June 26, 2006, 11:11 pm

A Wedge of “The Literary Cheese Wheel”: Med Meets Man





What was he expecting, breast milk?

As a card-carrying member of the “I Was A Teenage Dork” fraternal organization (or should that be “maternal” organization), I hereby submit this dorky ad as a supplement to my contribution.

Actually, I was an anomaly amongst dorks, for although I was a dork I also held the highly coveted title of “Head Varsity Cheerleader” at the same time.

Today, I may look like a upstanding member of the nursing community, caring for those sick, frail and more often than not, constipated.

But deep down inside, in places you don’t talk about at parties, I am still a dork.

And now for our feature presentation.


They lived in darkness and although he shared his space with 15 others, it wasn’t bad. Thin cardboard separated the inhabitants. In an odd way, he felt secure.

His ID was indelibly stamped on his body. It kept him separate and accounted for. He never questioned why.

It was the only life he had known.


His world was shattered by a sudden intrusion of light. He felt the jostling of his cubicle-mates. He felt himself being ripped away. A change in temperature shocked his system. He was thrown on a hard surface, nearly fracturing him in half.

What had he done to deserve this abuse?

He was pushed out of his living quarters and dropped into a solid plastic cage with others he had never seen before. He tried to keep his distance. Another one, somewhat older, looked at the youngster.

“It’s our time”.


The cage was held in a warm, sweaty appendage.. They were moving quickly.

And what did the other mean by, “It’s our time”?

The motion stopped. His transportation device was handed to a moving mass who tossed the inmates into a moist, soft cavity, followed by an odd substance.

Was that….water?

He had heard the rumors, stories that made their way from cubible to cubicle.

He never believed them.


He no longer had control. He tumbled down a long tube as he felt himself disolving, softly torn apart by the water molecules until finally his emaciated body was dropped into a hot cauldron of hydrochloric acid, where he was broken down into his component parts.

And as he absorbed into the life form that consumed him, his last conscious thought was of his mother in the beaker at the lab.


And Lorazepam the pill, his life force but a memory, was no more.

The End.


  • Wendy, S.N.

    June 27, 2006 at 5:54 am

    Oh the tortured life of an Ativan.

    That was really kind of twisted. But gripping, nonetheless.

    W. 🙂

  • Kelly

    June 27, 2006 at 6:42 am

    Ativan, ah yes, a true life-saver for some. Yet, not for himself. Where is his self-contained therapy when he needs it most himself, as his anxiety swiftly turns into convulsions?

    You are branching out, my friend!

  • docbraypa

    June 27, 2006 at 7:33 am

    When I saw the picture – thinking of the vintage – and my prior military service . . . I was thinking of milk from the powder . . .

    nothing cures like a trip on the ‘van . . .

  • MotherJonesRN

    June 27, 2006 at 12:04 pm

    Mother’s little helpers. I love the stuff. Ativan works wonders keeping a psych unit quiet. Just add Haldol.

    Mother Jones RN

  • […] Gee, everyone felt so sorry for my little Ativan pill in this post, I felt bad for writing it. […]

  • Fat Doctor

    June 27, 2006 at 6:12 pm

    Niiiiiiiiicely done, Kim!

  • […] Med Meets Man. (Emergiblog) […]

  • Maria

    June 28, 2006 at 7:37 pm

    Awesome–ordering lorazepam shall never be the same, ever again. 😉

  • Wyvern75

    June 28, 2006 at 8:40 pm

    The picture vintage looks like the WWII service uniform of the American Army and if he was in either Europe, Africa or the Pacific, he got powdered milk (and not done very well) for the entire time he was there. My father still won’t allow powdered milk in the house. It got so bad that the Quartermaster Corps (the people who get supplies) spent the years between WWII and Korea perfecting how to make powder milk taste like real milk.
    Still the milk when I was in Korea in ’83 tasted nasty.

About Me

My name is Kim, and I'm a nurse in the San Francisco Bay area. I've been a nurse for 33 years; I graduated in 1978 with my ADN. My experience is predominately Emergency and Critical Care, and I have also worked in Psychiatry and Pediatrics. I made the decision to be a nurse back in 1966 at the age of nine...

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