This weeks weekly writers challenge is to write a letter to yourself sometime when you were younger.  So, I decided to write a letter to me from this morning.

My dearest Rob,

You know that feeling when you take a scalpel and cut through a cadavers chest?  Well, it is actually going to feel quite different now than it did in medical school.  As it turns out, trying cutting through several layers of flesh is really kinda creepy after working in the ER for 3 years.

I don’t know what it is, but maybe it seems more real now.  In med school, the whole procedure had a surreal aspect to it that made it seem distant.  Doing it today to practice procedures like chest tubes, open thoracotomys and DPLs really made it seem pretty real.  Discussing how the people who actually donated their bodies after dying so that others could learn more… creepy, but a nice thing for them to do.  Do you remember the name of your corpse?  Gertrude, was it?

Other things really slap you in the face.  The sweet smell of Anatomy lab.  Yeah, you know it.  That formaldehyde smell that continuously wafts up and up.  How on earth is it that it makes you hungry?  Seriously?  You are surrounded by dead bodies, you are seeing pretty gross crap (figuratively and literally), and yet the lab still makes you hungry.  Forgot about that, didn’t you?  Here’s a creepy, anatomically incorrect pic for yah

In the meantime, here’s another chapter…

Walter 18

How could he even think about that after
she just realized that her lifelong affliction was actually a gift?           

            Julia
and Jack were married within a year.  She
moved into his home near the company while continuing to finish her PhD.  Jack continued to help her hone her
abilities.  She realized that she could
most easily understand those that she knew well.  When she went home to visit her parents,
their thoughts practically screamed out to her. 
They were nearly all good thoughts, though.  She could feel the emotion and love in their
thoughts.  She also heard their worry and
concern about rushing into a marriage with Jack.  They had told her that they thought he was a
good man, but their thoughts loudly proclaimed a deeper concern.  All of this she read with an undercurrent of
love, so she knew her parents hearts were in the right spot. 

She did not
dare tell them the truth.  They had noticed that she had stopped taking
medication, but they did not press the issue. 
To them she seemed more stable than ever, and with the PhD work, she
really was taking the world by storm, right? 
Reading her mom and dad came without effort.

 However, when she really pressed herself, she
could start to understand other people. 
At first she felt guilty for peering into the minds of others.  It was the ultimate intrusion.  What at first seemed like innocent spying,
ended up showing a world where deception was everywhere.  She saw her neighbors smile and wave, but
could hear their thoughts deceiving their smiles.  Apparently, Jack had made a few enemies
around the neighborhood.  It seemed the
current theme of the neighbors was one of “how could a nice girl like that be
with a jerk like him?”  She figured
people were just stuck up, and they really did not understand how brilliant
Jack was.

After four
years, Julia finished her PhD in psychiatry. 
Her Talent slipped into her profession perfectly.  The first time she used her new talent in the
field, she felt as if she was intruding into her client’s life.  However, when she thought about it, was that
not why they hired her in the first place? 
A client wanted her to get inside his or her head and figure out why
they feel the way they do.  Julia had the
perfect technique for such things.

Jack, on
the other hand had become quite deliberate about keeping his mind completely
blank when he was home.  She was not sure
how he did it, but he was able to completely stop thinking.  One day she had been able to read him
whenever she tried to, though she rarely did, then the next day it was like
trying to listen to a wall.  Somehow he
had either stopped having vocal thoughts, or he had found some way to prevent
her from hearing him.  She supposed it
was fair, since it was really spying and intrusive on such an intimate
level.  However, it seemed odd that he
would not want her to see his thoughts. 
Actually, it seemed weird, since they were married.  But she did not press the issue. 

So for anyone interested there’s a weekly writing challenge which I figure might be fun and a decent way to keep active and keep the mind flowing.  Thus, I’ll try to periodically write something other than Walter’s saga…  This weeks challenge you can see by clicking the link up there.  The challenge was to write about coming home and checking answering machine messages, you freeze when you hear the 3rd one…
**********************************************************************************

The red glow of the blinking “3″ from the answering machine seemed penetrating in the pre-dawn blackness. 

The trip home had been frustrating.  I had a layover in Atlanta that turned into a two night affair with the weather.  Somehow my bags and my gun made it home a day before I did, go figure.

The hit had been fine.  Clean.  Flawless. 

