She is a drone when she enters the hospital, mechanically handling the tools and robotically responding to the patient's words, whether agonized, or insulted, or sad, with the same pleasant-sounding phrases. The soul-shattering—or, rather, soul-disassembling—surgery no longer pierces her once-caring heart to perform; now the amputation and operation is just a job to be completed. After all, Unwinds are a part of modern life, and it just happens to be bad luck that her job has to deal with them.
All those rebellious, mischievous, wayward, disobedient, defiant, belligerent, misbehaving, noncompliant, incorrigible, and naughty personalities that enter the operating room are destroyed each day by people in her profession. She used to find the job unbearable, thinking of each Unwind who crossed the threshold as another young life sacrificed by the government so that a few pro-choice activists could be pleased. She has learned to be hard. Cold. Uncaring.
Like the world she has now find herself a part of, the nurse hides in a shell of callousness. She thinks it scary to consider the notion that only fifty years previously, the fact that a child would suffer such a fate was preposterous: now, the horrifying procedure is merely routine.
Thank you for reading; reviews are appreciated!