Scrubber in PPE KATE MEYER-CURREY

Kate Meyer-Currey

Scrubber in PPE

I wish I was a runway model Now they want diverse body types I’d be well in there. Apparently scrubs Show my curves, according to the nice Nurse at work, but she gets the booty Thing. I just think my trousers are celebrating All that popcorn I ate in bed when I got in From a twelve-hour shift on the psych ward. I get the meme which shows a frazzled woman Like me saying ‘trying to find something to wear That isn’t scrubs or pyjamas.’ I can relate. I miss my normal clothes and my legs Have a panic attack if I show them a Skirt or a dress. They have forgotten what they Are. I spend most days at work donning and Doffing wipe clean scrubs in shades that don’t Suit me (that rankles, I hate blue) and then Accessorising them with PPE in nasty plastic. There’s the slip-on booties that are more like Slip-on-the-floor booties; the gloves which Don’t add Audrey Hepburn glamour to the look (The black rubber ones were appreciated by Those who have broader tastes but they didn’t Last), aprons in blue or yellow – the latter make Me look like Big Bird from Sesame Street, Visors (Flashdance-style) / or Minions goggles (Don’t be too matchy-matchy). The total effect Is overkill. Even RuPaul couldn’t turn it out as A plastic fantastic fantasy. My low point was When the psychiatrist asked me if I like the Stuff. Pervert. I prefer leather, PVC and rubber, Thank you, Dr. But I definitely need a style Makeover thanks to this lot. I resent a world Where I have to wear a mask to do my Shopping and the patients said I looked like Hannibal Lecter with it on. I spend working Days in a sweaty blur, where I don’t feel right In my own skin, and leave a trail of sweat Behind me wherever I walk. If that’s what hot Flushes are going to be like, you can keep

Them! When an arsonist informed me he Felt like burning something recently my first Thought was ‘take my uniform, my PPE and Stick it on the flames.’ I’ll be wearing this stuff For the foreseeable, at this rate. They can Even bury me in it when I’m breathing my Last in the nursing home. Plus surgical socks And an adult nappy, of course. I’ve lost that Joy in clothes shopping and personal Adornment that Covid has robbed me of. And I hate cosy loungewear and Uggs so Scratch that for my days off. Still, every day I wear my own clothes feels like a lost Civilisation in the wardrobe time forgot. I’m already wondering what to wear today, With an urgency that reminds me I’m still a Woman who wants her visible identity back. I’ve still got it, baby, it’s just plastic-wrapped To keep us both safe from cross-infection. And it’s even lubricated with my perspiration Plus the tears I’m shedding for my good old Fashion days, when my body wasn’t a vector For viral transmission, an object of shame.