I trailed the mark after the hit for ten minutes, but it was as easy as a rookie call back when I was in training.  To be honest I don’t even know why I had received all the warnings, all the hype, all the nervous preparation for this single hit.  I’ve had hundreds of hits before and usually I get a photo, a location, and I’m left to my own devices.  Why did the agency all of the sudden demand so much prep and work-up for this single hit?

Oh, I know, he had “training” of his own, and he had had multiple attempts before.  Well, if that was true, whoever tried before was either not worth their salt or this guy just got lucky.  My guys was the latter.  Well, actually, he just got unlucky, since he was reassigned to me.  He might have avoided three hits before, but I’m yet to have anyone avoid a hit.  This was no different.  The poor bastard was dead before he could even hear the silenced shot.

I slid my gun case into the closet and threw in my carry on bag as well.  I could unpack in the morning.

I pressed the <MSG> button to listen.  I left the lights off since I just wanted to check the messages and go to bed.  Flying always makes me tired for some reason.  Man, that red glow from the machine seems bright.

1. <BEEEEEP>

“Hey Cameron, it’s mom.  Listen I just wanted to make sure you were still planning to come up on Saturday.  Dad’s booked a fishing charter and your brother’s planning on being there.  I know you said you had a big business trip, and sometimes those go late for you.  Just let us know, K?”

I sat in the chair next to the machine.  The bright, red, blinking one changed to a blinking 2. 

Yeah, a good fishing trip would be nice after a job.  I’m glad it went as smoothly as it did.  Sometimes waiting for the perfect moment to make the hit can take days.  I looked down at the bright red 2, willing the machine to just talk so I could to to sleep.

2. <BEEEEEP>

“Whussup, Cam.”  I recognized my brothers voice immediately.  He probably was calling because mom told him to leave a message.  “Hey, man, just calling ’cause mom wanted me to leave you a message.  Give ‘em a call either way, ‘k.  No problemo if you can’t make it, you know, just more trout for me.  Talk with ‘ya later, man.”

Typical.  Chris wouldn’t miss a fishing charter even in a thunderstorm.

3. <BEEEEEEP>
“…” A long pause was all that greeted the start of the third message, but I didn’t hear the end beep.  Actually, I could hear breathing.  It was faint, but I could definitely hear the quiet inhale and exhale of someone on the line.  For some reason I could feel the hairs on my arms bristling.  My haze from the long trip seem to melt away as my body came to full alert. 

You didn’t make it long in my job if you could not focus on a split second notice.  I listened closer to the message, it was still going, just soft breathing, but now I could actually hear a soft chuckle as well.  Who would just chuckle into an answering machine?  I stayed perfectly still.  The bright red “3″ seemed to glow in the blackness.  Finally, a voice pierced the darkness.  “You missed.”

I froze.  That could not be possible.  I know I got-… I looked at the bright red of the “3″ and then looked down.  I saw another glowing red dot in the center of my chest.  Oh no.

<BEEEEEEEEP>

I don’t like to gross people out.  Ok, sorry, that’s a bald-faced lie.  Actually I do.  One of the cool things about ER is that you get to see some pretty nasty stuff, and that, on some twisted sick level, is kinda fun. 

You know when you see an accident on the side of the road, and you are supposed to just keep driving by and not stop to look.  Then, like everyone else, you slow down to get that good peep at what’s really going on just to see if you can have that morbid curiosity satisfied?  Yeah, that’s what ER docs do all day long.  However, getting just that look is OK, but if you are the police or firemen at the car side actually having to deal with the wreckage, it can get significantly less cool.

I guess I should start by saying I am a documented Fattist.  In fact, as I was about to write this, I remembered that this sounded pretty vaguely familiar in my brain.  Maybe it’s that part of me that gets frustrated with people that have their own gravitational force that drives me to vent.  I have many friends that are a little big.  However, when I can’t identify the 4 quadrants of the abdomen (start at the belly button and make 4 squares), you are too big.  This lady had several rolls of pannus overlaying her abdomen.  She said it hurt in the right lower quadrant… WHICH RIGHT LOWER QUADRANT?  ON WHICH ROLL???  Here’s our converstion

