I like to think of myself as a superhero. I work tireless hours with little thanks under insane circumstances. However, I have come to the realization I might just be a super-villain.

This transformation evolved over time without my direct intention. However, looking back, perhaps I never had a chance. I have even been working on my maniacal laugh. Muwahahahaha! Ok, maybe that part doesn’t work in print, but if you heard it, you’d wet yourself.

Proof? You want proof? Normally, one of my many minions or I would obliterate you for doubting, but I will spare you for now. However, that is part of my proof. I have minions.

I have medical students who will do anything I ask. I have residents who do my bidding. I even have supreme-minions (nurses) as well, but they have informed me that my bidding is taken as a suggestion. Note To Self: Keep supreme-minions happy. (Chocolate seems to supreme-minon’s kryptonite.)

Now, I can hear you doubting my abilities. Granted, my superpowers may pale in comparison to Darth Vader’s (Force choke), Voldemort’s (magic), or Lex Luthor’s (lots and lots of cash). But I have the ability to not eat for shifts at a time, and my bladder can withstand extreme water pressure. Also, my internal BS-o-meter is honed to laser accuracy.

What’s that? Your prescription for Vicodin accidentally fell into the toilet? Why are you taking your medication while relieving yourself? Enjoy your ibuprofen. Muwahahahaha!

I also dress like a villain. At our hospital, respiratory therapists wear blue scrubs, nurses wear green, and the doctors…we get to wear black. It reminds me of a scene from the animated movie Despicable Me. I can see a nice 6-year-old patient asking the villainous me questions:

Her: “Why are you wearing pajamas?”

Me: “Pajamas? These elite scrubs are for doctors. They’re made for doing super cool stuff that you wouldn’t understand.”

Her: “Like sleeping?”

Me: “They’re not pajamas!”

I have seen more people die than the vast majority of the public. I pronounce people dead all the time. Sometimes, I even pound on chests for a while right before I tell them they are dead..

I also wickedly rub my hands together all the time. Granted, I do it with alcohol gel, but it still looks evil. (Try the maniacal laugh next time you clean your hands; it is quite satisfying.) Then, every so often, I actually wash my hands with soap and water because I start to lose it with how slimy my hands are feeling.

I also intrude into the most invasive of personal places.

I jab people with random objects. “What’s that? Your stomach hurts? Well, now your arm is going to hurt. Nurse, go jabby jabby jab the IV. Muwahahahaha!

Oh, I’m sorry, Motrin never works for your back pain of 10 years, only Dilaudid? How about a jabby jab of toradol, ‘cause the other meds aren’t coming. Muwahahahaha!

We are not allowed to say anything that can offend a patient or hurt their feelings, even if it is in their own best interests. Might letting the inner villain out a little more actually help?

We are continually berated for making patients unhappy. Yet we are responsible for their terrible decisions. We shirk telling them they are fat. We fear saying noncompliance is idiotic. When asthmatics continue to smoke, they are killing themselves slowly with stupidity. We fear the repercussions of blunt honesty.

Skip that. If I have to make the choice between their happiness or their health? I will gladly be the villain.

Dr. Brandt is an emergency physician for GREMG in Grand Rapids, Mich. Please send questions/comments to BrandtsRants@gmail.com.