Sitting on my stool watching the surgery, I start to seethe inside. I hate orthopedics and I hate the people I
was working with that day. The surgeon yells at me constantly for no good reason. I guess he is just having a
bad day. The resident thinks he is too good to speak to a mere nurse. My scrub tech—who passes the
instruments—is ignoring me for the most part. The only time she speaks all day is to ask me for some staples.
After many attempts to please them, I give up, sit back down and tell them they can use what is already on
The surgery proceeds with even more yelling and screaming because they can’t get the right equipment in the
right size. I try to explain this isn’t my fault, but the doctors don’t want to hear it. They want what they want
when they want it. I close my eyes and wish them all dead.
Suddenly, I feel a bubbling down deep in the pit of my stomach. It reaches a boil by the time I stand up and
approach the sterile field. I reach over the table and grab a scalpel. I employ it to stab the resident in the back
as he has done me so many times that day. I pull it out and stick it in a new place several times. There is blood
squirting all over my face and scrubs, but I have never been happier. The surgeon looks across at me in horror
The resident crumples to the floor already strangling on his own blood. It is music to my ears. I bend over,
retrieve the knife and start toward the scrub person. As I approach, she and the surgeon try to talk me out of
my diabolical plan.
“Please, no! You don’t want to do this. You are not this person, something has gone seriously wrong,” the
scrub tech pleads.
“Oh, yes, I do. At last, you finally speak to me for something other than supplies. I have had my fill of you
I still hold the scalpel with the resident’s blood drying on it. I plunge it into the tech’s hand several times. The
surgeon tries to sneak up behind me while I am busy with the tech. I grab a metal trocar and send it straight
between two ribs. His eyes open wide and his mouth is left hanging open. I use pliers off the table and twist his
nose around. Then I take another pointed metal rod and jam it in his right eye. It makes a ‘pssst’ sound as it
deflates. My once sky-blue scrubs are now a very red crimson color. I am reeling in so much pleasure. I am
covered almost from head to toe in blood.
I look around to think up some more mischief for the surgeon. I spy some succinylcholine on the anesthesia
cart. This is a paralyzer used to keep patients still while they are being intubated. I draw up about 10cc’s and
shoot it into his ass. It takes only a few moments for it to still all the muscles in his body including his lungs.
As he loses the ability to breathe, I sit there and grin.
The anesthesia nurse walks back in the room and makes her way to the phone to call for help. The first rule of
hostage taking is never let the perpetrator get between you and the door. There is only one door in the room. I
reach for another trocar and come up with the amputation knife. I throw it at her abdomen and miss. So I
pick up the mallet and throw it at her head. She drops like a bag of potatoes with a big thud. I retrieve the
trocar that had flown past her and took several minutes to eviscerate her with it. Intestines, blood and fecal
matter fall to the floor.
I am so high. I can’t explain what came over me, but I’m glad it did. They had this coming for a long, long
time. I squeal with delight over the mess all over the bed, walls and my clothing.
The patient is still left asleep on the table. I decide to dispatch him as well. I turn the nitrogen up and the
oxygen down. Then I cut the IV tubing in half. An air bubble the size of Cleveland enters his bloodstream in
I am reeling in all the bloodshed and mayhem when I hear a knock at the door. The room only has one
window and that is on the door. I slowly drift over to the door and there is the charge nurse asking how the
case was progressing.
I follow her stare into the room where the surgery continues and the resident surgeon is closing the skin. The
patient is doing fine and he would be going to the Recovery Room within the hour. The immaculate floor
By: Susan Schwartz