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J U LY 2 0 1 5 | O U T P A T I E N TS U R G E R Y. N E T
She called for a time out before the turkey was carved, and she passed the
knives using a no-hands, neutral-zone method.
• At Christmas, she unwrapped and unboxed the present you gave her
like she intended to place its contents on the sterile field.
• Bedtimes, curfews, appointments and other family deadlines were
announced in 24-hour military time, with which you were conversant at an
early age.
• Whenever you took your toys outside, your mom made you count them
first. When you brought them back in, she made you count them again.
• Your mom had a stronger stomach for slasher movies than you or any
of your friends. She even heckled the special effects and anatomical accu-
racy … or some of the surgeons she'd worked with that week.
• Two words: antibacterial OCD. The rules were clear. You had to go to
the bathroom before you all left the house. If, to her horror, you had to use
public facilities while out and about: Don't. Touch. Anything. Line the toilet
seat with about half the roll of paper. Flush with your foot. Then wash
your hands thoroughly. This is no party, but you're singing through "Happy
Birthday" twice.
• You're thinking it would be a good idea to wear exam gloves, and
maybe a mask, when you walk into a crowded big-box store.
• Grocery lists and reminder notes were often scribbled onto the backs
of cardboard tags printed with surgical gown instructions. Usually on the
same days that mom complained about a long and busy day at work.
• Whenever you or your siblings had to go see a new doctor, your H&Ps
were just a click away on the home computer. The receptionists and nurs-
es were always so surprised when your mom attached a multi-page print-
out to all those information forms they gave you.
OSM
Ms. Watkins can be reached at pwatkins12@comcast.net.
