Pool_1

"Uh, let's see, mmmmm," checking the chart hoping for a reprieve that didn't come, "mmmm, here. She was four hunded fifty pounds." Denise Morgan, the least inhibited, was the first to get an oh fuck out of her mouth as Blake told the presenter to go on. "She wanted a breast reduction. What can I tell you? It was her.." but he stopped knowing not to push Blake, of all people. He recounted the difficulty of doing reduction is larger frame ladies as Mary Richards was wondering aloud if that would leave man holes behind. He continued that she had some uncharacteristic wound healing problems. The floor nurse stood and gave a chilling description of huge open wounds with whale blubber-like flaps hanging where beasts ought to be. Try to imagine a wall of all eyeballs. Then try to imagine them all rolling in near unison. Doctor Flanders, shot out the first gallery question, "What did your consent form read?" The projectionist must have been psychic as immediately that consent was projected with the patient name covered. It read, "Breast reduction", and that's all. Flanders clutched his chest with his mouth agape. A fifteen minute trouncing of Dr. Foedus ended when Doctor Osten stood and proclaimed that "Criticism is wasted on this man." This was a job for process. That would follow, Blake's eyes divulged. "Cases 104793 through 104796. Dr. Chu," he called out, then adding in a lower voice, "Keep these brief, Chewie." Feeling a bit slighted, Dr. Chu stood up, "When they got here, they were all very old and very dead," and sat back down. Blake laughed, then coaxed, "Chew-ie! Come-on Chu." Dr. Chu, the hospital's chief pathologist slowly arose then rotated side to side like an area fan on a hot day, in delivery his intellectual air. The youngest of these venerables, as he called them, was 87, the oldest was, he thought as best could be