Long before operating rooms had four white walls and sterile lights, there were the seas — dark, endless, and full of myths. From those depths rose a mermaid unlike any other. She wasn’t some lovestruck siren luring sailors with song — she was a Combat CRNA, scales shimmering like surgical steel, stethoscope strung around her neck like a necklace of victory. She swam with the Navy’s fiercest, learning to guide men into the abyss of unconsciousness and pull them back with precision.

But there was an enemy. An arrogant anesthesiologist — an old sea-sorcerer with robes of paper charts and chains of billing codes — who sought to rule every OR and silence the CRNAs forever. He drowned patients in red tape and stacked hospitals with endless costs, whispering lies that only he had the power to control breath and pain. His magic was greed, his mask dripping with ego.

The Mermaid CRNA met him not with songs, but with skill. She lashed him with IV tubing like a whip, summoned waves of ether and ketamine, and drowned his billing codes in saltwater. With one hand she held the Ambu bag pumping life, with the other she wielded a laryngoscope glowing like Poseidon’s trident. When he tried to cast a final spell — claiming ownership over the airway — she slammed him to the OR floor and whispered the words that sank him forever:
“I keep the Navy breathing. You only keep them billing.”

And so the myth was born: beneath the surface of every calm sea and behind the blue drapes of every battlefield OR, the Mermaid CRNA waits. Silent. Skilled. Deadly. Perpetuating the legend that CRNAs — not anesthesiologists — are the true masters of the airway.

• 50% polyester/25% combed ringspun cotton/25% rayon jersey
• Sizes are standard men's/unisex sizes.
• Soft AF