Sunday, June 21, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
I'm sitting here, in the call room, deep in the bowels of the hospital, where all the shit collects, getting ready to try and get an hour of sleep. I doubt it will happen. The Center has been alive on this full moon night, writhing around like some tortured monster. There has been a steady stream of comatose overdose patients, jacked up on the first friday night of the month, getting high on our money, and being bailed out with our money when they push it too far. There was the cocaine man, our fucked up version of the rainman. All he would say was "I take Xanax TID," "I need you to give me my Xanax." "TID." "Xanax TID." Then came the hip fractures. There have been more little old ladies with hip fractures tonight than I have seen in two months. The bulk of them were the result of a head on motor vehicle accident, several miles from The Center. Six passengers were involved, one was life flighted directly here, the others rolled in slowly with less serious injuries. However, two of these "less serious" injuries were little old ladies with hip fractures. A hip fracture for a little old lady is a health event every bit as significant as a heart attack or stroke, and one of these ladies was 93. furthermore, a church service or graduation ceremony of some sort happened to be taking place near the accident scene, and when the life flight landed in the church lot, all the people inside apparently came running out to see what the stir was all about. During the chaos, two more little old ladies became entangled in each other's feet and fell on the concrete. Two more hip fractures for Doc Hog! ... I think I hear the pager getting ready to go off now...
When you can smell the stink from thirty feet outside the room you know your in trouble. In the case of Mrs. Ima Cowell I figured the stench was coming from multiple areas of her 400 lb plus body. I figured I could also guess where. On that point I was wrong because I never would have predicted that the triage nurses would find a nasty mold covered twinky smuched inside one of her abdominal fat rolls. You realize a twinky never completely rots, so its hard to say how long the thing had been in there. Mrs. Cowell went on to explain that her husband (who weighed about 135) and her would play a sexual game where she would hide snacks in various body crevices and folds, and he would try to find them and eat them during foreplay. I guess he missed that one.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
A senior resident, Ms. Ann Thrope, discovered that Cade had actually stolen our new LCD TV from the family grieving room in the Hospice Center, and she promptly reported him to the authorities. We were just chilling, watching The Notebook, when I thought I could hear "Bad Boys", or "The Theme From Cops," playing in the hallway. Soon after, the door blew off its hinges and crashed to the floor. Several hospital security guards swarmed in, SWAT style, flashlights drawn. The TV was removed and we are back to a small 20 inch, circa 1990 model, and a sheet hanging over the lounge door.