The Call Gods have been fucking with me. Well, they always fuck with me, but lately they've been fucking with me even more than usual. I know that may seem hard to believe now that you know what you do about them . . . actually, maybe they've been more evil than usual because I've told you about them. I'll need to think about that for a while.
In the meantime, I'll explain what I mean and hope the Call Gods aren't able to read this. Because if they can, they will rain down a shitstorm of epic proportions that will officially end me.
In addition to serving me ice-cold vengeance (though what I ever did to anger them in the first place is beyond me), they also play games with me. No, not fun games like Pac Man or Skee-ball, but nasty games like Test Doc's Mental Strength.
I have mentioned Trauma Themes in the past, but I'll review in case you've forgotten. Lord knows I've tried to forget and failed miserably. Anyway, some of my days seem to be like the movie Groundhog Day - the same thing happens over and over. I've sensed this many times in the past, but I've never actually chronicled it.
Fuck you, Call Gods. I'm on to you.
Two weeks ago I had a relatively busy trauma call with a total of 13 patients brought to me. This may not seem like that big a number over a 24-hour period, but when you consider that it can take upwards of an hour per patient (or even longer for the seriously injured patients), that number doesn't seem quite so reasonable anymore, especially when half of them come in after midnight. What made this day stick out in my memory was that three of them came in with isolated left shoulder injuries (dislocations and/or fractures).
What, you're not impressed? That isn't a good enough example for you? Don't worry then, I'm just getting warmed up.
Two months ago I had eight patients come in all day. It wasn't that busy, and the night was rather quiet. Now keep in mind that I get all variety of traumatic injuries, including car and motorcycle accidents, stabbings, shootings, assaults, bicycle accidents, boating accidents, industrial accidents. That particular day all 8 of my patients were falls. No car accidents, just falls. One after another they came - fall, fall, fall, fall, fall, fall, fall, fall.
Still not buying it? Ok, it gets better.
On a beautiful spring day, one where I was expecting a very busy day, I had only two patients all day. Just two. It was a lovely day, I was blissfully not busy, and I actually managed to enjoy the spring weather. But though the Call Gods saw fit to spare me a lot of nonsense, what they did decide to send me were both sports-related injuries: first a martial artist who was kicked by his sparring partner and broke a rib, and then a football player who got sandwiched between two other players and suffered a concussion.
Still not good enough? STILL not a believer? Oh you will be after this.
Towards the end of last year I had a rather busy day, though nothing too out of the ordinary. But of the 10 patients I had that day, two of them had isolated injuries . . . to the left 4th finger. Yes indeed, the Call Gods chuckled as they delivered me a young man who had amputated the tip of his left ring finger with a table saw, and I guarantee they were laughing their evil asses off as they dropped off another young man who was shot through his left ring finger.
If you aren't a believer in the Call Gods by now, then you haven't been listening to a thing I've said. And if you are a believer, I'm sure you realise the risk I'm taking by potentially angering them even more, but you know what? FUCK THEM.
Ha ha! Just kidding, Call Gods. Ha ha! Good joke, right? No seriously, I was just kidding. Guys?