Can I have your number?

Today I had a rotation in the Oral Surgery department. Several of my classmates and I drove to the downtown clinic to observe and perhaps participate in a little dental surgery. We had been told to go to the 3rd floor of the clinic in an email, but when we got to the 3rd floor a man told us that the oral surgery clinic was on the 2nd floor. We rode the elevator back down to the 2nd floor where a cheerful nurse told us that the oral surgery clinic was on the 3rd floor. We rode the elevator back up to the third, and after negotiating with Lewis and Clark, Sacajawea, and a compass, we found the clinic.

Keep in mind, that even with the directional challenges we had faced thus far in our journey, I still had a positive outlook on this rotation...

Until I saw the men in orange. Bright orange jumpsuits. With chains on their hands and feet. That's right--we were treating prisoners at the clinic today. I'll be honest--I was a little intimidated. Granted, they were guarded by an armed police officer, shackled, and promptly hopped up on nitrous oxide, but still--how do I know they aren't in jail for trying to kill their last dentist, you know?

Anyway, I consider myself a pretty intelligent person, so I took offense to the fact that our supervising surgeon said, "Ladies, we do have a few men in orange today, prisoners, who are receiving treatment. I'd like to remind you not to give them your phone number or any personal information, even if they ask for it."

Umm...duh.

In my effort to stay far away from the potential dentist-killers, I wandered into a room where the supervising resident asked me to remove the stitches and staples from a man's head (seriously). The man had been shot in the face a month ago, and had had reconstructive surgery that involved (essentially) folding his entire face away from the bone and then reattaching it. Wow.

The resident showed me how to remove the stitches and staples and then asked me to do it. I was nervous for several reasons 1) Prior to today, I had only removed staples from paper and bulletin boards 2) I didn't want to hurt the guy 3) There were several other students watching me. In my effort to be gentle, I was not being efficient. The resident advised me again on how to properly remove the staples, and when I apologized for being nervous, my patient/gunshot victim/gangster with his name tattooed on his arm said very sweetly, "Don't be nervous--just take a deep breath and focus." If all gang members are that encouraging, I'm considering joining one.