There are days when I feel like I can’t do anything right. I don’t know why… it could be due to my own inadequacies or perhaps it could be a result of how the planets are aligned at that particular moment. Whatever the reason, I have been having more and more bad days. To the point of where I am beginning to feel cursed.
Last Monday was one of those days. I was working my “happy” vet job at a general practice – days are filled with happy and healthy puppies and kittens. But for the past two weeks, the general practice has morphed in to an emergency practice (not purposefully, mind you). And my morning started out with a horrible case. I won’t go in to details because a) you really don’t want to know the details and b) there is the whole confidentiality thing. Anyhow, by the end of the day, I was done with veterinary medicine (again). Because more and more of my days seem to be filled with really bad cases with entirely way too sad stories.
I went home and poured myself a glass of wine. I tried to make heads or tails of the day’s events and could find no resolution. And then I realized I knew where to turn for enlightenment. The Magic 8 Ball. It is all knowing and all powerful… surely it will guide me through my current crisis and give me the answers I am looking for.
Magic 8 ball, will my streak of bad luck end soon?
Okay, that is good news. Now for the next question:
Magic 8 Ball, should I quit veterinary medicine?
Hmmmmm. Not the answer I was looking for. But I trust Magic 8 Ball and it’s infinite wisdom.
I was feeling a little better at this point, but I felt like I was missing a piece of the puzzle. That I needed to do something to break this wretched curse. And then I realized what the problem was, what was the source of my curse.
My cursed blue scrubs
That’s right, my scrubs are cursed. It seems as though every time I wear these scrubs, some catastrophe occurs. I usually refrain from wearing these blue scrubs, but my laundry was backed up and it was my only option that morning. The logical half of my brain says “Nicole, that is nonsense” but the superstitious (and dominant) side of my brain knows better. I quickly formulated a plan: I would sacrifice my blue scrubs with the hopes that the veterinary gods will grant me mercy. And here is what happened:
I threw my scrub pants into the fireplace. I sat and watched as the flames consumed my cursed scrubs:
Burn baby, burn!
Did you know that 65% polyester is highly flammable? My scrubs created a huge fireball, which I am convinced was all of their bad juju leaving this planet.
In a matter of minutes, my cursed, evil scrubs were reduced to a pile of ash. And I felt so much relief because I knew that my next shift would be much, much better.
And that is the story of my cursed scrubs and their eventual demise.
And yes, my next shift was better. It still sucked, but not nearly as bad.