When I think about the history of my scrubs, I say to myself, “Oh Lord Oh Lord Oh Lordy Lordy Lord.” Then I go and take a quick snort of good scotch. Because my past scrub tragedies were unusually tragic.
One year, my sister had a number of scrub tops made for me. All but one of them were amazing. There was a top with sushi on a white background. There was a top with 1940s pinup girls in fishing costumes. There was even a top with pizza on it.
Huge pizza slices. With pepperoni. And cheese. Melting. And that’s the one that was amazing in a bad way.
It made me a little queasy to look at, and I wasn’t even sick.
Thankfully, I did not wear that one to work. I can’t imagine how much Zofran I would’ve been pushing had I done so.
But I did wear the first-generation hipster-cut scrub pants with the flared legs and drawstring waist. And they did—as they were prone to do—fall down. In front of a herd of interns being shepherded through our state-of-the-art medical facility, in the care of the chairman of the surgery department.
I also wore what I thought was a becoming outfit of a khaki scrub top, carefully tailored so as not to make me look like an aircraft carrier, and black scrub pants (with flared leg and drawstring waist). It wasn’t until I’d worn it the fifth or sixth time to work that somebody pointed out that I can’t wear khaki because I am khaki. I looked in need of a new liver, stat.
And I also wore whites. On purpose, by choice…although I never wore them like my friend John did, on Valentine’s Day, with black boxer shorts with red hearts on them underneath.
Going back 30 years—Lordy Lordy, am I that old? Yes, I am—to my college roommate, who was a nursing student: Her clinical uniform was a white dress with a below-the-knee full skirt and button front, a light blue bib apron and a plain white cap.
Granted, our college was old-fashioned and in a conservative part of the country. I can remember, though, commiserating with her while she polished her shoes on Sunday night in preparation for clinicals.
Little did I know that I would be wearing a snap-front, sweetheart-neckline, puffed-sleeve scrub top myself, later on. But only once.
Snap-fronts and little demented old men do not mix.
What tragic scrubs have you worn? Share in the comments section below.
This article was republished with permission from SCRUBS Magazine.