Tearose

You have interesting conversations over bodies. What I mean is that during surgical operations, little conversations start, pause, and continue as you “snap” and tie off “bleeders” ( apply a hemostatic clamp and then tie a small bleeding vessel off with a suture). A few minutes later, they pick up again as you adjust a retractor, or pass instruments,

Usually, they are just a silly series of comments on current events. But some surgeons and it’s always the surgeon taking the lead on this, get deep into the weeds of anatomy and physiology. If you work in an operating room, you can get significantly involved in this sort of thing. It’s a free education from knowledgeable sources that helps you do an important job better.

So, I was amazed when Dr. Mazurani started talking about the deep reptilian brain and theories of smell. Looking at me, she asked, “Wes, is there a specific scent or perfume you associate with sex or love?”. I know that my blush blasted right through the scrubs I was wearing. Masked and gowned as I was, only a tiny bit of my face showed. But I knew it was bright red. “Well?” she questioned. “Tearose,” I replied. Marilyn, the circulating nurse, cackled from behind me, and the anesthesiologist’s broad smile was evident behind her mask. “And, did that scent just come back to you with the recollection of events or a person?”. Reluctantly, I murmured, “Yes.”
Later that afternoon, as we cleaned and prepared our surgical suites for the next day, Marilyn, Rob and I discussed this scent thing in detail. We saw it from similar but differing perspectives. My two best friends were a gay male nurse and a lesbian female nurse. Marilyn told me to pony up and tell all. So I did, with them offering hints on what I should have done in the situation – from their expert perspectives. This teasing each other was a comforting part of the relationship. Every day, we depended upon each other in the most vital sense. And in almost two years of being a team, we shared nearly everything except Susan. I had never shared Susan, Tearose, the nights on the beach, or the days working on that pestiferous ENT floor (Ear, Nose, and throat).

Later, on the ride home on the subway, I stood not too far from a woman wearing, of course, Tearose. I almost fainted as the memories swept in from the peripheral parts of my memory. It was so real that I could almost sense her next to me.
Turning around, I saw a small older woman giving me a disapproving look as she moved to the other side of the car.