Today in the O.R.

I studied every evening to become a surgical nurse after my professional bodybuilding career ended. I love the miracle of the human body, whether performing at peak condition in the gym or in need of repair on an operating table.

I am Virgo after all, as my girlfriend says every birthday of mine in September.

“Virgos are all about the body,” she smiles as she scratches my biceps with her long nails.

Yesterday morning I began my dream job at the new hospital downtown (which cost one billion dollars to build) and where the workmen are finishing up details in the hospital hallways.

My girlfriend knew the head of nursing at the hospital from her nail salon, so I had been able to interview smoothly, even though my prior career puzzles some medical people, as does my large size.

I speak Spanish and English well, so that helped.

“Amazingly you have excellent dexterity in your hands, Arnold,” gushed one supervisor during a training rotation.

"Aprecio," I replied.

My name is not Arnold, it's Arturo, but I am told I look like Arnold Schwarzenegger, so I answer to "Arnold" happily.

He is a great American hero I remind myself.

During my onboarding, I had practiced wheeling patients on gurneys through the hallways and thankfully, I did not trip on workmen's supplies left out: a ladder, tools, hard hats. I am a little clumsy, but I manage.

I felt pumped up for my first day.

With the child anesthestized, I mentally began my quest to impress my coworkers by silently distinguishing all of the tools the surgeons needed. I counted them at least ten reps.

I was ready. All of the nurses were solemn as it was an Ave Maria attempt to save the life of the child.

The surgeons had sauntered into the O.R. like dieties. I heard them planning an incision into the boy's abdomen.

One surgeon held up a scalpel in mid-air resembling an orchestra conductor. He was ready to begin the operation. He looked at the clock.

"Silencio!" he yelled to the quiet room.

Suddenly and without warning, the ceiling began to collapse on top of us in the operating room. A tsunami of debris fell from overhead and the electricity flickered.

Two nurses and a surgeon formed a triangle and shielded the child with their bodies as debris fell on top of their backs. I froze for a second with fear and then looked up. A tumbling sharp bit of ceiling gashed my nose.

I immediately ran out of the operating room into the hallway. I grabbed a hard hat from the workmen’s supplies and bolted for the door. The hat was tight on my large head.

Then the image of the unconscious child on the operating table flashed in my mind’s eye, and I had a change of heart. Alarm bells began to sound in the hallway.

I ran back into the O.R. and lifted the child easily into my arms. A nurse covered the boy with a blanket. I carried the little patient out of the building directly to waiting first responders.

"Aqui tienes," I told them.

Depris and dust decorated the brim of my hard hat. I tore it off my head.

I left my first day at the billion-dollar hospital a hero, like Arnold in the movies.

I am Virgo after all.