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old-folks-shortcake-date · 1 month ago

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The Forgotten Lady

A Columbo episode rewritten to have Kim Kitsuragi in it.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

The hospital had white walls and a tile floor with lines leading through it, color coordinated to different destinations within. The windows were hung with orange curtains. Columbo, with Kitsuragi close behind him, opened a door despite the protestations of a young woman, Doris, with her hair in a green bouffant cap which matched her scrubs. Doris held a stack of clean white towels.

“Excuse us, Miss,” said Kitsuragi.

“Excuse me,” Columbo said at the same time.

“This is off limits,” insisted Doris.

“I’m sorry,” replied Columbo. “I’m supposed to meet Dr. Lansberg and they said he was in here.” He pointed into the white tiled room where surgeons washed their hands.

“Lieutenant Columbo?” asked a surgeon at a sink, looking over his shoulder. Lansberg was a man in his sixties with gray hair and mustache, wearing a surgical scrub cap and scrubs.

“Sorry I’m late. My motor carriage, it broke down right on the motorway,” Columbo pointed. “I radioed in and they towed us back to the station. And this guy Kim, he drives us here in no time. No time at all. I think I got twenty more gray hairs in that passenger seat.”

“We were late, and it really wasn’t that fast,” replied Kitsuragi.

“Oh, you’re the ones who wanted to know about Dr. Willis?” asked Lansberg.

“Yes Sir,” confirmed Kitsuragi.

The detectives walked up to Lansberg, who continued to scrub his arms. Columbo fetched out the medical papers Dr. Willis had in front of him on the bed. They rustled as he flipped through them. “The medical report that you sent him, Sir, it had something to do with...it says collagen fibers and hyperplasia. At any rate, it's very hard for a layman to understand. I gather it has something to do with Dr. Willis's prostate.”

Lansberg scrubbed his nails, his hands covered in lather. “Henry's prostate was quite subject to infection, yes.”

“Then it was serious?” Columbo asked.

“Well, the prostate normally degenerates as a man grows older, Lieutenant. It becomes more serious. This might have become malignant,” explained Lansberg. “And so I recommended surgical removal.”

“I see,” said Columbo. “Well, I guess that would put a man into a deep depression. It certainly would me.”

“Some trepidation, certainly,” said Kitsuragi.

“Oh, no, I really don't think so,” argued Lansberg. He bent to rinse his hands and arms. “Especially in the case of a doctor. He would know better than anyone else that removal of the prostate is a very good operation. Very highly successful.”

“Then why wasn’t the operation performed, Sir?” asked Columbo.

“Ah,” Lansberg said and smiled, holding up a finger and turning away from the sink. “Because Henry Willis was a diagnostician with a firm belief in antibiotics.”

Doris walked over to Lansberg to assist him now that he had clean hands.

“He was not a surgeon,” Lansberg continued. He stood with his hands held up. “His feeling about surgery was that it should only be used as a case of last resort.” He pointed to the cloth mask which hung on his neck over the front of his scrub shirt. “Mask.”

Doris reached over from behind Lansberg, lifted the mask, and tied it behind his head. The mask muffled the surgeon’s voice slightly.

“As a matter of fact, he often chided us about being too quick with the knife,” Lansberg said.

“That’s the kind of doctor I like,” said Columbo.

Another surgeon poked his head in through a pair of double doors. “Dr. Lansberg, we’re ready for you.”

“Thank you. Excuse me.” Lansberg turned and headed towards the doors.

Columbo stepped forward and held out his hand. “One more thing, Doctor. Could he have been in bad health in any other way?”

“Henry came to me about his prostate,” replied Lansberg, speaking much more quickly now that he was in an obvious hurry. “I know of nothing else, excuse me.”

“Thank you,” said Columbo.

“Oh Lieutenant,” said Lansberg, poking his head back through the doors. “Would you care to observe the surgery?”

“Me?” asked Columbo.

“You, or your colleague.”

Columbo held his hand up and quickly moved to the other door leading to the hall. “Oh no. Just the sight of blood makes me sick.”

Kitsuragi nodded farewell. “Not this time, thank you.” He followed Columbo out the door.

They emerged into the hall and a police woman approached, holding a folder. Sergeant Lefkowitz held her hat in one hand and had a satchel over her shoulder. She looked down at the file in her hand, then back at Columbo.

