Trannies, Brought to You by...the Feds!

Anesthesiology elective at the VA: We're in the OR, and the next surgery is a bilateral breast augmentation...the patient is a male-to-female transgender currently on hormones.

Within the span of just one hour, the plastic surgeons give the patient some fabulous 330cc silicone breast implants (a C cup in non-medical speak). The patient had requested the 450cc implants (a D cup), but his/her anatomy didn't allow for implants of that size to be inserted. It was difficult enough getting the 330cc ones in.
[plastic surgery intern: Why don't you just make the incision bigger?
senior resident: Because then we wouldn't be plastic surgeons!]

As the surgeons are completing their closing sutures, various nurses and doctors keep sneaking into the OR to peek at the final product. A scrub tech gently squeezes one of the newly structured breasts to get a sense of the texture. Transferring the still-anesthetized patient onto the guerney, some of the staff note his/her hot pink panties; they peek underneath the panties to reveal a very well done gender reassignment genital surgery.

Imagine, the feds are actually footing the bill for this stuff! Who says the government doesn't take care of its veterans...

Mucho Mucho Dolor

You do not know the true meaning of pain until you find yourself in the middle of a subinternship in the high risk obstetrics ward at a posh private hospital. Imagine your chief resident is a puffy-faced fascist named Satin (he pronounces it sa-TEEN, you prefer to pronounce it satan) who revels in terrorizing medical students. Your patients are upper crust ladies on complete bedrest, seething with hormones, bellies growing with multiple gestations courtesy of in vitro fertilization. They bring their own private masseuse, pedicurist, manicurist, gourmet chef. They hate you. They demand to know why you and the nurses keep barging into their rooms to take vital signs, manage fetal monitoring, check on their preterm contractions [Newsflash: This is a hospital]. You are looking at your watch and counting down the days until graduation.

Someone comes into labor & delivery, insistent on having a Silent Birth. Scientologist? Perhaps, but after 20+ hours of failure to progress, what she ended up with was a Silent Caesarean Section.