It was Christmas Eve. Grandma was in the hospital, so we brought the tree, presents and whole family to her room.
She’d had a stroke. A bad one.
But her living will told us to spare no effort, so there was the ventilator, pumping away, hiss hiss hiss.
It was sad.
That didn’t stop us, though. We sang Christmas carols, told stories.
“Let’s light the tree,” I said.
And I looked for an outlet.
Hrm. All full.
I pulled out what I thought was the lamp, plugged in the tree.
Everyone sang O Christmas Tree, and the ventilator went silent.
Tag: medical
Bed Rest
Sally didn’t feel good, so she went to the doctor.
The doctor told her she just had a cold and needed plenty of bed rest.
She went to the pharmacy, where they ended up giving her flamenco dancing instead of bed rest.
Exhausted, Sally ended up in the hospital.
During the malpractice suit, the pharmacist claimed they couldn’t read the doctor’s handwriting, but it was as clear as day: bed rest.
The pharmacist and Sally eventually settled out of court. Five hundred thousand bucks.
The pharmacist wrote a check.
Sally tore it up.
“One that doesn’t say ‘Flamenco dancing’ please.”
The vet told me he’s dying
My cat is old.
And sick.
And sleeps all day.
I took him to the vet.
The vet told me he’s dying.
I asked the vet what I should do.
Is there any medicine?
Is there any special food?
Is there anything I can do at all? Anything? Please, anything?
The vet told me he’s dying.
What about magnets?
Or crystals? Or pyramids?
Those psychic healers in the Philippines that I’ve seen in documentaries, they sure look interesting, do they work on cats, and how much do they charge?
The vet told me he’s dying.
Clutched his chest.
And died.
Blades
The first blade lifts the hair pulling it slightly from the skin.
The second bade tugs it a bit further, just because it can.
The third blade runs right up to the hair, and at the very last moment, backs off. Because it can.
The fourth blade is too good for the hair. Won’t have anything to do with it.
The fifth blade pushes the hair back in, acts like it’s the hair’s friend, these other blades want to do bad things to you, stick with me, you’ll be fine.
The sixth blade cuts the hair off.
The seventh laughs.
Hospital Stay
Ned’s a great guy, always the life of the party keeping everyone in stitches.
Generous, too. Always looking out for other people, the first to pass the hat and chip in.
So, when he broke his leg and went to the hospital, the nurses and doctor and staff enjoyed Ned’s time there.
So positive. So upbeat.
And they didn’t want it to end.
The doctors said there were “complications” and they kept him a week… then two… three… just making sure…
A clot in Ned’s leg killed him.
Even worse, now the funeral director doesn’t want to let him go.
The Diggers
It’s a common thing for gravediggers to moonlight as graverobbers these days.
They steal what the mortician doesn’t steal, cannot steal when the casket is open, picking the carcass clean.
“What good will this tiara do the dead? Are they planning on attending the ball later?”
“Gold frames for eyes forever shut!”
“If they didn’t want to leave this fine ring to their children, then they didn’t raise them right!”
“I’ll pay for the dentist appointment myself and return their gold fillings the moment they complain of a toothache!”
And back to the church they go, to collect their due.
Rip Van Bob
Bob took naps during his lunch hour.
His coworkers teased him about it, calling him Rip Van Winkle.
One day, Bob napped, and his workers made an elaborate prank to make him think he was waking up in the future.
They sprayed his beard and hair white, but he was severely allergic to the spray dye and fell into a coma.
After 20 years in the coma ward, he woke up.
He looked in the mirror.
“GAH! I’M OLD!”
During his painful lengthy rehabilitation, he dyed his hair and beard black.
Same chemicals, but no coma.
This time, he died.
Fighters
After the revolution, the transitional government sent some of their wounded fighters to an American hospital for treatment and rehabilitation.
While the patients healed up, the hospital offered television and newspapers from their homeland, and the kitchen prepares meals of pita bread and olives instead of the usual bland fare with lime Jell-O the other patients get.
Even though they had an interpreter, yellow sticky notes were placed on various items to help the patients learn some basic English words.
As a prank, some notes were switched.
The nurse listened, nodded and smiled. “I guess television is a toilet everywhere.”
The Robe and The Mask
Carlton has worn a mask and robes since the age of seven.
Some say he was burned badly in a fire, but that’s not the kind of thing you ask a kid. Or his parents.
It wasn’t in the papers, and I don’t see any mention of it in the news archives.
And he moves around pretty good.
Like a kid, and not like someone with skin grafts and other debilitating injuries.
He sounds pretty normal, too. Not like his body’s rotting out from under him.
Maybe he just likes the robes and the mask?
Maybe he’s just kinda weird?
Referrals
I asked the witch doctor, and he sent me to a fortune teller.
I asked the fortune teller, and she suggested I consult a mountaintop guru.
I climbed the mountain and asked the guru, and he handed me a Ouija board.
I checked with the Ouija board, and it told me to refer to the I Ching.
I tossed the bones and looked them up in the I Ching, and they said I should use a Magic 8 Ball.
I shook the Magic 8 Ball and it said “Answer Hazy, Try Again Later.”
That’s how much my employer’s HMO sucks.