“Why did you get into homicide if you can’t stand the sight of blood?” asked Kitsuragi.

Before Columbo could answer, Lefkowitz said, “You are Lieutenant Columbo. Sergeant Lefkowitz, downtown.”

“Well, how do you do, Sergeant? Something I can do for you?” asked Columbo. He stopped and moved closer to look over her shoulder at the folder.

“You don’t look like your picture,” she accused.

“Oh, well this was taken ten years ago. That was before I grew all this hair.” Columbo gestured at the generous poof of hair. “You see, my wife likes it this way.”

Lefkowitz slid the file back into a folder and gave Columbo a side-eye. “You should get a new picture for the files.”

“You’re absolutely right,” agreed Columbo.

They approached an elevator and Columbo pressed the down button.

“You know, Lieutenant, I'm in the homicide office at least once a week,” mentioned Lefkowitz. “I don't think I've ever seen you there.”

“Well, I don't get down there too much.” Columbo smiled. “None of the murders take place there, you know.”

Lefkowitz wasn’t amused. Kitsuragi was, but he didn’t show it. He knew she couldn’t have tracked him all the way to the hospital to tell Columbo to have a new picture taken for his file, and wondered what this was all going to be about.

“I work in the radiocomputer section and the radiocomputer says that you haven't been to the pistol range in five years,” Lefkowitz informed Columbo. She raised her eyebrows and looked at Columbo. She looked down, not figuratively but literally, since she was maybe a head taller than he was.

Oh, thought Kitsuragi. There it is. “Five years,” Kitsuragi repeated incredulously.

“Five years? Oh, it couldn't be that long,” lied Columbo.

“You are aware, Lieutenant, that you're required to meet a shooting standard every six months,” Lefkowitz reminded him.

“Yes, of course, on the test range,” agreed Columbo.

“I’m sure we can find time to swing by the firing range,” Kitsuragi told Columbo encouragingly.

Columbo gave Kitsuragi a cryptic look. “Thanks, Lieutenant. I appreciate it.” He looked back at Lefkowitz. “Well, the radiocomputer must've gone haywire. You better check the records out.”

Lefkowitz shook her head and chuckled. “Lieutenant, the radiocomputer seldom errors.”

“Really,” said Kitsuragi dryly.

“Well, I'm sure it doesn't, but in this case, the records must be misplaced,” said Columbo. As he spoke, the elevator door opened behind him. He looked slyly at the sergeant with his hand on the side of his face.

“All right,” Lefkowitz said. “I'll double check to be sure.”

The two detectives stepped into the elevator. Lefkowitz called through the doors as they closed, “But if I don't find your records, you'll have to report to the range!”

Columbo waved to her and said, “I understand!”

After the doors had closed, Kitsuragi turned to his colleague. “Why haven’t you been to the firing range in five years?”

“The records must be wrong,” insisted Columbo.

“You’re clearly lying,” accused Kitsuragi.

“Oh hush.”

“You stole Dr. Willis’s book?” whispered Kitsuragi.

“No, no,” reassured Columbo. He’d directed Kitsuragi to drive to the bookstore where Willis had bought the book he’d left on his nightstand.

The bookstore had hand-lettered signs designating the different sections of bookshelves and tables. A sign on a pillar read, “Sorry, but we must insist that the children do not handle the popup books, many thanks” in all capitals, written with a red pen, with “many thanks” underlined. Columbo found the bookstore shopkeep and asked him about Willis’s book.

“That's a bubble of a book,” the shopkeep replied, a young man in a gray suit with neatly combed brown hair and glasses. “You see, Mrs. McTwig was a floor scrubber who wins the Ubi Sunt? Sweepstakes. Well, you can imagine the possibilities. She goes to Sur-la-Clef for a face-lift and then off to Vredefort for a new wardrobe, compromises herself in Kedra with a ribald Lothario, then falls in love with a young exiled prince from Graad who happens to be a little person. When last seen, they were frolicking together in the jungles of Semenine on safari.”

As he described the book, the shopkeep walked around the bookstore, collecting books that had been left off the shelves. He carried them with him back to the register.

“That's quite a yarn,” commented Columbo. “Well, you have to read it to appreciate the witty concept of romance and comedy,” said the shopkeep. “That will be seven reál.”

“I don't want to purchase the book, Sir. This has already been purchased by Dr. Henry Willis,” explained Columbo. “I see,” said the shopkeep.

