One night during the 11 PM shift change, the dopamine bell was ringing nonstop. I always knew when the dopamine drip was out because there was an annoying and continuous bell that would go off on the machine until the bag was changed. I knew that there would be no sleep for me until that stupid bag was changed. It was dark in my room but there was still a glow coming in from the hallway when my new night nurse entered my room. Illuminating from the door was the silhouette of a petite and slim man. When I was able to get a better look at him, he was a small Asian man, dressed head to toe in black. He reminded me of a cross between a contemporary version of Captain Sulu from Star Trek and an effeminate ninja. Most nurses wear the typical nurse attire and by looking at them, nine times out of ten there’s no confusion as to what profession they hold. This guy could’ve easily hit the clubs as soon as his shift was over without missing a beat. Donning a black spandex mock turtleneck, black skinny pants and smartly accessorized with a large gold watch and a couple of chunky gold rings, he was dressed to kill… hopefully not me though. If Prada made nurses uniforms for men, he was sporting one. I almost felt like I should have blurted out “Who are you wearing?” in a very Joan Rivers way, but I didn’t. I just wanted him to make that F-ing bell to stop ringing on that machine. The thought briefly entered my mind that he might be one of those “angel of death” nurses… just a very fashionable one. I immediately discarded that paranoid thought from my mind, and chalked it up to watching too much Law and Order and of course the morphine.