He was glad to see me and laughed when I told him I had brought him an extra desert because I didn't want him to waste away because of hospital food. I was quite busy at lunch, but I saved Tim's tray till last and got an extra dish of ice cream out of the freezer. With them out of the way, I could give Tim some real intensive care. I gave him some Demerol, and was about to feed him some orange juice and cereal, when my beeper went off.Away I went, softened by Tim's understanding smile, but irritated enough to want to pull out the tubes on all the cranky old farts on my ward. Tim was awake and alert,but his eyes telegraphed pain. After morning rounds I got back to Tim's room. but I knew what would make Tim feel better - a sponge bath and an alcohol rub. The doctor rattled off instructions about treatment, medication, etc. The doctor droned on about crushed ribs and compound fractures, but I concentrated on those two taut thighs protruding from his hospital gown, and wondered what type of equipment would be found at their juncture. His upper torso was swathed in bandages, and both arms and one leg were in casts. But there was a new admission in 317, an 18 year old male named Tim who had been in a bad car accident. Strokes or terminal cancer, they would have been better off home with their loved ones. So far the morning rounds had been depressingly uneventful as the doctor led me through several geriatric patients with no good prognosis.
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