Our Emerald Isle - What's Up Doc?

Brian was in the back counting money from the local poker game that no one was supposed to know about.  Bev was in the kitchen experimenting with a biscuit recipe, watched over very carefully by Ray the Raven.  Abdul had gone to Saturday night mass which I thought strange because he always wanted the Friday Muslim service off, along with any Christian or Jewish holidays that might come along.  He claims he just wants to pay homage to all, my guess is that he is hedging his bets.  Traci was in the corner whispering in the ear of some young hard body, and I was once again regaling my customers with the wit and wisdom of which I was and still am so blessed.

“So you see me fine lads, America has the best medical system and doctors in the world ”  And with the word ‘world’ I slammed my glass tankard of ale down on the bar.  Apparently I slammed it a little too hard because it shattered on the hard oak bar top.  My hand slipped from the handle crashing the outside of my palm against the glass shards.  A fountain of blood started spewing forth like a Texas oil well if in fact they still let oil wells spew. 

Every one in the bar was stunned at first and I was in shock I guess because I felt no pain and was mesmerized by the blood gushing out from the side of my hand.  MacDougal happened to be sitting beside me and immediately grabbed my wrist to stop the flow of blood.  McDaniel, sitting on the other side, grabbed the bar rag and pressed it against my opened wound.  Between the hand tourniquet and direct pressure the flow of blood slowed and then stopped altogether.

We all sat there for what must have been a short time even though in retrospect it seemed like a long time, when someone said we ought to get the doctor.  Some one else said that somebody would have to go get him because his car had broken down and he hadn’t the money to pay for it until his medical subsidy came in next week.  I told them it was not necessary because if we applied enough pressure long enough coagulation would set in and all would be fine.  I remembered that from my Army or Boy Scout days.  I couldn’t recall which exactly, not that there was that much difference in the training or application of the career.  I guess the Boy Scouts did have adult leadership though.

To pass the time I called for Brian to set up a round for the house.  MacDougal and McDaniel started to sweat a little, and I think I even saw a tear come to the eye of McDaniel.  “What’s wrong with you two? I asked, “I am the one in harms way here.” 

“Yes, we know that,” said MacDougal, “It is only that it takes both our hands to keep the blood from spewing out so you won’t bleed to death and we are just contemplating how we are going to drink our free pints.  Opportunities like this don’t come around a lot you know.”

It would have been an easy fix for my sniveling two sods if we had straws available but we did not serve enough soft drinks to justify the expense.  Traci suggested that she could lift the glass up to their lips but McDaniel had a harelip and the ingredients would fall on his chin thus wasting the brew and create bitterness and jealously towards MacDougal and everyone else in the pub I suspected because no one else had such a deformity that would cause the spillage.

I must admit that I became very proud of MacDougal and McDaniel when they decided that they could do without for awhile.  They thought that coagulation would soon occur and they were determined to put aside their concerns for the good of the community and my hand.  They both said they were of sturdy stock.  They hunkered down for the duration but their commitment seemed to grow weaker by the minute, they sort of started crumbling before my eyes.  You would think they were the ones to losing blood.  Depression can do strange things to a person I guess.

After a few minutes we all decided that perhaps the blood had coagulated enough and my two medics slowly released the pressure from my wrist and wound, but as soon as they did the fountain of blood returned and spurt out like the water from the blowhole of Moby Dick.  My two medics resumed their positions to stop the flow but more depressed than they had been for they realized it would be longer till they got some brew.

“Ok, enough is enough,” came a voice from the kitchen door.  Bev had been watching all this nonsense for a while and decided that I was not going to bleed to death on her watch. 

She instructed one of the boys to fetch Doc Leep and tossed him the keys to the moped.  She too new that the Doc’s car was out of commission and we would all just have to endure the extra time it took to get him and drive him back.  Another lad she told to fetch the water hose out back.  When the water hose arrived she told Brian to depressurize a keg of beer and stick one end of the hose in it.  She then took the other end of the hose slit it down the middle to a point where eventually she had two half hose bits.  She then took some duct tape and card board and made two straw type looking affairs.  “There now Mac and Mic, suck on these while we wait for the Doc.”   The procedure immediately revived my two saviors and fortified their resolve

Doc Leep showed up later than he would have liked of course and immediately went to work.  I knew he thought it was some what serious because he did not order his usual merlot prior to his stitching my hand.  I must say for an Irishman without the proper American medical training, he did a pretty good job. 

I asked him if being without his car caused him problems.  He said just a little, but not enough to forgo the extra expense.  “I really can’t afford two BMWs, I am not an American doctor you know.”