Halloween is just around the corner, which makes it a perfect time for a horror story.
Imagine opening your eyes and seeing yourself lying down on an operating table at a strange hospital. You must be under the influence of some drug. Your mind is not clear and you remember very little about who you are and how you got there.
Strangely enough, you are only mildly interested about the whole situation, as scary as it is, you focus away from your predicament and your attention goes to admire all these shiny scalpels and cutting tools on the table next to you. Shiny. A very, very faint voice in the back of your mind is telling you this can't be good.
A reassuring looking man approaches you and with a comforting voice he introduces himself. Then he places a respirator over your face and you breath in a very pleasant gas that makes you feel great. You see Homer Simpson in your mind's eye, saying Doughnuts, uh mm...
As you feel disappointed that the nice surgeon took the mask away, you notice that there are two other men in that room, dressed in scrubs and smiling at you. The three of them start talking to you, at the same time, over each other. You find this hilarious. One of them, the main surgeon, it seems, says that you only need a small surgical procedure that can be done with local anaesthesia. The other two men stare at the main surgeon as if a they are upset with the man. You see the three men approaching the table near you and grabbing some surgical tools. Their body language is menacing. The instruments are gigantic and scary looking, not very consistent with the idea of a "small" procedure. The table has a label on it. "Sequestration". You don't know what that means.
You notice there's a large screen TV in the room. Your only thought at this moment is "what's on?". It could be The Big Bang theory, boy I love Shelton and the blond. Have I seen this one? The local news start. Oh, the Yankees really suck this season.
You notice that the three men have cleaned up your abdomen with some sponges and a nasty looking purple liquid. You notice for the first time that your arms and legs are tied to the table. The three men take turns arguing with each other in the nastiest tone, then they stop and smile at you. They start a conversation with you using a very nice tone of voice. They want you to agree with them about the right approach for this surgery. "What the heck do I know? You think, I just hope they know what they are doing", but the fact that they disagree so violently with each other makes you more than a little scared. You just yell "whatever you do, put me under RIGHT NOW!."
As the main surgeon places the respirator over your face, you hear him say "you are in good hands". You start laughing to yourself. He sounds like and Allstate commercial. You can't wait for the other guys to start talking to you, one of them, you swear, sounds like the goose in the AFLACK commercial. You start wondering if the blond in The Big Bang Theory is really hot, hot, or just hot as compared to the other nerds on the show. Uff. A difficult question to answer.
You look down and you realize that each one of the surgeons is using a marker and drawing a series of lines on your abdomen. Lines that show where they intend to cut. There are three different layouts on your abdomen now. You try to remember what the main surgeon said about your procedure, but you can't recall the details. Was the other guy the one that said minor before is now is saying major? The word Romneysia comes to mind, but you don't know what it means. Who cares, cause the Yankees really sucked this season.
When you look down again, the three surgeons are trying to use their scalpels on you at the same time, but as they reach towards your abdomen, the other surgeons push one another back and you luckily stay unscathed. They are yelling, arguing about the lines they just draw. You hear, "this truly represents the middle class, the 47% the 1% and jobs" whatever the heck they say, does not really seem to apply to you, but it seems like they need to label you to cure you. A rose by any other name, you think.
You see that they are reaching over you trying to take the scalpels out of each other's hands. You wonder what would happen if they dropped one of these scalpels on you by accident, you are pretty sure you are not wearing much clothing down there and more importantly, you don't have an athletic cup on.
In the middle of this, someone changed channels on the TV. Sesame Street. That must be Big Bird. You have a faint realization in the back of your mind, that the argument among the surgeons at this very moment may be related to that TV show.
You are drugged up and high as a kite, but you clearly come to the conclusion that these surgeons may not be qualified to take care of you, not because of lack of skills, but because their actions prove to you they care more about their surgical career than about your health. First do no harm comes to mind, but you're still hazy. Is that in my patient bill of rights?
You look down at the surgical team. They are now wrestling each other to the ground, completely unaware that you are still sick and still lying on the table. Somehow your head is getting clearer and you notice that your are tied to the operating table just with Velcro bands. So you free yourself and slowly get up.
The three surgeons are going at each other with everything they have. This is now a full blown fist fight. A large metal cabinet is coming down on them. Instead of trying to stop it from falling, they all start accusing each other on who is to blame for making it fall. This is a very heavy metal cabinet, with a large label on top "National debt" and it contains five enourmous boxes. Social security, Medicare, Medicaid, Military and Welfare, the labels say.
You are lucky you got up on time, as the cabinet crashed down on the operating table. You could have being severely hurt. Your now clearing head tells you that the surgeons should not even attempt any new surgery until they can figure out how to make the operating room safe for their patients. They need to figure out what to do with those boxes. You sort of recall that the boxes used to be smaller and lighter and fit perfectly in a smaller cabinet, but things changed. Now it is a problem, a safety issue for the patients.
A nice nurse approaches you and smiles. She is kind and wise, her name is Constitution. She says, I am here to protect you from these surgeons, you realize these guys work for you?
As you walk out, you are happy your hospital has a nurse like this. She smiles kindly at you as you say good bye. She knows you are completely unaware that your rear end is uncovered as you walk down the busy corridor.
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