Columbo and Kitsuragi introduced themselves.

“I wonder if you could tell me, Sir, the date of purchase,” requested Columbo. “Yes, Sir,” said the shopkeep. “That's the late Dr. Henry Willis. An avid reader. And one of our dear customers.” He opened the register and started looking through receipts. “Let's see, Willis. Yes, Sir. Here it is. Dr. Willis purchased that book on the thirteenth of this month.”

Columbo, holding his cigar in his teeth such that it stuck straight out from his face, stopped to look into space and make mental calculations. He silently counted on his fingers. After reaching whatever conclusion that information gave him, he turned to the shopkeep and said, still holding the cigar in his mouth, “Thank you very much.” “Welcome, Sir.”

Kitsuragi leaned against the doorway between the hall and the gymnasium, with Columbo standing beside him holding a brown paper bag. There was a wooden floor, a large mirror against one wall, gray wainscoting, and the horizontal bars mounted on the walls typical of a dance studio. A folded white towel lay on the top of a piano where a man played a cheerful tune. Three people watched from the sidelines as about a dozen dancers practiced out on the floor. Wheeler wore a yellow scarf tied around her head, a floral shirt, and pale pants. The others around her, all much younger, wore top hats with regular, casual clothing, and carried canes. Of the people watching, one was a woman in a pink button up named Pat, another a man in a checkered shirt and jeans, and the third was Diamond in a dark red velvet jacket and a salmon red turtleneck. He watched Wheeler attentively as she performed some number among the many other dancers. Despite her age, Wheeler remained nimble and coordinated, quite an athletic woman. Her face beamed with radiant joy.

After spinning past Fred, the one male dancer without a top hat, her presumed partner in this choreographed number, her smile faded and she called out, “No, no, no, stop!” Wheeler put a hand to her head and looked down, waving her other hand in the air. “It’s not right. It’s not right.” She walked over to Diamond. “It’s too fast. It’s jerky.” She held a hand out toward the piano player and smiled politely at him. “Would you please stop playing while I’m trying to talk?”

Columbo walked in and sat on a couch near one wall. Kitsuragi followed but remained standing. They watched the scene unfold.

“She is quite agile,” remarked Kitsuragi.

Columbo just nodded.

“It should be smoother and have more character,” said Wheeler.

Fred said, “Wait, wait, it's really easy. Now, listen, I'm getting to you on the fourth beat.”

Wheeler put her hands on her hips and faced Fred. “My dear young man, you're getting to me before the fourth beat!” She turned to the other dancers, who continued to practice without her. “Would you please stop moving around back there? I can't concentrate.”

“Alright, alright kids take a break,” instructed Diamond. “What we're trying to do takes a lot of care and a lot of time to get the precision we need.” He turned to the woman in the pink button up. “Pat, what can we do about those last four bars?”

“Fred, why don't you go behind her and catch her on the other side,” suggested Pat. “I think that would help.”

“Good. And Grace, you got that?” said Diamond.

“Alright,” said Fred, “But it’s gonna be awkward.”

Wheeler stared at Fred, then turned to Diamond.

After a beat, Diamond said, “You’re going to make it un-awkward. Okay?” He turned from Fred to Wheeler. “Grace, you try it with Pat.”

Wheeler, patting down her neck with the towel from the top of the piano, nodded. “Alright,” she said softly, and walked back out onto the floor.

“Five, six, seven, eight,” said Wheeler and the piano player began to play as Wheeler and Pat began to dance beside one another, concluding with Pat taking hold of Wheeler’s hand.

“Okay?” checked Diamond.

“Yep!” confirmed Pat.

“Try it with Fred,” said Diamond.

Wheeler tried the modified choreography with Fred now instead of Pat. Fred hadn’t quite gotten the hang of the change yet, so Wheeler walked away and cried out, “Oh no, this is just ridiculous! I’m not going to waste my time and energy with rank amateurs.” She retrieved the towel again from the piano and turned to Diamond. “I’ll be in my dressing room. When you work things out properly, call me.” She put the towel over her neck and walked toward the door.

When she passed Columbo and Kitsuragi, Columbo called out, “Mrs. Willis!”

“Oh, uh.” Wheeler tried to remember the detectives’ names.

“Columbo, Madam,” reminded Columbo.

“Kitsuragi,” reminded Kitsuragi.

