Love and Lust in a White Coat by L B Wells

Author:L B Wells [Wells, L B]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-03-11T16:00:00+00:00

15. How to Bowl a Perfect Game

“I assume you have disimpacted patients before . . .” Amir’s baritone voice reverberated in my ears. At long last, my fourth year had arrived, and I was working at City Hospital under the man of my frequent dreams.

I hadn’t performed the disimpaction procedure, but I knew what was coming. We stopped for a moment outside the patient’s room.

“Meet Mrs. McCormick. She’s eighty-five and was transferred from a nursing home after not having passed flatus or stool in approximately three days. I want you to use the bowling ball technique.” He held up two fingers and a thumb, shaping his hand into a claw, and gesturing that the three fingers should be inserted into her hard stool, as if you were plugging fingers into the holes of a bowling ball.

“Oh my god,” I muttered, under my breath.

“Did you say something?”

“No, sir! I will get right to it.”

From the supply closet, I procured two opera-length latex gloves, a surgical mask, and a tube of Surgilube. I entered the room, introducing myself.

Mrs. McCormick was not very verbal. She simply moaned.

“Mrs. McCormick!” I was brisk and emphatic. “I understand that you have not had a bowel movement in several days?”

Mrs. McCormick continued her moaning, rocking back and forth in her hospital bed. I was afraid she’d tip it over. I gloved up, not once but twice, slabbed a generous amount of lube on my fingers, and prepared to throw a strike down the alley.

I went in bravely, encountering rock-hard stool with a delightful fragrance. I worked on Mrs. McCormick for thirty minutes, pulling pounds of debris out of her rectum, nearly fainting from the stench.

Even with the double gloves, I figured it would take weeks and a hefty amount of acetone, rubbing alcohol, Febreze, and maybe some Clorox to scrub out the smell, like Lady Macbeth trying to wash “out, out” that damned spot.

Strike! Spare! Did I mitigate this poor lady’s symptoms? Maybe there was a simpler antidote, like eating more fiber.

Mrs. McCormack ceased howling. Her abdomen was now soft and pliable. Using reverse sterile technique, I removed the gloves and then the surgical mask. My perspiration-soaked scrub top clung to me. As I exited the patient’s room, Amir’s tall frame came into view, tapping his impatient foot.

“Good job, medical student,” he remarked, standing back and ignoring my assets, by now outlined starkly through the wet scrub top. “Let’s go. Much more work to do.” Amir began another fast-paced march down the hallway. His swagger caused everyone’s heads to turn in his wake as we plowed into the stairwell.

“Medical student,” he declared. “Keep up.” Didn’t any of us have names?

Amir’s next case involved a diabetic lady with a gangrenous toe. He asked me to go into the room ahead of him and evaluate her vital signs and the condition of her extremities.

I did as instructed and placed a hand on the patient’s right big toe. With no resistance, it auto-amputated in my hand, leaving me holding the green, fungal appendage.

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