different types of anesthetists
The senior men. Thin, zero abdominal tone. They hoist their tummies above the scrub area and allow the uncontrolled torrent of water to wash over them, as they spray a 2m radius around themselves. They blow their noses into the scrub basin, then stick one index finger in each nostril and rotate clockwise and anticlockwise in opposite motions, as if generating hydroelectric power to flush out their sinning sinuses. This tribe also gives free back massages to the younger females in the OT, "accha beta, can you see chords? Very good very good, now put tube," while licking their lips.
The fresh pass outs. Young boys and girls, heavily sprayed perfume, well groomed, savvy. They are the ones making insta reels on difficult airways, and doing flashmobs in the changing room to songs from Dhurandar. Their insta handles have zany prefixes: thereeldocABC, or airwayempressXYZ. They know what to do in every crises, except they haven't actually faced any crises, hence the bravado.
The senior females. They need a stool for everything. They enter the OT and shriek "where is the resident?" The last time they have broken and ampoule has been 1974, and they need someone to do ALL the work, except for sign the payment slip, which is their birthright since they have invented anesthesia in India, and have even observed people in the UK put arterial lines when they went their in 1973, for a year while the husband was doing his FRCS, and they were about the deliver the first child (UK citizen ofcourse). .
The middle aged female anesthetist. Hot in the rat race, trying to compete with the resentment they feel regarding the older lot, and envious of the bravado of the younger lot. They toggle between setting exam papers for their kids, revising anesthesia algorithms, ordering vegetables, and planning the logistics of home, while keeping a trained eye, permanently squint, on the monitor.
The middle aged male anesthetist. Permanently agreeing to all cases, resentful that they have to kowtow to the surgeon, suppressing their manhood with daily doses of humble pie. They scramble from one hospital to another, irritated that their female counterparts get that little extra smile from the technicians. They work hard and save like squirrels, a small comfort for the iatrogenic depletion of testosterone from their radiation-exposed testicles.