FWJ Community Creativity Challenge: The One Paragraph Story
September 17, 2008 by Deb
Filed under Freelance Writing
What’s going on in this picture? It may seem pretty cut and dry, but to quote Rod Stewart, “Every picture tells a story, don’t it?” That may not be grammatically correct but it’s a good reminder we can’t always take things at face value. Your mission today is to take a good look at this photograph. At first glance it appears to be two doctors conferring over an image. Surely there’s more to it than that. Look around. Take in all the details. Give us the one paragraph story.
first ever post- be gentle
Dr. Bediko could smell his own rancid breath directed back towards his nose by the surgical mask. The smell of stale eggs, bacon and coffee furthered the nausea brought on by Dr. Fitzpatrick’s discovery. It certainly wasn’t routine but it also wasn’t uncommon for surgeons to mistakenly leave something “behind,” a sponge, a clamp; usually the hospital saved face by reprimanding the surgeon and compensating the patient (rather handsomely). This however, was a case that would most certainly make the papers, and mean a loss of jobs for all involved. Bediko thought it would have been romantic, proposing over the table where he had met the love of his life two years prior. She, a surgical nurse with a ruptured appendix; he, the life saving surgeon. Two years later here they were, working together saving the life of another appendicitis patient, it was perfect. It was perfect, until the patient complained of some post-op pain in the incision site. Dr. Fitzpatrick looking at the monitor, the ultrasound imaging a small mass; Dr. Bediko realizing that he inadvertently gave his fiancé’s diamond to someone else.
Two Washington D.C. doctors today were startled to find that George W. Bush does in fact have a heart.
That was awesome, Ryan!
Congratulations for the blog! It´s very interesting.
Keep up the good work.
–
Taylor
http://www.usa-ham.com
b2busa@usa-ham.com
“I’m telling you, that is a spaghetti stain.”
“It looks like a splatter of blood to me.”
“Here, let me taste it and we’ll find out.”
Dr Stephanopoulos pondered the image. He considered the lines and form, the textures, hues and sensuous curves formed by thousands of tiny monitor pixels. Of course he had no idea what they meant. The chance to reveal himself as Brian Stephanopoulos, art teacher at Rosemount Elementary, had probably passed after the first incision. Definitely by the second. Absolutely by the third. Most of all though, he pondered the best time to announce that his finger was stuck to the display screen.
Nice job so far guys.
PP – that’s awesome.
The doctor gestured at the screen. “There,” he said. In a self-satisfied tone containing all the force of a papal edict, he added, “I told you we’d find the remote!” It had been two long months of manual channel-changing, but at long last they had an answer.
Oh,look! Mr. Sharpe isn’t suing because we broke doctor/patient confidentiality by plastering his name and innards all over the world wide web. He’s afraid we’ll sell his photo as impressionist art. Stand way back and he looks like Poomba’s relative. Up close, his likeness just looks like any another body part.
Dr. Sonjay Gupta, CNN chief medical correspondent is seen here interviewing Barrack Obama, when the camera crew hears the good doctor ask,,,,”Does that really look like lipstick on a pig to you?”
I’ve waited. Eleven long years, I’ve waited. I fidget as I stand behind the doctors. I’m anxiously waiting. They’re talking, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I clear my throat hoping to get some sort of response from them. They point. What is on the monitor so interesting to catch their eye? Is it or isn’t it. I glance at my younger sister as she lies on the exam table. She notices I’m fidgeting like a toddler needing to go potty. She rolls her eyes. I’m still waiting. Waiting. I want to know! I want to know! I have to know now! Is it a girl or a boy?
Proud creators of the first “Spore” creature for live birth take a look at the most recent view. It’s possible to see the development of both the fins and the legs, and the color is better than Doctors Hyde and Doyle had expected. Term is going as desired, and delivery is right on schedule! They know they’ll be able to count on maximum research support after parturition and it couldn’t come at a better time. They’ll need to build a space environment for the creature’s eventual progeny.