Wheeler looked down and shook her head, confused and a little out of breath. “Those names are very unusual. I don’t for the life of me know why I can’t remember them.”

“Well you got a great deal on your mind, Madam,” said Columbo, and he gestured toward the dancers.

Wheeler sighed. “Show business can be very difficult. You are lucky you're in another line of work.”

“Listen, all I know is I sit here, I watched you, in my mind I'm no expert, to me, you're a great dancer,” said Columbo.

Wheeler smiled just a little. “Well, thank you.” She noticed the paper bag Columbo held in his hands as she stepped over to sit on the couch. “Is that your lunch there?”

“No, Madam, I've already eaten.” Columbo sat back down beside Wheeler.

Kitsuragi sat down on the other side of Columbo.

“Actually, this is the book your husband was reading before…” Columbo said.

“Before?” asked Wheeler.

“Before he died,” said Columbo.

Across his colleague, Kitsuragi watched Wheeler’s expression. She looked confused and concerned, looking forward as if she wasn’t certain about what she was hearing.

“I'm really sorry to bother you about all this again,” apologized Columbo. “I just want to be absolutely certain that it was suicide the way everybody thinks.”

Wheeler’s brow furrowed and she looked at Columbo with alarm.

“Do you see this? The page is dog-eared,” Columbo said and held the book open in his lap.

Wheeler looked down at the book and her face relaxed a little, back to familiar territory. “Yes, Henry had a habit of turning the page down that way when he finished reading for the night.” Her mouth stretched in grief, the confusion replaced by loss.

“That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Madam. Your husband bought this book three days before he died, on the thirteenth. According to the butler, on the night of the thirteenth he read from this book. The first dog-ear would indicate sixty-six pages,” said Columbo.

“I see,” said Wheeler.

Columbo turned the pages of the book to the next dog ear. “The second dog-ear is on page 122 that would be the second night's reading. And Raymond is sure he saw him reading that night, too. On the third night, the night that he died, there is no dog-ear.”

“What particularly interests you about that?” asked Wheeler.

“Well, that indicates that he didn't do any reading, but the butler is positive that he saw him reading when he brought him his sleeping pills and milk.”

Wheeler sighed shakily and said, “Forgive me, Lieutenant, I’m missing what you’re getting at.”

“Well, maybe I'm just a nut for details. But the book was found closed on the night table. Now, he must have closed it and put it there. But why didn't he dog-ear the page?”

“I don't know...Maybe he just forgot to.”

Columbo paused, closed the book, and crossed his legs. “From my experience, Madam, I've discovered that people don't usually forget to do that which they usually do.”

“That’s very confusing,” Wheeler told him.

“It sounds that way,” agreed Columbo. “I'm trying to reconstruct exactly what Dr. Willis was doing just before he died.”

“I'm afraid I can't help you,” Wheeler said softly. “I was watching the movie.”

“I know that, Madam.” Columbo paused for a few beats. “If he finished reading the book and closed it, merely forgetting to dog-ear it the way you suggested, and then put it on his night table, then he would get up, he would go to his desk, take out his medical report, he would read it, it would depress him, and he shot himself.”

“Poor Henry,” mourned Wheeler.

“You see, if it happened that way, I still have the problem with the gun.” “The gun?”

“Yes. You remember that I told you that his slippers had no scuff marks on the sole.”

“He might have brought the gun in with him when he came home earlier,” theorized Wheeler. “Well, then I have another problem.” Columbo picked the book up from his lap and showed it to her. “Did you read this?

“The Transformation of Mrs. Mc Twig,” she read. “No.”

“Mmhmm. You see, if Henry already brought the gun in, if he was already thinking about suicide before he went to bed, then I don't believe he would be reading this.” He began to describe the plot to her, but she put a hand on his arm to stop him.

“You know, Lieutenant. Lieutenant, you know, you're so involved with details that maybe I can see something clearer than you.” Wheeler clasped her hands in front of her, just under her chin, as if pleading.

“What is that, Madam?”

“My husband was a revered and distinguished man,” Wheeler told Columbo slowly, looking into his eyes. “Eminent in his profession. Loved at home. Who…” her voice broke, “...Who would want to kill him?”

Columbo looked at her speechlessly, then lowered his gaze.

“Grace?” said Pat. “We’re ready for you.”

“Thank you,” Wheeler said softly. She looked back at Columbo but he remained at a loss for words. “Excuse me,” she said, and got up.