ME: “Hello, Mrs. Blubburtington, I understand you’re having some abdominal pain”
HER:”Yeah,” she started, putting the 8th greasy chicken wing down and wiping her fat fingers on her gown, by which I mean her full body napkin “it hurts really bad.”
ME: “Uh huh, where is your pain the worst?”
HER: “The Glorious right Hemisector of Cantara”
ME: “…um, what?”
HER: “Yeah, I’ve found that  since have so many rolls, I need to label them, so I named them with fantasy names I created.  Cantara is right here,” she points with a new drumstick at her right lower quadrant.
ME: <pushing anywhere on her huge belly>
HER: “Yep, that’s it, it hurts right there,” she states, while opening a second bag of Cheetos and watching TV
ME: “Right where?  I pushed in 50 different places!”
HER: (Slightly angry about being distracted from the TV) “It hurt where you pushed.  Why don’t you fix it?”
ME: (sighing) “Alright, we’re gonna need to run some tests”
HER: “Oh, and my back and knees hurt as well…”
ME: “Have you ever thought of losing weight?”
HER: “Have you ever thought of shutting up?  Springer’s on!”
ME: (Trying to leave the room, but her overwhelming gravitational pull makes it difficult…)

Thus, as you see, there is a problem here.  Not only that, the pain was close to the hoo-hah.  Close to the feather-duster. Close to the muff-pillow.  The pain was close to the pink taco of destruction.  Yet again, I needed to take a pelvic plunge.

I’m not sure how many pelvic exams you have performed in women that weigh 460 pounds, but for me, it’s a semi-terrifying procedure.  Seriously, sitting between two split blubber-weights gazing into the vacuous, malodorous putrescence, waiting for the horrific walls of flesh to crush me into a stinky resident wafer can be quite intimidating.  I couldn’t make eye contact secondary to the wall of fat protruding upwards.  Sorry, no reassuring eye contact was made.

As it turns out, she was fine.  I wished her well and off she went.  Another life saved.  I love my job.

Next Chapter, Chapter 17

“Listen, you have to try something
for me.  I know this will sound
ridiculous, but I want you to stop taking the medications for one week,” Jack
said.

            “But,
well, I can’t.  I just can’t.  The voices were gone right when I moved, and
just recently they started coming back. 
I’m worried they might-“

            “might
get louder, yes, but there is more to it than you think.  I’m sure of it.  I’m positive. 
Have you ever recognized the voices that you hear?  Have they ever commanded or told you to do
something?”

            She
thought about that.  They always came through
so fuzzy, she thought when she was young it was her mother’s voice at first.  That was a long time ago.  But, after she started her meds, she could
not be sure what the voices said at all. 

            Julia
did not want to stop taking her medications. 
Jack, however, continued to press her and press her, till she finally
agreed to stop for just one week.  She
did not know what would happen.  She had
been diligent so long it made her nervous. 
It was not in her nature to break the rules.  Jack seemed so sure, and he seemed to think
he had the answer, so she gave it a try.

            For
the first few days, it seemed the same. 
However, around the fifth day, the voice in her head seemed clearer,
more distinct.  She also noticed that she
only heard it when Jack was around.  How
odd.  Jack kept pressing her to try to
listen to the voice instead of ignoring it. 
She had spent her whole life trying to ignore the voices, so this was
quite a challenge for her.  But with
time, she actually heard more than a drift of words and buzzing, she heard a
sentence.  She remembered closing her
eyes, while holding Jack’s hands, and heard

            <Can
you hear me? Can you hear me?  Can you
hear me?> in Jacks voice.

            “Yes
I can, Jack, be quiet a minute, I’m trying to…” she paused.  She opened her eyes and looked at Jacks
smiling face

            <Can
you still hear me?> she heard.  His
lips did not move. 

            “Ho-ly
Shit.”  Julia never swore.  She just did not do it.  Jack laughed out loud.

            <It
worked!  It worked, holy shit! It
worked> he thought while peals of laughter came from both of them.  He was literally jumping in the air with her.  Julia could hardly control her laughter.

            “I
can’t believe it!” she said, then concentrated again on Jack

            <I
can’t wait to tell the guys at the lab about this!> he thought while
laughing out loud.  <I just want to
punch someone so hard, I’m so happy.> 
Julia’s joy took a nosedive.  They
guys at the lab?  What?  Punch someone?  Who hits someone when they are happy?  How could he even think about that after she
just realized that her lifelong affliction was actually a gift? 

Did you know that they did an actual pleasure center in the brain? 

It’s true.  There is a spot in the brain that when stimulated emits the feelings of joy and fulfillment in people.  PET scans have been done on people and found that this spot is triggered during extreme joy and even during sexual activity.  An experiment was done on rats in the past where they wired the brains up to an electrode so the rats were able to push on a lever to stimulate that part of the brain.  What they found was that if left to it’s own devices, the rats would actually starve themselves to death in order to just keep pressing away at that button.  It’s like electric crack for the little rat brains.

