Medicinal Pain

There comes a time when things don't work quite as they should. It usually happens when we've had an ale or four too many. In the emergency room we get too see many people not working at there best. In fact every night from thursday to sunday I can guarantee that if you come to your local hospital, you will see many people not quite in control of things. Some people get so out of control that we are forced to take extreme measures to treat them.

"Will you take Mr Jones this time?" Elena asked me. None of the women wanted to look after Mr Jones. He was a regular, perhaps five or six times a year, and every time he always ended up being rude to the staff. "How bad is he this time?" I asked. "You'll know soon enough. The ambulance should be here in five." The emergency department where I was working was a little different than some places as the ambulance crews always radioed ahead to warn us that they were bringing in a patient, and how severe their illness.

I greeted the paramedics as they wheeled Mr Jones into the department. "How bad is he this time?" I asked. "We haven't been able to wake him, so we got the story from his neighbors." The only other thing that Mr Jones liked besides drinking was gardening. "His neighbors said there was a party last night. Said it went on all night and only got quiet around five. That was when Mr Jones decided to do a bit of gardening." "He couldn't have picked a more miserable day" I observed. The sky was gry and it had been pouring with rain the whole night. "Well, his neighbors know him pretty well, and kept an eye on him. They found him lying in the cabbage patch."

At sixty two years old, Mr Jones should was a fit looking man. He had no fat, his muscles were hard and wiry, although he did have the drinkers red, bulbous nose. "Can you hear me?" I said as I gently shook him by the shoulder. No response. I squeezed his hand hard while calling out. Not so much as a flinch. I grabbed a pen and squashed his fingernail hard against it and again no response, not even a reflexive flinch of the hand. Next I tried the sternal rub, performed using a fist and my knuckles. This is sure to work, it's hardly ever failed. Sure enough he moans and his eyes briefly open and he tried to push my hands away.

Twenty minutes later Mr Jones is awake and sitting in bed sipping on a cup of tea. It may seem like a miraculous recovery, but this is pretty normal for Mr Jones. Once the cup of tea was finished, the abuse began. "Where's my gumboots?" he demanded. "At the back door. They're too muddy to bring inside." My response seems to irritate him, "They're my property. You'd no right to take them. Give me my bloody gumboots." Again I tell him they're at the back door and they can wait. "I want them now, give me my f..king gumboots." The deterioration in his language means he's nearly ready to leave. "You're welcome to go get them" I said. Mr Jones got up, walked to the back door, put on his gumboots and without a thank-you or goodbye, began the walk home.