Tales from the Emergency Department; in which a man who wallows in nostalgia, and secretly wishes he were a Victorian KnifeMan rants about his work and what passes for a life.
He's heard it might be therapeutic...
Names have been changed to protect the innocent.
Any resemblence to parties alive or dead is purely coincidental
Monday, January 25, 2010
Wounds and The Wounded
The first, on my upper arm, sort of looks like a love bite, doesn't it. Which is ironic.
The second, demonstrating how far between the seventh and eighth ribs a pair of scissors had been inserted. The patient wept when I told her I couldn't give her i.v morphine, which I found telling regarding her motivation for (repeatedly) sticking herself.