So why am I telling you all this?  Well, I think my wife has found her own version of electric crack.  It is our house.  We are now homos, by which I mean home-owners.  If you need to see a picture of the houses we were looking at I direct you HERE.  But we have finally closed on the house and we are first time homos now.  Every single time my wife goes and drops off some more stuff at the house, she simply starts glowing.  She actually said she did not want to come back.  She has had a good residency here, but I think she is more than ready to be done.  Less than three months and we’ll finally be done with looking at the light at the end of the tunnel.  We’ll both be 31 years old when we start our first real jobs.  About friggin’ time, eh?

Oh, I was trying to find a funny picture of a house to post, and I googled “funny house” and came across this picture of a cow tongue… not quite sure how this got filed under funny house, but I’ll post for you to enjoy:

Ok, here’s the next Chapter

CHAPTER 16

JULIA

            Julia
Turkalew married Jack and was pregnant with Molly within a few years.  At the time, she found his research
fascinating and the man stunning.  He was
handsome, strong, and had a brilliant mind. 
It was Jack who also showed Julia how to hone her own Burning
ability.  With guidance, Jack showed
Julia how to listen.  Jack had “cured”
her of the illness that had plagued her for her whole life.  Unfortunately, he replaced one problem with
another.

Julia had
for been on multiple drugs for Schizophrenia since she was twelve.  The doctors switched the medications around,
but none of them seemed to make much of a difference.  Some made her head fuzzy and other just made
her sleepy, but none completely got rid of the voices.  Finally she decided that she would just deal
with the voices and move on.  She
graduated from high-school third in her class and went on to college.  What was interesting was that when she moved
away from home, the voices disappeared.  They would always return briefly when she went
home, but then disappear again at college. 

Then after
three years, the voices returned.  They
were soft at first, but progressively got louder.  She became quite depressed with the return of
her Schizophrenia, but she did not dare tell anyone.  She continued to diligently take her
medication as she had since she was twelve. 
Julia had never tried any street drugs and actually had never even tried
alcohol.  She was too worried about what
others might think if she slipped and accidentally told someone about the
voices in her head. 

After
college she said her goodbyes to her close friends and again moved on, this
time to begin her PhD in psychiatry.  She
figured as long as she was crazy, she might as well help other crazy people.  With the move, the voices in her head
disappeared a second time.  To Julia,
this was a great relief.  It was during
this time that she met Jack, a young geneticist who had confidence, looks, and
seemed to be onto something incredible.

            They
had been dating only one week, when he asked her if she had ever done anything
unique or out of the ordinary.  In her
life, other than her good grades, she really had never done anything that
marvelous or unique.  Jack kept
pressing.  He kept asking the same
questions from different angles, but she really did not know what he was
searching for.  She had always been too
busy for a serious boyfriend, so she really did not have much experience.  However, as their trust built, she thought
she owed him the truth if nothing else before they got too serious.  After dating for two months, she told him
about her voices.

            “That’s
it!” Jack exclaimed.  “I knew it I knew
it!”

It was not
the reaction she had been expecting.  He
seemed downright excited.  She had
prepared herself for the worst, even for him wanting to break up with her.  She never anticipated a positive response. 

Jack
continued “…your whole life?  Really? 
Well, ever since you were twelve you said.  And you have NEVER been off the drugs for
this?  Never?”  She shook her head.  She did not know where he was going with
this, but it made her somewhat nervous.

Today was my last lecture in residency.  It was all about pregnancy, problems with pregnancy, and other such hoo-hah related questions.  Here’s some interesting facts that I found in our review book.

When doing a gynecological exam on an adolescent, you should kick the parents out of the room.  Hmm, ok, I guess I can see that.  The patient should be allowed to pee before the exam.  Yeah, sure, I guess that makes sense.  Then I read this”

“Occasional eye contact during a gynecological exam is encouraged.” 

Um.  Hmm.  Awkward.  I thought about this a bit.  For me really to make eye contact during a gynecological exam, either the patient would have to do some sort of insane modified super-crunch (remember, she’s in stirrups here), or I would have to stand up half way through the exam.  Either way, it’s kinda weird.  I’m pretty sure this is not the type of reassurance a woman wants during a pelvic.  I guess I could be wrong, maybe that’s reassuring.

