Intensive Care

Intensive Care Yesterday, the carpenter pounded his nails and spread smiles in the townsquare, but today his body was a wound, fresh from screeching tires and asphalt. Today, the surgeon-in-chief raised his stethoscope like a sceptre, paused, considered, passed judgment. "Pneumothorax. He's too agitated," barked the surgeon to his entourage. "But he's thirsty," implored a nurse, always at bedside. "Fourpoint restraints, a chest-tube through his fifth ribspace, and ifyou like, a sponge to his lips." The surgical team went to the sink, washed their hands, and moved on to the car thief in the next bed. RB Schoene 166 ...