Tae 5 - Re: Chapped Anus perpectives

Jumping into to this thread.

You don't need to be a contortionist to view yer own 'back door.' Nor would you need any fancy medical equipment [all fakery anyway]

How about laying a large mirror on the floor - then squatting over it, and viewing the 'muscle of muscles.'

What is the sound of half yer anus clamping shut?

Spllurrrt!

Seriously [sure] this idea can be found in Kundera's _The Unbearable Lightness of Being_. [literary tie-in]

ObTastelessCall: worked in the city bus this week - was sitting in the dispatch center, trying to out-stink/fart/gross my partner. Chris had the decided advantage since she ate a whole block of Muenster cheese before coming to work. The phone rang, and we listened on the speaker- phone as the dispatcher answered -

Disp: "Ambulance - your call's being recorded."
Caller: "PLEASE HELP ME! IT'S MY BABY. MY BABY! MY BABY!"
Disp: "What's your address ma'am?"
Caller: "I NEED HELP! MY BABY'S NOT BREATHING! HELP ME!"
Disp: "Ma'am, I need for you to calm down - what's your address?"
Caller: "OH MY GOD - MY BABY'S DEAD!"

Since the woman wasn't really with the program, we traced the call and got the address from where she was calling.

"Baby not breathing" calls usually get several police cruisers, half the city's fire department, one ambulance, and the respective supervisors from each department. So that would make it say - nine vehicles.

When we got on arrival - we had to _walk_ about half a block up the street to the address, since there were already half a dozen large vehicles blocking the street.

As we got closer, I could hear a woman screaming.

When we got to the door - the woman ran up to us and grabbed my arm, and tried to pull me faster into the apartment, screaming:

"HELP ME PLEASE! IT'S MY BABY! HE'S NOT BREATHING!"

When the sea of firefighters and police officers parted to let me get my first look at her 'baby' - this is what I saw:

An early-thirties male, on the floor, turning a lovely-sea scape blue color. He had the look of a mentally retarded person - large head, kinda pudgy, wearing jeans and a tee-shirt. I could almost imagine him in coveralls ...

I tried ventilating him with our 'ambu' bag - no air would go down. So, I used my larygnoscope 'blade' to lift the glottis, and saw - a fluorescent-green 'super-ball.' The kind you get from penny-candy machines. I tried to get at it with a pair of clamps - but, have you ever tried to pick up a slick, saliva-covered, hard-rubber ball, using a pair of tongs?

Chris was setting up the monitor - when I said:

"Chris - he's got an obstructed airway - give him an abdominal thrust"

So she straddled this guy's waist - no easy feat, then pushed _hard_ on his abdomen - causing a sudden increase in air pressure in the lungs, forcefully expelling the rubber-ball out, and straight at my head - which it bounced off quite nicely, thank you.

The patient started to cough, and his color turned a bright pink. I moved aside to wipe my glasses, as they had been 'slimed ' with saliva, while Chris checked the patient. All was well.

As we were transporting him to the hospital for evaluation - his two _big_ questions were:

"Where's my mommy?" and "Where's my ball?"

Which were both repeated every five minutes or so.

All the way over to the hospital - a little cartoon played over and over in my head. Bugs Bunny with the snow-creature:

"Duh - which way did he go", "I will call him George."

Baby indeed.

- Tae

(Originally posted on Mon, 23 May 1994)