Me:  “Hello, time for us do do the pelvic exam”
Her: <sigh> “Alright, let’s get this over with.”
Me:  <mumble mumble> “healthy” <mumble mumble> “normal”
Her: <sigh, thinking, this is so awkward, I hope nothing makes this more awkward>
Me: <Standing, looking deep into her eyes> “You doing ok?”
Her: <What the HELL is he doing?>  “What the HELL are you doing?
Me: <Still gazing deeply into her eyes> “BE REASSURED!”

Yeah, that’s a great way to do it.  Oh, and be sure you do a pelvic on EVERY single woman age 10-50 who has any abdominal pain.  It was pretty specific, you have to look for foreign bodies.  It’s more common that you think.

Ok, here’s the next chapter
Chapter 15

But what
did it all mean?

He began
looking for the other people on the list. 
It was not too difficult to track them down, considering he had their
social security numbers, picture ID, and government employees to look up the
information on them.  He found Julia, his
wife to be on the third of these fateful trips. 
At that time everything was new and interesting.  And on the fifth trip, he proved what he had
suspected.  All of them had Talents.  Even Jack. 

Jacks first
memory of using his Talent was when he was fourteen.  His father, an upstanding police officer at
work, was less than upstanding at home.  Jack’s
father was the type of person who just seemed angry at the world.  In his off time, his father drank.  Heavily. 
After this, he would come home, and, with Jack being an only child, he
would take out his aggressions on Jack. 
He never knew whether it would happen any specific night, sometimes his
father would come home and just collapse on the couch, other times he would
actually wake Jack out of a sleep, actually pull him out of bed, just to beat
him to a bloody pulp.  It was after
crying bloody tears that he first noticed the burning.  He had just been beaten and rage flowed
through him.  Then, like a switch, he
felt a cool energy flow.  He could feel
it rush through him.  It felt smooth and
clean, and he focused this flow.  At
first, nothing happened, and then he could actually feel his bruises
healing.  He could feel the open cut on
the side of his face (his father always wore a ring) coming together.  He focused the energy throughout his body, to
his stomach and chest, over all the blows. 
He then collapsed in a heap.

When Jack
woke up, he was in his bed.  His mother
was looking over him.  She actually
started crying when he woke up

“Hey, mom,”
he said.

She just
cried harder.  As it turned out, he had
been unconscious for 10 days.  She never
suspected that he had been beaten. 
Apparently he did not have a scratch on him.  He looked perfect.  Jack never though he had felt so good in his
whole life.  But he had never been able
to focus that energy that well again. 
The only time he could ever even come close to channeling that energy
was when he was angry.  This usually
occurred after getting beaten. 
Unfortunately for Jack, he was angry quite often.

So last night in the ER not a single person came in drunk or psychotic…  Hah!  April Fools!  Don’t be redonkulous, of course some idiots came in, they always come in.

Let this be a lesson to you, kids.  Drinking large quantities of Antifreeze is not only fun, but you can also almost die!  Well, almost might be stretching it, but as of right now I think, technically, this one is still alive.  Though, it was an interesting conversation with poison control, considering the outlying hospital did not have Fomepizol, the antidote for ethelyne glycol, the badness of antifreeze.  So, what do you do?  Well, per Poison control we told the ambulance crew to pull over to the first liquor store, get a fifth of vodka, and give him 175 ml of vodka (mixed with OJ). 

I am not making this up.

He then got to the ER and proceeded to do very poorly.  Antifreeze is a bad choice of liquors.  If he doesn’t die, he will likely no longer have any kidneys and be put on dialysis for the rest of his life.  All that for a buzz… Wee!

Ok, here’s the next chapter

CHAPTER 14

JACK

Molly’s
father, Jack Turkalew, had broad, stocky shoulders, a thick chest, and toned
muscles, even though Jack rarely frequented a gym.  Jack arrived home at six thirty every day; he
came in through the front door and expected his wife and daughter to be waiting
to greet him every day.  This was how he
was raised, and this is what he expected.

Jack worked
as a geneticist for Corrob pharmaceuticals. 
While working there, he had received a grant from the US government to
review blood samples from across the country. 
This provided him a wealth of varying DNA samples as well as privileged
background information that made him feel like he was spying.  Jack loved it.  It was a once in a million opportunity to
look for irregularities and possibly the cause of some genetic diseases.  Just out of college, working for Corrob
pharmaceuticals, Jack did not find the root of any genetic diseases; he found a
genetic hiccup.