The detectives quietly got up from the couch and walked out into the hall.

“I was watching her carefully while you asked questions,” Kitsuragi murmured to Columbo. “I really don’t think she -”

“Well I do think she killed him, but -”

“But she is either very good at concealing her guilt, or she somehow forgot that she did it. Now, I’ve met somebody who suffered some rather severe memory loss, whether it was the drinking or a small hole in reality -”

“A hole in reality?” Columbo asked.

“I’m not the one to ask about that. But my point is, unlike the alcoholic I worked with previously, Mrs. Willis remembers who she is, where she is, and plans she made prior to the death of her husband. I suppose partial memory loss is much more probable than complete memory loss…” Kitsuragi trailed off for a second and looked inward. “Much, much more probable.”

“Are you talking about -”

“She does have problems with her memory however. So I think we should consider that as a possibility. Because she appears sincere. It almost seemed to me that she had forgotten her husband had died until you brought it up,” theorized Kitsuragi.

“I should check her medical records,” muttered Columbo. “I’ve been wondering about that myself. It may take some work getting access…”

They stepped out onto the street. Kitsuragi’s brow furrowed when he noticed a man sitting in his motor carriage. “Excuse me!” he shouted and walked quickly over to look in the window. He could see now that the man wore an RCM uniform, and that he hailed from their station. “In the future,” Kitsuragi said crisply, “Do not break into my MC. There are other ways to get in touch with us, Officer.”

“This seemed the most comfortable place to wait,” replied the cop. He was a broad man with a sandy colored mustache and short, graying hair.

Columbo walked over and took a look inside. “Lieutenant Flaherty. Long time no see.”

“Columbo,” greeted Flaherty. “You ought to try coming downtown once in a while.”

Columbo got in the door and sat next to Flaherty.

“One of you move to the back seat,” said Kitsuragi. He wasn’t going to sit in the back seat of his own motor carriage. His colleagues ignored him. He sighed.

“Oh Lieutenant Kitsuragi, this will only take a minute I’m sure,” Columbo reassured through the window, then turned back to Flaherty. “I'm gonna get down there this week.”

“You know a Sergeant Leftkowitz?” asked Flaherty.

Kitsuragi tapped his foot then turned around and leaned his back on his Kineema.

“Sergeant Leftkowitz?” repeated Columbo. “Oh, the lady with the radiocomputer. Yes.”

“You've been giving her the run around,” chided Flaherty.

“Me? No. No, I explained to her that my records regarding to my going to pistol practice got loused up in the computer.”

Flaherty gave Columbo a knowing look. “You were right about that. The read-out said you hadn’t fired in five years. She double-checked it. It was ten.” He held out the read-out for Columbo.

“Ten!” echoed Kitsuragi.

Columbo looked at the read-out. “Gee, you gotta be kidding.”

“You better get out to that range right away,” said Flaherty. “Gee, I can't go now,” Columbo replied apologetically. “I gotta go someplace.”

“Columbo, you could be suspended,” Flaherty told him sympathetically.

“But I don’t have a gun,” replied Columbo.

Kitsuragi’s mouth tensed and he sighed through his nose.

“Whaddya mean?” asked Flaherty.

“It’s downtown,” Columbo replied.

“You could get busted for that too!” exclaimed Flaherty. “Alright. Make it tomorrow. But make it! You be there,” he warned.

“Absolutely. I’ll be there tomorrow,” Columbo promised.

Flaherty got out of the Kineema, taking the read-out with him. Kitsuragi nodded to Flaherty then got into the driver’s seat. He looked at Columbo.

“Ten years,” Kitsuragi said dryly. “And you don’t have a gun.”

“It’s downtown,” replied Columbo. “And the read-out -”

“Mmhmm.” Kitsuragi didn’t believe him. “Maybe you pawned it, or lost it in the ocean.”

“Now why would I do that?” asked Columbo.

Kitsuragi wordlessly started his motor carriage.

Chapter Four

#lieutenant columbo #columbo #kim kitsuragi #disco elysium #murder mystery #prose #the parallels just kept popping up between this episode and Disco Elysium

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aliciainbagland · 8 months ago

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: 3 (THREE) Nurse Hats, Surgical Scrub Bouffant Hat.

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cosmofan47 · 1 year ago

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I once had a dream...

...that I was the most powerful witch living in a fairytale kingdom.