There I stood studying the CAT scan of yet another African-American male who had been shot. He had been shot in the abdomen, and Dr. Wu and I came to the conclusion that without a kidney transplant, this man would not make it. I walked into the ICU to do a consult on him, and as I looked into his face, I looked into my own. He was my twin brother who I had not talked to in 12 years. Even though we were identical twins who grew up in the same bad situation, we could not grow up to be more different people, strangers. He used our childhood, being poor black kids with a single mom who was never around, as an excuse to do wrong, getting into drugs, gangs, and making every wrong turn one could make in life. I, on the other hand, took away from my childhood strength and determination to better my life. Now here I was, holding his life in my hands. He needed a kidney, of course I was the perfect match, but could I save this man who even though he was my twin brother was a stranger? What would I do?
In an average sized room with pale white paint, a medical imaging device, a bed and entirely to much boredom is where I first found myself trying to creatively express the genius of the 13 year old mind. With pen in hand and paper as pale as the walls, my adventure began. Although the thoughts I wanted to convey to the world seemed plentiful and profound, my fingers seemed numb to the idea of sharing them with paper. When at last I was able to scribble the first page, I was so immensely pleased with the seemingly magical way thoughts could be transferred, that I continued to read that one page over and over. I wondered if this page was truly a portal for the rest of the world to finally feel what I felt, to see what was seeing. Almost 60 years later I still remember that page. I wonder, if given the chance to read the ramblings of my adolescent mind. Would others share the sadness I felt while I wrote it, or the happiness I felt when I read the words I was able to write? Wait, that’s me isn’t it? On the bed, an old man as withered as the sheets covering my cold, seemingly lifeless body. My point of view, my “pov”, it’s completely distorted. How did I end up looking down on myself? Where did the years go? Oh yes, I remember now, its been so long. Creative coma, such a shame.
Dr Knowles stood with his finger pointed at the screen in amazement. He could not believe his eyes. Were his eyes playing tricks on him. He asked Dr Gupta to take a closer look, to confirm that what was displayed on the image was not a figment of his imagination, after all he had a pretty rough night. He had gone home the night before and drank half a bottle of whiskey. Maybe he was having another one of his hallucinations, after all when you drank like he did it was bound to happen. The woman on the bed was looking worriedly up at him wanting to ask but dared not. She was into her 10th month of pregnancy and enormous in size. After seeing Dr. Knowles look of first amazment and then disbelief she finally managed to pluck up the courage and ask. “Please Dr” “What is it?” After a quiet consultation with Dr. Gupta they turned to the woman and said. “Mrs. Smith, we are afraid to have to tell you this, but it looks like you are going to give birth to Barney the purple dinasaur.
I assigned our photographer to provide an assortment of pictures of Doctor Seth Matthews for a spotlight article in JAMA, the medical journal of which I am editor-in-chief. Doctor Matthews is
an eminent cardiothoracic surgeon and this particular photograph was intended to show him on an average work day, demonstrating leadership and camaraderie with his fellow doctors. How was I to know that the patient, D. A. Sharpe, whose heart my photographer had taken photos of was City Councilman Dwight Sharpe? It was good fortune that I discovered this minor detail on close inspection, and when Mr. Sharpe put in a bid for the state senate, it was only proper that I re-released the photo to the press with the caption, “Is Your Candidate Fit to Run?” The public has a right to know what shape Mr. Sharpe’s heart is in, especially since he has a reputation for breaking hearts. Like mine.
Dr. Anderson pointed to the top of the aorta, noting it’s abnormal shape. “If you look close enough, you can see that this heart underwent some damage either before or during the transplant.” Dr. Shelly squinted at the screen, searching for the damage. “I’m sorry Doctor but I don’t see what you are seeing. This heart is in excellent condition. I personally examined it when it arrived and reexamined it just before insertion. The aorta is not misshapen. The pulmonary trunk and all the arteries and veins were in tact.” Dr. Anderson frowned for a moment and pulled away from the screen. “I don’t know where you got your medical degree Dr. Shelly but it may as well have come from the back of a cereal box if you think this is a good heart.” Dr. Anderson stormed out of the room, leaving Dr. Shelly in shock.
“Now, you see that…THAT’s an aorta!” blasted Dr. Bob L. Hand “This is your last chance to get it right. When I said I wanted an aorta-shaped jacuzzi, I meant an aorta….not a gallbladder, not a spleen, and for God’s sake, not a pair of testicles. It’s bad enough the pool looks like a kidney!”
Are you blind? Right there dammit! That’s the aliens head! Don’t tell me I can’t read an ultrasound.
Pull my finger. That explains the masks.
Gitchi gitchi goo, gitchi gitchi goo.