From: Todd E Van Hoosear (vanhoose@manetheren.cl.msu.edu)
Date: 10/15/03
[From Susan Valeri] [From Nick Schmitt] Mrs. Jones gets a call from the hospital. They tell her that her husband's been in a terrible car accident. She rushes to the hospital, runs in to the ER, worried sick. They tell her Dr. Smith is handling the case. They page the doctor. He comes out to the waiting room to see a terribly upset Mrs. Jones. "Mrs. Jones?" the doctor asks. "Yes sir, what's happened? How is my husband?" The doctor sits next to her and says, "Not good news. Your husband's accident resulted in two fractures of his spine." "Oh my God" says Mrs. Jones, "what will be his prognosis?" "Well, Mrs. Jones, his vital signs are stable. However, his spine is inoperable. He'll have no motor skills or capability. This means you will have to feed him." Mrs. Jones begins to sob. "And you'll have to turn him in his bed every two hours to prevent pneumonia." Mrs. Jones begins to wail and cry loudly. "Then, of course," the doctor continued, "you'll have to diaper him as he'll have no control over his bladder and of course these diapers must be changed at least five times a day." Mrs. Jones begins to shake as she cries, sobs, wails. The doctor continues: "And you'll have to clean up his feces on a regular basis as he'll have no control over his sphincter. His bowel will engorge whenever and quite often, I'm afraid. Of course you must clean him immediately to avoid accumulation of the putrid effluent he'll be emitting regularly." Now Mrs. Jones is convulsing sobbing uncontrollably and beginning to wither off the bench into a sobbing pitiful mass. Just then Dr. Smith reaches out his hand and pats Mrs. Jones on the shoulder. "Hey, I'm just f*cking with you, he's dead."
This archive was generated by hypermail 2.1.6 : 10/15/03 EDT