The king had come to see me. He was a small man, about a head shorter than me. He was an anxious man, never quite sure of himself.

And he was a man in love.

The king had fallen for a visiting princess, a beautiful woman who wore the most exquisite gowns. The king was too nervous to tell the princess how he felt, afraid of rejection and that he was wrong about his feelings.

The king wanted me to cast a spell on the princess. Not a spell that would force her to fall in love with him, the king insisted, but a spell that would make her kiss him. He knew that if he could just kiss the princess, they would know for sure that they were each other’s true love.

I agreed to help him.

The king took me to a beauty salon that the princess passed while on daily walks around the kingdom. He said he had been booking daily makeover appointments so that he could spot her as she walked by. He booked me one too.

I was now less eager to help him because beauty salons make me nervous. But a witch cannot break their promise without something terrible happening. That’s why most witches are wicked- it’s easier to not keep promises if you only use your magic selfishly.

We sat in the salon, the king’s hairdresser commenting on how often his majesty has been visiting lately. The king responded that he wanted to try a blue bouffant today.

My hairdresser was scrubbing my greasy hair with vigor, talking about giving me a perm. I was focusing on not telling the hairdresser that I didn’t want my hair done, hoping she would sense it from my silence and body language. She didn’t seem to notice.

I had just gotten some shampoo in my eyes when the king yelled That’s her! That’s the princess!

I sat up and wiped the sudsy liquid out of my eyes. I could barely see, but out the front window I managed to make out the blurry shape of a tall woman in a voluptuous pink gown. In the pink? I asked.

Yes! Yes! The king exclaimed. And she’s wearing my favorite gown! Hurry!

I pulled out a wand and zapped her with the spell. The princess stopped, turned and ran through the salon door and toward the king, kissing him square on the lips.

My work done, I stood up and walked out of the salon, my hair full of suds.

The next day, I was summoned by the new queen.

I expected to see the princess, but instead I saw a different woman in a gown similar to the one the princess had on the day before. This queen was about a head shorter than me. This queen had her hair in a blue bouffant.

It was the king, clean shaven and looking more confident than I could even remember.

Did the spell not work, your Majesty? I asked.

Oh, it worked, he replied. But as I kissed the visiting princess, I realized that it wasn’t her I was in love with.

I was in love with her dress.

#original story #based on a dream #pride month #pride month 2024 #the king is a drag queen #or he's trans #the dream wasn't clear

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willcomemed · 1 year ago

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Disposable Medical Cap

WILLCOME Disposable medical cap, we also call them surgical cap or medical head cover, is a protective garment worn by healthcare professionals in various clinical and healthcare settings. These caps are designed to serve several important purposes in healthcare environments.

Medical caps come in various styles, including bouffant caps, scrub caps, and surgical hoods, and are typically made from non-woven fabric or other materials that provide both breathability and protection. The choice of cap style may depend on the specific requirements of the healthcare facility or the preference of the healthcare worker.

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#disposable #surgical #hair #cap

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blueskyscrub · 2 years ago

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Elegant and Functional Scrub Caps for Women: Your Ultimate Guide

Intro: Healthcare has traditionally seen style and function as mutually exclusive; but that perception has rapidly evolved with regard to scrub caps for women.

Gone are the days of plain, plain head coverings - healthcare professionals now have numerous elegant yet functional scrub cap options that allow them to show their individual styles as they tuck away their locks securely while showing their personal flare! In this ultimate guide we'll look into scrub caps' history, importance, and how many designs there are that combine flair with practicality for healthcare workers looking for both flair AND practicality simultaneously!

Scrub Cap Development History and Its Future Implications

Scrub caps were first developed as part of hygiene measures during surgical procedures during the 1940s to promote hygiene and avoid contamination, covering hair to keep it off of patients or surgical fields and away from becoming part of surgical fields. They initially offered basic colours and styles.

As healthcare professionals have come to realise, scrub caps provide an outlet for self-expression and style - leading them to alter the design and aesthetics of scrub caps for women who may have more diverse fashion preferences than men. This has resulted in changes to scrub cap styles for both genders.

Scrub Caps Are Essential

Scrub caps remain an invaluable way of maintaining cleanliness and avoiding contamination; however, they also come equipped with additional benefits:

Hair Control: Scrub caps provide effective solutions to hair management by keeping loose strands secure, keeping medical procedures uninterrupted, and protecting surgical area against interference by loose strands of hair that might interfere.

