So, does this qualify as kink?
Generally I enjoy scrubbing for surgery. Overall, truly, I enjoy what I do or I'd have left the Profession a long time ago. This is a Profession for neither the faint of heart, nor those who wish to become individually wealthy. Scrubbing, though, brings with it enough of the intellectual (we are doing this so we shall need this, that, and the other and in that order...) and the interactive all at the same time that it is visually easy to acknowledge, this is Nursing.
Most surgery is interesting, challenging, and by dint of knowing I've done my part well, satisfying. Patients aren't going to be directly responsive, for several reasons, and I don't mean that they are under anesthesia at the time of the intervention, but that the manner of anesthesia is likely to induce amnesia as well. Neither will they know what I do for them, nor will they recall it.
There is one general type of surgery, though, which for me is intriguingly pleasing, and rather emotionally arousing though not in a sexual manner. One such type of surgery came my way yesterday. These types of cases, when I am scrubbed particularly (to a lesser extent when I circulate, which constitues an overall rather than a specific role), cause my eyes to light, my heart to race just enough to be right, and my spirit to quiver in anticipation and release. Perhaps release is the operative word, too.
I am speaking of the PID and PIDUP cases: Pus In Dere and Pus In Dere Under Pressure.
Incision and Drainage of an Abcess. The words sing to me, the opening chords of an operetta, the overture to a sensuous experience. Lava erupting from a volcano comes in many forms, degrees of liquididy versus viscousness, from the gaseous to the nearly solid, plastic, molding mass. So does pus.
The process may possibly not even involve actual purulent matter. The sight, sound, and sensation of cutting and scraping off necrotic tissue provides an electric tingle which travels directly to my Center. This is one of the times when we actually do look for bright flowing blood, because blood means we've gotten through the dead and rotting, food for microorganism mass of gelatinized dermus and muscle down to living, respiring cells. This is a good description of yesterday's case.
Still, to hear and see the jetstream of PIDUP splattering against the far wall when the abcess is opened with a scalpel blade; the vision of the cottage cheese flow into the catch basin; the feel of loculations tearing under the gloved finger and freeing additional reservoirs of yellow-green gobs; all of this harkens to the ancient soul of surgery.
Perhaps it is because, subsequent to injuries and allergic sinusitis, my sense of smell does not seem to detect the noxious residue of anaerobic bacteria which causes others to expend their recent lunch into their masks that I do so well with these cases. Or is it that those injuries and disease re-wired my sensory organs, which now interpret that same gaseous byproduct as perfume?
Or is it just kink?