I Guess It Will Be Eggplant For Dinner, Then?

Posted: October 27, 2014 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , ,

The following story is fictional. The event described, however, was told to me second-hand from an actual ER nurse. To protect the privacy and idiocy of the person or persons involved, all names are fictional.

emergency

Life, as they say, can change in the blink of an eye, a turn of a dime, blah blah blah and all those other smarmy cliches and platitudes people use to make uncomfortable and unexpected situations much more…tolerable, I guess?

I live my life, well my work life that is– like that. I have to catch the blinks and dime turns, because it is usually someone else’s life that hangs in the balance.  Someone I’ve never met before, in some sort of distress, or danger, or desperation. The 3D’s of emergency room work.

The name is Jeff. I’ve been an ER nurse for about ten years now. Yeah, not a doctor, a nurse. I KNOW. I catch shit for that all the time, especially from my family: “Jeffie, what’s the matter — not smart enough to be a real doctor? Grades not good enough? Couldn’t handle the pressure of med school?” I’ve heard em all before.

Truth is, I never had any interest in becoming a doctor for a number of reasons: 1) couldn’t afford the high student loans I would need because I got  nosed out of a full-ride scholarship to Johns Hopkins by some asshole whose daddy “made a sizable donation to the medical library there – total bullshit, by the way and 2) I’ve heard what interns go through, and I really don’t have that level of dedication in me, I really value having a personal life, ya know? So, I decided to become a nurse instead. Four and done. And guess what? I still get to work with doctors, still get to do cool ass shit so yeah, I’m a nurse. Fuck you, judgy people.

Let me tell you about my ER. It’s fucking sweet. I work in a Level 1 top trauma hospital center in DC. We get some of the most serious, most complicated and critical cases there. Lots of gun shot wounds, stab wounds, multiple car accidents — the worst of the worst come through our center daily – and we’re always ready for them. We even got a few of the 9-11 Pentagon folks come through our doors when those fucking ragheads decided to fly a 767 straight into the side of the building. That was a crazy assed day or two, I won’t lie. Almost made me want to quit. I didn’t tho – the adrenaline high of working in a Level 1 is just too good a buzz to walk away from. I’m damn near vibrating with the stuff by mid-shift every night. High traumas.

I’ll spare ya the gories of some of those cases, though. As adrenaline pumping as they are, they don’t make for good, funny stories. More often than not, the night doesn’t end well for some of them. It’s a real drag to have to say “Call it, Doctor” several times a night, know what I mean?

But, if you want to stick around, I got a few really good stories for you, too. Stories that are bound to make you laugh your ass off. Stories that you can’t help but ask, “What IS that doing in there?” I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. Yep…insertion stories. And not just up one hole if ya know what I mean, wink, wink. I’m talking rectums, vaginas, ears, noses, under the skin..if there is a hole to insert it in or a patch of skin to shove it under, it’s been tried, and I’ve seen just about everything.

About two, maybe three years ago, I got to work with Mr. Harishoto. The case of Mr. Harishoto was a bit perplexing at first, to be honest. Here was this little Japanese guy — dressed in a thousand dollar business suit, couldn’t speak a damn word of English, and I’m not at all fluent in Japanese. ‘Ari gato’ and ‘sushi’ are pretty much it for me.

Anyways, Mr. Harishoto comes walking into the ER, moaning and crying, entirely hunched over and clutching his belly. He is obviously in great stress — he was bent nearly  half over. A quick assessment by the receiving nurse had us thinking he might have just come from a high priced dinner and perhaps had eaten the wrong part of the blowfish — food so deadly it will kill you if not cut and cooked properly by a certified “blowfish chef”. Also, since he drove himself to the ER, he obviously hadn’t been home from work yet. Who the fuck knows where Mr. Harishoto had been after work? He could have been fucking a Geisha girl for all I care.

Anyhow, we quickly get him checked in, offer a wheelchair — and he waves the chair away frantically, moving his hand from his belly and pointing it at his ass. It took me about two seconds to figure out the pantomime: Mr. Harishoto had something up his ass. This outta be interesting….

We take him to a private room  and motion to have him get on the bed. He lies down on the bed — on his stomach, and we notice the seat of his pants are bulging outwards. Greatly. He didn’t speak English and we didn’t speak Japanese, so the best we could do is pantomime back and forth. He kept pointing to the bulge in his seat, and then he would hold his hands about a foot apart – with one hand on top, one on the bottom as if he was holding a bottle or a jar. None of what he was trying to tell us made any sense.

Until of course, we removed his pants. I tried to keep as straight a face as possible, but this one was a bit much. I knew I was going to have to use the baby forceps this time.

Sticking halfway out of Mr. Harishoto’s now swollen and entirely yellowish-red ass was the biggest, widest, purplest eggplant I’ve ever seen.

What was that thing doing up in there? was all I could wonder.

eggplant

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Comments
  1. dromig says:

    Some questions are better left unanswered.

    Like

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