Comfort: Quality scrub caps are constructed of breathable materials designed to wick away excess moisture, keeping the head cool and comfortable during long shifts.

Hygiene: Scrub caps play an integral part in creating an infection-free environment and can significantly lower the risk of infections by covering hair.

Identification: Navigating an ever-evolving healthcare environment can be challenging; colour-coded scrub caps or custom designed ones can assist in quickly distinguishing among various team members or departments.

Style Expression: Healthcare professionals (and especially women) can express themselves and add flair to their professional attire by donning fashionable scrub caps. This adds both flair and class.

Elegant and Functional Scrub Cap Styles

Classic Tie-Back Caps: These timeless scrub caps feature long ties with adjustable buckles to provide secure adjustments and full coverage, often available with decorative patterns and colours for optimal aesthetics.

Bouffant Scrub Caps: Bouffant scrub caps provide an open fit that makes them suitable for individuals with longer or thicker locks, providing comfort all around their heads with elastic bands to secure it to ensure an ideal fit.

Pixie Scrub Caps: Pixie scrub caps offer an ingenious twist to traditional scrub caps with their shorter and fitted design that ensure a stylish yet snug fit.

Convertible Scrub Caps: Some scrub caps offer convertible designs that allow them to be worn with either a ponytail or bun, with their strategic opening allowing the hair to be pulled through while providing coverage.

Scrub Caps with Buttons: In response to the COVID-19 pandemic, scrub caps featuring buttons on their sides have seen increasing popularity as they provide an easy and secure anchor point for mask straps reducing strain on ears and relieving strain from these caps.

Designer and Custom Caps: For healthcare professionals seeking something with their own signature flair, designer and custom scrub caps provide an outstanding way to express themselves individually. Ranging from colourful patterns to personalised embroidery work, these caps allow healthcare workers to express themselves freely while showing off their individuality.

Selecting an Appropriate Scrub Cap

Selecting an ideal scrub cap requires considering both style and functionality:

Material: When searching for long shiftwear options, opt for lightweight materials like cotton or cotton blends that ensure comfort during long work shifts.

Coverage: Selecting an adequate cap style depends upon both your hair length and personal taste; choose something with sufficient coverage that offers full head protection.

Fit: An appropriately fitting cap helps ensure it remains securely on during active moments, providing extra peace of mind for its wearer. Adjustable straps or elastic bands help provide a customised and secure fit.

Designer: Create designs to reflect your individuality by mixing patterns, colours, or even custom-created artwork that speaks directly to you.

Maintenance: Given the rigorous nature of healthcare work, consider buying scrub caps that are easily maintained.

Caring for Your Scrub Caps

To extend the longevity of your scrub caps:

Adhere to Care Instructions: For optimal fabric care and design integrity, always adhere to the care instructions from your manufacturer.

Rotate Caps: Rotating scrub caps regularly is one way of increasing their lifespan and prolonging their service.

Avoid Extreme Heat: Excessive heat can damage fabric and compromise its fit, so use gentle washing and drying methods instead.

Conclusion

Healthcare attire is rapidly undergoing an evolution, and scrub caps for women are at the vanguard of this shift. No longer relegated to plain utilitarian designs, elegant and functional scrub caps now serve as an avenue of self-expression that uphold hygiene and professionalism - from classic styles to custom creations; healthcare workers now have an opportunity to express themselves creatively through their choice of scrub caps based on factors like material, fit and design considerations to find something which perfectly combines elegance and function in their demanding work environments.

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surgical-scrub-caps · 2 years ago

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#scrub caps #medical scrubs #bouffant scrubs #surgical scrubs

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abysmal-black · 1 year ago

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Dark eyes click to the surgeon, the deep bags under his eyes not missed. Law seemingly have battled with insomnia and lost but in spite of his reluctance had busied himself with reading. One less report for Sanji to roll his eyes at but the development has the barest smile tugging at his lips.

“Always.” The nagging in the back of his mind is more quiet than usual. “I've already made preparations, you'll get your time Trafalgar.” One of the perks of being a seasoned spy is time management; being an authority figure in the kingdom makes it child’s play.