That is how
Jack explained it, since genes do not hiccup. 
However, Jack did not know how else to say it.  It just did not make sense.  During his research for the pharmaceutical/government,
he had at his disposal literally millions of carefully labeled blood
samples.  Along with the blood samples he
had picture ID, fingerprints, and social security numbers.  He was sure he was in violation of several
laws by doing his research, but, with the US government as your endorser, he
figured he was ok.  Along with the
samples, he had a gigantic recombinant DNA lab at his disposal.  This all occurred while several group tried
to unravel the human genome.  While that
lab when into the minutia of finite details, Jack remained broad minded and
looked at the larger picture.  During
this time he compared the genes of millions of people to each other.  It was during this time that he made the
greatest, or perhaps the most tragic discovery of his life.

Jack found
that some people, instead of having the regular 23 pairs of chromosomes,
actually had more.  Now this had been
sited before, such as certain individuals having an extra X or extra Y
chromosome.  Kleinfelter’s syndrome, XYY
syndrome, these had all been seen before. 
However, when Jack looked at an ever rarer subset, he found that a very
rare group actually had 25 pairs of chromosomes, and the two extra chromosome
were not X nor Y.  At first he dismissed
it as a singular irregularity.  But as he
continued his search, he began making a list. 
This list he kept hidden from all of his regular work.  He did not truly pursue this further, till
the fateful day he decided on a whim to test his own blood.  He found 25 chromosomes in himself as well.

Jack
immediately repeated the test.  He
actually performed the entire set up, from start to finish, himself.  He received the same results.  It made no sense.  For a trained scientist, this was
infuriating.  He plotted out the genes
and saw that his two extra genes were located in different spots, giving him
two gene 8’s and two gene 17’s.  When he
compared this to the others he had found 25 chromosomes in, the results were
the same.  But what did it all mean?

So, starting yesterday, I am on nights for the next month.  That is me going in at 10pm and getting done around 8 or 9am.  I just woke up… at 6pm.  Day one… ok.  But I think it takes a few days for your body to switch over to the dark side.

The ER on night shifts turns into a magical land quite different than that of the daytime shift.  The level of psychiatric admits increases, as does the level of intoxication and stupidity.  Though, last night a relatively young, VERY drunk girl came in.  Then her parents came in.  Then she woke up and APOLOGIZED profusely to me and the staff about how dumb she was and how it would never EVER happen again.  This took me by surprise, but I really kinda felt good about the whole thing.  Someone actually learned a lesson.  And she felt bad about it.

Usually, drunk people come in and spit and curse at me.  So rare is it to have insight and see the idiocy.  Ahh, I made a difference.  yay!.

Ok, heres the next chapter
CHAPTER 13 (i think)

MOLLY1

Molly Turkalew emanated cuteness like a skunk’s
stink.  She thought and acted quickly and
precisely, with her cute ponytail bobbing behind her.  Her neighbors all thought her to be adorable,
busy, and happy.  Molly had a winning
smile and even more of a winning body. 
Some who did not know her thought she might even be a ditsy sorority
cheerleader, if not a bit goth.  This
image Molly had worked quite hard to obtain, thus, Molly had fooled pretty much
everyone.  She had many of those
qualities, but anyone who really knew her, knew she had a brilliant mind in
front of the ponytail.  She had been
making plans for a very long time.  She
had planned for months.  She had trained
her body for years.  She was ready,
finally, to risk it all.  Revenge would
finally be hers.  Jack was going down.

There’s a problem with U.S. health care.  This problem would be that almost 20% of the US is uninsured.  Scary, no?  To be honest, I find this terrifying.  Health care is incredibly expensive, and can bankrupt anyone required serious care.  Fortunately, there is a place, much like Cheers, where you can go regardless of status, race, religion, weight, wealth, or previous health-care.  Sometimes, if you go there enough, you can be like Norm and everyone will know you name.  This is the open arms of the ER.

In case you did not know, you do not need money to go and be treated.  Come in with any complaint, and we’ll check you out.  Just let us know what is wrong, we’ll do our best to fix it.  However, sometimes that question can be tough.  What is wrong?

The baby in question:  an adorable little 3 month old. 
The question asked: why are you in the ER today? 
The answer: “This is America, my baby needs health care.” 

Well, to a degree I agree.  I think all babies in the U.S. should be entitled to health care.  However, I’m still not sure for the reason you brought your child in for evaluation today.  Please shed some light…  No?  Um.  Please?  A child’s health is not like a gas tank, it does not slowly decrease over time, then you go to the hospital to get filled up the health tank, then back on the road again.  Yet it seemed mom was somewhat befuddled by this question, so… we pressed onward.

