Friday, June 02, 2017
Rumsey Applethorpe
The ambulance lurched
and the tubing over
the patient swayed
in orange smears.
The attendant seized it
and all was well.
"He's stable. And now I
need your info. Name?”
Thrust his iPhone at her.
“Rumsey Applethorpe.”
“Same as the patient?
Are you a Share?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“Then I'll have to have you
lie down. You'll have to
undergo the same tests
and procedures.”
“Is that necessary? I’m quite well.”
“The new protocol. Uh...with
obvious differences as to sex.”
“I don't think there are any.
Or if there are, trivial.”
“Well, he's male and you're...
you can't talk that away,
even today.”
“I wish to, and don’t.”
“Excuse me...but I don’t get Shares.”
“Fine! We just get ourselves!”
The other Rumsey sat up through
the tubes: “Must we always explain
everything?”
“Don’t worry, Honey, it’s all routine,”
she tried reassuring.
The attendant became too rough in
forcing him down.
Then, she finally acted. Shares have
double strength.
She disassembled the tubing after,
extracting the other Rums.
Attendant out cold.
Both yelled for the driver to stop, and
soon were running the night streets,
laughing.
Labels: ambulance, emergency, future medicine, sex, share
Sunday, December 11, 2016
Plans
Roger always had a plan, and a backup.
So when the promised storm all but
obliterated Duncey Falls, he had to go
to the backup, but that failed too in the
wind and rain.
The heaving oak outside his den
window sent electric sparks showering
upward from the impinged wires, and then
a black limb crashing into his window, and
his forehead.
Later he did realize he was in an ambulance,
and calm, although the babbling of the other
patient truly annoyed him.
Then, he realized he was the only patient,
and shut up.
Chubby checked his head bandage
and maintained to Desktop that
the TV was full of shit.
"Like, this ain't the Storm of the Century.
Was in 80, and my Dad filled a notebook
about it."
"Like father, like..."
But Roger told him that was really impressive!
Asked Chubby if he could phone the old
gentleman when all this was over.
"He's outa range, like forever. But I'm not."
“I...had two beautiful plans!”
“Make them all the time. Nothing to chance!
Ever!”
“We...can help each other.”
“Enough said,” concluded Chubby.
“Yeah!” snapped Desktop to Roger, “YOU shouldn't be talking, period!”
Then driver Harold squealed through his little window. "It's a buncha women back there!"
Labels: ambulance, ambulance techs, Birds of Feather, caution, making plans, planning as bulwark, storm, Storm of Century
Tuesday, September 06, 2016
Medical Opinions
Ricky and Noggs left the former’s
Stag Party since both on call as
Ambulance Techs.
Driver Jellybean picked them up.
And then, the three fetched Mr Ackeny of
that neighborhood.
Later, the partiers, only a bit flushed from their
one-drink limit, when Ackeny peeked out from a
thicket of tubes to wheeze “It’s probably nothing!”
Noggs agreed super warmly, with a scattered
anecdote of a Joe Early of Morningside picked
up last week clammy-gray and trembling, but
discharged almost immediately at Receiving.
“And he looked like Death warmed over!”
“But,” Rick whispered, “it’s probably... everything.”
Labels: ambulance, death, hospital, medical emergency, techs
