Eat a salad

A few of us are talking at the hospital about different districts.

“Around here all we get are dumb calls, so it’s nice to go into the ghetto for other dumb calls just for variety.”

Speaking of dumb calls, the next call: code 3 for abdominal pain. It really is for constipation. Two days. An able-bodied – OK, overweight – woman with constipation. And family members with cars. And driver’s licenses. And plenty of ridiculously exaggerated concern. I suppose there is a danger of her dying of exploding from the poop buildup; medical literature is very clear on this. Haven’t these people heard of vegetables? Water? Metamucil?

Anyway, an engine company and an ambulance arrive. At midnight. Begrudgingly. So remember, the next time you come down with ventricular fibrillation and are wondering why the arrival of the defibrillator is taking longer than the 6 minutes to have a shot at preventing the irreversible death of your brain, just be thankful that unlike that woman you were able to poop that morning. Because people who drop dead poop their pants when their butt muscles relax.

I sincerely hope her insurance company makes her pay the ambulance bill.

And as shift change rolls around, the oncoming crew is dispatched to the child who swallowed a coin. So vegetables children don’t eat but coins taste better? I guess we’ll see this child in a couple of days when the parents call 911 for constipation.

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