I asked my normal questions… drinking well (yes) peeing (yes) pooping(yes) activity good (yes) easily consoled (yes) alert/active (yes) immunizations (yes) hydrated (yes) fever(no) taking meds(no)  allergic (no) vomiting (yes) AHA!.  Here we go, something abnormal.  So the kid actually was vomiting for a day, thus mom was not actually 100% insane (though why she didn’t volunteer this info…).  Short story, the kid ate, kept it down, and did fine.  We filled up the tank with health care.  Excellent.  Oh, and could you please stop smoking around your 3 month old?  No?  Great.

Now don’t get me wrong.  I know that kids don’t come with instruction manuals; and any two idiots with the right parts can make one.  I have noticed that kids also can behave like cars.  They’ll clank and make horrible noises at home, but when they get brought into the shop, they’ll purr like kittens.  I try to take that into account.  If they looked like crap at home, but now look better and want them checked out, great, fine, you bet… but please, next time you come to the ER, even in America, know why you came.

Oh, speaking of smoking around kids, let me get back on my soapbox.

I got this a long time ago and just found it again while cleaning up my desktop.  Smoking while pregnant is apparently fine, it’s those loud noises that bother her… Awesome.

I used to be in shape.  No, seriously, I did.  I was the guy on the field that never stopped running and the one that no one ever wanted to guard.  I would just keep going ad-nauseum till the end of the game, regardless of the game.  I would like to be that guy again.  However, I played basketball yesterday, and it turns out, I’m no longer that guy.  I’m the guy who plays really tough for the first half, then slowly walks my tired ass back to the other side of the court while I search for my lungs.  Also, I’m the wuss who twists his ankle since he’s so deconditioned.  Sweet.  Man, all this typing, I worked up a sweat, gotta go get some gatorade to finish the blog.

Chapter 12:

After his brief, two hour lunch,
Walter tracked back to his house, and into his lair to see if any new news
about this underground auction had occurred. 
Pay-dirt.  Stale Dale, though told
strictly by his father not to write about this auction, had to tell Cyrus about how cool this auction was going to be.  Cyrus, being intrigued as Walter had been,
asked nearly all the question Walter wanted answers to:

Dale!  Did your dad tell you what he wanted to
buy?  I mean, I’ve seen some crazy shit
with my brothers both getting some of that dark-weed pollen or dark-scent or
whatever the hell that stuff was, but I’ve never even heard of those before.

    What are all the
passwords all about?  I mean, is it
really that secret, or are they just yanking each other’s chain to make it
spooky.  I knew some guys like Mark (oh,
I’m sorry, I mean Chantrell, what a prick) and Molly (oh I’m sorry, I mean
Sorceress Faun, the Wiccan weirdo) who were waaaaay too into Goth for their own
good, but this sound real.  When is it
supposed to go on?  Is there ANY way you
could convince your dad to let me go?

Thanks,

Cy

            After
a quick search, he found that Dale had already responded as Walter had
hoped. 

        No, dumbass, there’s no way you can go.  You’re not even suppose

        to know about
it.  Anyway, even to get in it is
sweet.  Dad said

        some bakery on Lafayette
had the secret entrance to the tunnel

        underground.  On Lafayette of all places, can you believe
it!

        Apparently these people only sell
their crazy crap in the ghetto.

        The way
my dad describes it, it sounds very undercover and cloak

        and dagger
(sweet!).  My dad told me not to tell
you, but the

        auction’s in two weeks.  Dad
then went on and on about not telling

        anyone or he would never take me to such
an event ever again (blah

        blah blah).  He
said he wanted to buy a wind chime.  Of
all the

        insanely sweet items, he wanted to buy a shitty wind chime.  I asked

        him if it did anything special, to
which he said not by itself,

        whatever that means.  He also said that it’s not a password to get

        in, but there are traps, how cool is that? 
It’s like Indiana Jones

        underneath the bakery of doom.  I’ll talk to you later on IM.

-Dale

             Walter
frowned at the end of this, he had not yet figured out how to hack into instant
messengers yet.  But he did have enough
information to perhaps send a little note. 
Well, not Walter, but Doodles sure did.

