Suicide isn't funny. Depression isn't funny. Sometimes, however, the world just throws you a curveball, and you can't help but chuckle at an otherwise sad situation. Seems like an oxymoron, eh?
I was called to do a trauma consultation on the psych ward (UH OH!) for a young lady who tried to commit suicide by cutting her wrist. As I've said, the hardest part about a suicide attempt is trying to guarantee that the attempt will not be successful.
I rushed to the psych ward expecting a scene out of "The Shining" - blood gushing down the hall. But when I got there and was buzzed in through the nuclear bomb shelter-type door, I introduced myself as the trauma surgeon on call, and the nurse trudged off slowly to find the patient, telling me to wait right here.
He came back several agonizing minutes later with the young lady who may have been attractive if it had not been for the slack-jawed medicine-induced look of sheer apathy on her face. Her wrist was loosely wrapped in gauze. I looked at the nurse as if to ask if this was the correct patient. He just stared at me expectantly.
I unwrapped her wrist and saw 3 tiny scratches. "This?" I asked incredulously, pointing. "Yes," the nurse replied. "That's what she did with the plastic knife. Does she need stitches?"
Plastic knife? Stitches? She got a few butterfly strips, and I left.
They called me back 2 days later for the same patient. Plastic knife, same wrist. Again.
I politely asked them to take her plastic knife away now, please. They really put the "moron" in "oxymoron".