Wednesday, August 24, 2005
The party in OP had everyone in stitches. The nurse shed her sterilized whites and began dancing on the instrument counter. Dr. Indigo injected 300 CCs of adrenaline into the stupefied patient and hooked up the heart monitor to the intercom, flooding the clinic with a wickedly cool techno beat. Someone broke into the medicine cabinet and started passing around the stimulants, while someone else set the x-ray projector on strobe. Everyone who wasn't unconscious moved to the beat. Nurses popped into the waiting room to lure fresh blood into the party. Dr. DJ stepped up and played the latest tunes of the dance genre "medical" which he carried around on his iPod and listened to during surgery. Between midnight and morning couples drifted off to secluded corners of the facility for intensive care consisting of mutual sponge baths and massages. It was good, healthy fun. The next day was spent in ciphering the expenses into convincing labels like "Left-Dorsal G-Scan" or "Protein-X Supplementation" and slipping them into the various bills.
I dedicate this to all the brave nurses out there who have to look at us when we're sick. And especially to Sk8-rn.