Mr. Tyrone Laces

Each morning, after passing through the hospital doors, I avoid the urge to take a left and follow the hallway that leads to the ER. I feel the pull, but fight it, and head straight to the belly of the hospital, the OR. Passing through a few more doors gets me to the inner sanctum: The Surgeon's Lounge, complete with leather wrap-around couches, a large flat screen TV with ESPN on, and donuts. I pause to watch SportsCenter's attempt at making pre-season football seem dramatic. Perhaps I scrounge some donut action. Then I continue a few more steps to grab scrubs, cap, mask, and shoe covers.

That's about where my freewill ends for the day. After that I am at the mercy of the surgeons, nurses, and staff. I hold things when I am told, I let go of things when I am told, I cut things where I am told, I sew things up in the manner that I am told, I follow surgeon's to the ICU when I am told, and I go to the cafeteria when I am told.

Actually for 10 minutes in the middle of each day, I am granted some more freewill in the form of a Salad Bar. I enjoy choosing which cherry tomatoes to plop next to the chosen carrots. I enjoy not choosing mushrooms, opting instead for chopped egg.....

Then it is back to reality. I am told when to stop eating and when to head back to the OR. I am even told when to be told.

So far I think I am doing a pretty good job of doing things when and how and where I am told. But is it a problem that it took me 20 minutes to tie my shoes this morning because I sat there staring at them for 19 minutes waiting for somebody to tell me to tie them?