Gesturing with his head he steps past Law and leads him further into the castle. What seems like a long string of random turns leads them to a corridor that splits into two directions. Instead of turning again Sanji approaches the nondescript wall, knowing fingers feeling along the stone and catching a switch. Sleepy snail stocks roll out of the wall, white shell serving as a keypad. The passcode he enters isn't his own, daily code switches easily lifted from one of Ichiji's reports. Snail chirps softly in the affirmative before sliding back into the wall. Stone shudders, extending and deciding in one smooth breath revealing elevator doors as they hiss open. Stepping inside another snail pad awaits input, a slim finger entering B6 before the door slides closed.

This floor is notably colder, walls lined with pipes of deep pumped ocean water to discourage foreign pathogens. The actual cloning research labs are located deeper still, white coats forced to go through several decontaminations and a litany of security protocols. Currently they are between the lab and farm where clones are moved to mature, security slightly more relaxed at the late hour. Sanji has only been down here a handful of times, double six and the army are fundamentally different at their current stages given the special force leans heavily into modifications but he strides from the elevator with easy confidence. Most of the rooms they pass are empty, already sterilized for the following day. Corridors are neatly laid out in a grid, the room they finally stop at inconspicuous. Overhead lights flick on, polished metal walls lining a room with neat drawers of various sizes on one wall, a bench and four open cubbies with a set of hangers in each built into the opposite wall. Closer to far door are two deep basen sinks, bars of unopened antibacterial soup and finally various sets of gloves.

Sanji nods towards the heavy water tight door on the other end of the room. “Autopsy rooms are clean, you'll need to change.” He steps away to dig into the cabinets, each labeled with a word and number. Glancing back at the surgeon he confirm's mental measurements before moving to each drawer. "Here." Out stretched hand contains a change of scrubs, apron, shoe covers, mask, safety glasses and bouffant cap, all standard autopsy fair that's mirrored in his other hand minus the apron. Sanji has no interest in helping or hindering the other's work but he didn't want the stretch of chemicals on his clothes either.

Stepping away once Law takes the new garb he sets to undressing and redressing himself in silence.

He left Sanji on that balcony, and he felt accomplished. The situation won’t be ideal, but he will get a look at those close and that is worth any inconvenience. The note he received the following morning from a nervous looking maid was helpful. The small, innocuous piece of paper dropped into a fire moments after he gave the woman his thanks and a dismissal. He clocks the time and place easily enough, remembering the day Sanji suggested they perform this act of rebellion and subterfuge. And for a day or two nothing bothers Law’s snarky chill. Until his curiosity gets the better of him and he decides to give in to the offer of unlimited library access.

Trafalgar Law has not slept a single hour in the last two nights. The first night involve him discovering how the Germa library is organized by country and sitting there, in the F section, was Flevance. It was with a dry mouth and a pounding heart that he went into that section, hope warring with the loss he already feels. And there it was. Shelves of literature and history and science and art. None of it contemporary, most from a time well before Law was born, but it’s a piece. It’s a sliver of his home, of his culture and now he’s both furious and hurting. Because how dare these warmongering fuckers have all of this when he left Flevance with nothing.

Thus, the Surgeon of Death found himself staying awake until the crack of dawn, reading and absorbing everything he can. Choosing what he can take, what he will steal and add to his library on the Tang. He’d take it all if he could, but he doesn’t have the luxury. He’s already stolen a book of nursery rhymes he remembers his mother reading to him, written in the language of Flevance. Words he thought he’d never see again. He cried when he picked up the first book, saw the first line of Flevanitian script and found it was a struggle to read.

He’s more in control of himself now as he strides down the Germa palace hallway, heading towards that balcony. The bags under his eyes are darker and his features are stone, mind pushing past the emotional turmoil he’s felt the last few days. The Surgeon of Death focuses himself and his mind, turning it into the blade of a scalpel. He has work to do now and he cannot let himself get anymore distracted. If he fucks this up, he might not get another chance to inspect a clone. Again, his hand slips into his coat to check on the medical tool kit he’s got tucked in there. Everything he needs to work with and perhaps a way to steal a sample from the body. If he does this right, he can get a clean sample but even a slightly contaminated one will do.

Law steps around the corner, finding Sanji waiting for him. Golden eyes that are a little more tired than they were a few days ago peer out from under his hat at his guide, standing so casual. Law isn’t as jovial as he was no. He’s all business, features hard and arms crossing over his chest.

“You ready?” he says, tone cold. “I understand we got a small window of opportunity.”

#medicus mortem #▴▴flip it and reverse it ██▵ germa verse

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