning”. While he nervously babbled a bit, for some reason, maybe it was an anniversary thing, I was brought back to the unfortunate death of Mrs. Foster.  Exactly six months ago I killed the poor woman, quite unintentionally, of course. The woman bled to death at my hands. I stepped aside to allow various clamps to control the blood flow but it was to no avail. Margret Foster was pronounced dead at 10:45 AM six months and a day ago. 

Margaret’s husband, Max, later that day barged into the OR. He grabbed me from the hands of Dr. Merriweather shouting “You just killed my precious Maggie!”. Just as he was about to attack the good doctor he was startled by sirens. Max threw me into the garbage bin and fled. I thought- “I could have struck someone and seriously hurt them”. Max was caught in the hallway by the police. Given Max’s emotional distress he was given only a one year sentence- so I heard weeks later.  

Max had plenty of time to plan his revenge. He was very good at that. Max was well connected, as they say. A  few associates on the outside that did some work for him in his various businesses were called upon. Failing in his first attempt, Max was already planning revenge. In prison, Max, with the help of his associates, kept track of Dr. Merriweather’s movements. Max practiced with a plastic kitchen knife, rehearsing the death blow that he would deliver in his expert hands. 

Sitting in a darkened evidence box, I am left to rust with a few other medical instruments.  I knew this day would come- nobody lives forever. But I felt regret that my career had ended so soon. I was too young to retire.

Time passed. I was getting used to the isolation of the evidence box. I was totally surprised when a streak of light emerged above me. There was a chuckle as my rescuer lifted me out of the box. In a soft voice Max’s chief lieutenant mumbled- “Max needs you. You work for him now. He wants you to do the deed”. I was a bit surprised at Max’s sentimental nature. The idea of using the blade that killed his beloved wife to kill her murderer was ironic and kind of romantic in a way.

Max, released after six months and a day for good behavior, walked to the prison gate. He climbed into the back seat of his black bulletproofed, tinted glass Mercedes. His associate handed Max a bag with the proper surgical scrubs and a fake hospital ID. The bag also included me, the scalpel that killed his wife. 

Max was driven directly to a side entrance to the hospital. The door bypassed security and it was left unlocked at Max’s order. He had men everywhere. Dressed in hospital scrubs his badge allowed him to pass through several doors. He checked the OR schedule and headed for OR #3 to execute his plan. Max quietly entered the darkened OR.

I remember his face from six years earlier. But this was not a man in blind, pained rage. This was a man with a cold calculating stare- in complete control and ready for action. He held me firmly in his strong grip. Max wandered slowly around the perimeter of the table, behind several hospital staff. Dr. Merriweather was too intent on examining the cyst that had taken up residence in the patient’s liver to notice the intruder. 

Max found the right moment to strike. Just as the cyst was being removed he grabbed Dr. Merriweather, whirled him around and plunged me deep into the good doctor’s chest, twisting it for maximum damage. Finding the heart- blood spurted out freely and the good doctor fell to the floor. Several staff screamed in horror and rushed to his aid but there would be no way to save the good doctor. Fleeing out the back emergency door, Max jumped into the Mercedes.  Max and I were off. I was now attached to Max as his only link to his dearest Maggie. Her death was avenged.

And I have a second career.