NEMS to the Rescue

I was surprised at the massive and rapid response. There were EMS guys everywhere. Two of them had me down on the floor and immobilized faster than a rodeo cowboy can truss up a pig. And the thing was, it wasn't even a bad paper cut.

"Can't be too careful!" barked my boss, Mr. Pfister, from the safety of his office. "What with all the fraudulent worker's comp claims and frivolous lawsuits and all!"

"I don't really need EMS," I whispered. One of the EMS guys was sitting on my chest, making normal speech impossible. I noticed his name tag. It said "Dick," which I was beginning to think was appropriate.

"That's 'NEMS,'" corrected Dick, as he jammed needles into both my arms. "'Neo Emergency Medical Services.' The old-fashioned guys are too slow and too wimpy."

"But what are you doing?" I gasped. "I don't need any intravenous drips."

"Not intravenous drips," snapped Dick. "We're drawing blood for some of our ... preferred clients. Two arms, no waiting. Hey, George! Get on that pinky!"

That was where the paper cut was. Left pinky. There wasn't even any blood. Until the other guy, whose name tag, sure enough, read "George," started squeezing on it with both hands.

Then Dick unsheathed a straight razor and swiftly slit my throat.

"What was that for?" I burbled as best I could, vainly trying to free my arms from under Dick's knees.

"Now, these pinky cuts are treacherous," lectured Dick. "Got to treat them real careful!"

"Throat!" I gurgled.

"Couple more capillaries need tyin' off," said George. "I can see a subcutaneous blush right there."

"Thrurble!"

"Go for it!" Dick urged George. "Mighty nasty things, those paper cuts!"

"Thr-rrr-rrr-urble!"

"Now, shut up about the throat!" snapped Dick. "Had to do that for your own good!"

"Everything's going fine with the throat!" added George. "Just can't seem to stabilize this pinky."

"Ok," replied Dick, "better just apply a full-pinky tourniquet. Can't take chances, eh?"

"Right you are!" said George, as he strangled my pinky.

"Now, we're gettin' somewhere!" said Dick approvingly.

"Thr...thr...thr..."

"Uh-oh!" cried George. "Red alert! The pinky is turning purple!"

"Well, amputate, then!" snapped Dick, with some irritation. George did as he was instructed.

Of course, by then, I was watching them mutilate my hapless corpse from somewhere up on the ceiling.

"Hmmm," mused Dick, noticing that my body seemed to be missing some of its erstwhile energy. "Afraid we lost this one." He shrugged. "Damn tricky, those paper cuts. Damn tricky."

"Eeeuuw!" prigged George with disgust. "It's just as well. He was getting blood all over my hands!"

"Well, we got a couple of pints bagged before he went." Dick shrugged again. "Right! Off we go!"

"Wa-a-ai-ai-i-it just one minute!" objected Mr. Pfister, looking up from a stack of paperwork. "You're not leaving that in the middle of the floor, are you?"

"There are some good companies you can contract with to haul it away," said Dick kindly. "Own one myself. Here's the card. Off we go! Other emergencies call!"

"No need to thank us," added George. "It's all in a day's work ... for NEMS!"

The US House of Representatives voted on 12/19/2005 to cut spending on Medicaid and other entitlement programs. The Senate is poised to pass the same legislation, possibly with a tie-breaking vote from VP Dick Cheney. This would cut perhaps half of one percent from the federal budget, yet make life significantly more difficult for the poor and vulnerable. In the meantime, plans for a multi-billion dollar tax cut for rich people go forward. While Congress sucks dribbles of blood from those who can least afford it, the hemorrhage in Iraq continues apace.