I’ve said it many times before, but it was reiterated during yesterdays shift, NEVER MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS.  Rant ON

Now, I know to some of you, this seems counterintuitive.  Why, Rob?  Why would I not mind my own business.  It seems, in fact,  in todays society that it is almost enforced that we mind our own business.  We are told that one should never look down on another person for ANYTHING he or she is doing.  We are brought up to be non-judgmental and accepting of a huge variation from the norm since people have a wide difference in backgrounds and upbringings.  Ok, I’m with that.  However, I would estimate that of the people I treat in the Emergency Department that are:
     1. Able to talk, and
     2. Who have been shot
start the story of what happens with the same six words.  Every time.  “I was minding my own business…”  I am relatively sure that this is the most dangerous activity in the world.  Usually it goes on to include “these 2 dudes…”  Those 2 dudes really, and I mean REALLY get around.  It was an interesting phenomenon when I hear the same story at the ER conference in Seattle, since people from all over the country had similar stories.  Those 2 dudes are BUSY!!  Thus my advice, to all who would like to never get shot, always mind other peoples business. 

I have never hear “I was getting in to these 2 dudes business when they shot me.” 

Out of courtesy to the good people of the planet earth, I went to google images and googled “two dudes” so you guys will know who to look out for.  Here are my results:

Rant OFF
 

Hmm, pretty shady characters all around.

Here’s the next chapter (Walter’s back):

CHAPTER 11

Marcus knew
he could most likely take out these three if all they had was their clubs, but
why waste the effort.

“Well, John, at least you know you did not stay up
there for nothing,” Marcus said out loud, not trying to even hide the
signal.  Potty confused glare was
answered by two quick noises from the rafters.

Footh.  Footh.

“No tricks
Marcus!  You’re outnumbered and out
manned, just give me what you have and I’ll leave.”

“Actually,”
Marcus started in an eerily quite, calm tone “you will be leaving, now.”  That was enough for Potty.  He motioned for his goons to take out the
shop.  Silence.  He turned to see why his goons had not
attacked, only to see both of them lying heaped on the ground.  Each had a small dart protruding from their
chests. 

“Leave,
Potty, you ungrateful son of-“

Potty
interrupted him with a clenched teeth curse. 
He ran to the front of the shop, lifted up the door and sprinted into
the hot ally. 

“You left
your cloak,” Marcus said to himself, chuckling under his breath.  Only later would Potty realize Marcus’
amazement.  Only later would he realize
that Marcus would have actually paid ten times that amount, but people like
Potty knew only of straightforward tactics. 
Be prepared, Marcus thought to himself; always be prepared.

2. Walter2

Walter’s
trip to Taco Bell had turned into a much longer trip than he had planned.  The air conditioning was so cool compared to
the sticky heat that he had been inside for well over an hour.  He did not become bored however, since he was
close enough to a group of college students, to overhear their
conversation.  Two of the names he
recognized.  One was Phil Gamby, the
other was John Klumph (who everyone just called “Clump”).  Doug and Clump had been paired up as
roommates as freshmen, and their similarities drew them together as friends.

“Hell no!”
Doug went on, “I dropped that slut a week after I laid her.”

“Oh yeah?”
Clump chuckled.  “I heard that some guy
told Donna about how you got on Cindy while you two were dating.”

“Whatever,
Clump.  If dumb-ass Donna got a ‘mystery
message’ I never heard about it.  Know why?  ‘Cause no message ever came!  It’s all a load of crap.”

“Sorry,
man.  I saw the message.  The only
reason Donna won’t give you the time of day is because somebody told her off
about you and Cindy…” Doug said

“And I’m
telling you, nobody could have.  I know
damn well that nobody but Cindy knew, and she wouldn’t have told.  Donna went off on me the next day, and the
only person I told was you over email,” said Clump.

“Hey, I
didn’t tell anyone,” said Doug, while spitting out a chunk of soft taco.  “But I saw the message man.  It was dead on, someone was spying on you or
something.”

“It doesn’t
make sense.”

It always
pleased Walter to find out that his advice had been for the best.  But his mind continually wandered back to the
talk about the Gypsy auction, or whatever it was.  He had an in, but he just did not know how to
use it. 

            After
his brief, two hour lunch, Walter tracked back to his house, and into his lair
to see if any new news about this underground auction had occurred.  Pay-dirt. 
Stale Dale, though told strictly by his father not to write about this
auction, had to tell Cyrus about how
cool this auction was going to be. 
Cyrus, being intrigued as Walter had been, asked nearly all the question
Walter wanted answers to: