Pool_1

Take a moment. Think this through. What do you say? Forget the blood. Put that suture down. Have a cookie and some milk while you carefully consider all the many ramifications of each word you might utter. OK? Got your answer? And will your reply always be the same? Always? Even when chaos has you by the nuts? Nurses know. They just know. For sure they knew doctor Marcus Macaluso. "Here, Mac." Nurse Sutherland, circulating back-up between the two active trauma rooms, slipped a root beer barrel candy into his surgical mask. "Fading?" She returned to the phone, which she had interrupted and put on hold. He sighed, "Mmmmm. Shthanksh. Schluuup. Gesh sho." Well? What do you do? Do you stop surgery to listen to that blowhard? Afterall, he sounded quite adamant. How's this? Offer several possible meeting times, referring him to your secretary? Or do you, as Sutherland just knew was coming, and remember you have been in surgery for 30 continuous hours and will probably not be done for some time yet - do you tell him to go to the morgue and chew on the dead? Gee. Tough choice. Grovel to an unctuous low life who really can't do squat to you because he isn't worth snot - or - let him know what you think? Now, if you find this hard, if you are having a problem with this hypothetical, maybe you ought to go away - now. Just go. Go tell babbling fools how their points are all well taken. Go buy some controlling stocks - or something else comfortably base. You don't really want to know any more about our doctor friend who was in a race to keep up with realities thrust before him and not inclined to make apologies for his own stretched emotional resources. Sutherland was no dummy. She couldn't get to that root beer candy fast enough nor did she gently drop it in into his mask as much as pull his head around and shove it