His Blood Was Mine

His Blood Was Mine

“Get a med student,” someone said. The chief looked at me with restrained optimism as she nominated me to convert this alleged miscreant to an obedient, trusting patient. Be careful, “This one’s got AIDS.”

While I contemplated which heroic maneuvers of interpersonal savvy might elicit my desired effect, a nurse helped me gather a hazmat bag brimming with supplies: a tourniquet, ethanol wipes, needles, tubes, stickers, gauze, and bandages.

The stench of rotting flesh cloaked me as I entered the room, and like an unbathed woodsman ready for the first hunt of the season, I was thankful for the camouflage. I considered that our patient might be nothing more than a lifeless carcass, surely not a belligerent being.

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Surgical Surprise

Surgical Surprise

It began in the middle of America when two years ago God told her, let’s pretend her name is Mary, that she must “seek medical care.”  Mary had just finishing packing her groceries into the car when out of nowhere she heard a voice that she recognized as God. The voice told her that she needed medical attention. God didn’t tell her why, but only that she needed it. Mary had faith in her creator, so she moved across the country with her daughter to her sister’s apartment to find the best medicine that she could afford.

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