Ring Toss By the time I showed up in the stabilization room they had already hung a liter of blood. I couldn't see the patient's face because it was covered by those hospital-blue, paper sheets. A resident in faded green scrubs was flushing out a tube protruding from the man's neck with a syringe, the barrel of which was quickly filling up with blood as he pulled back on the plunger. I shot a questioning look at the RA standing next to me. "Paramedics brought him in vomiting blood. They think it’s probably a GI bleed, maybe pancreatic cancer too, and or colon cancer." She explained. Shit. I rubbed antibacterial foam into my hands religiously as I watched the case. The scent of alcohol and soap hung around me. The room, as always, had that antiseptic atmosphere that you can only find in a hospital. It smelled white. "You're doing a great job, you know that? You work real smooth, I can tell. Very efficient." The patient commented from underneath the tent of sheets. My eyebrows shot up in surprise, my fellow RA chuckled next to me. The patient's light voice exuded energy, despite having just puked up over a liter of bodily fluid. The resident had just finished threading in the central line and the nurse was starting to remove the paper covering the man's body. When she uncovered his face, I saw a pale, wrinkling physiognomy with a thin, patchy crop of fading, straw colored hair. His mouth was set in a seemingly inflexible frown, like so many older people wear as a result of too many disapproving glances at younger people. But whether it was the humor lurking behind his thoroughly unconcerned, murky eyes or the general aura of nonchalance that he emitted from every wrinkle, something told me that he wasn't one of those grouchy grandfathers that complained about The New York Times’ print being too small. An X-ray technician clad in bright pink scrubs had approached the bed and was asking the man to lay still as she slid the hard, plastic X-ray film under his back. "I can sit up if you want me to! I feel totally fine, really it's not a problem." The man made to sit up. "No, really, it's okay sir, it's easier for me if you just lay still." The X-ray girl looked flustered as she put a hand on his shoulder, the pink scrubs didn’t help to hide her blush. "Alright, if you're sure..." The girl fluttered around for a few more minutes, quickly snapped the X-ray, and hustled herself and the machine out of the stab room. "So you guys get a bonus if you save my fat ass or what? Like a stipend or something?" The patient asked humorously without smiling. The man’s body had just been purged of liters of blood, he had a central line shoved into his neck, his hospital gown had those rusty maroon stains that only dried blood leaves, and the guy was making jokes. I nearly dropped my goddamn clipboard. "No, but there's a helluvah lot of paperwork if you die so if you could help us out with that one we'd appreciate it." An older attending responded with an odd note of seriousness in his tone. The resident in the green scrubs walked past the bed to check the vitals monitor. "Hey doc, can I ask you a question?" The patient asked. Here it is, I thought, finally he wants to know about why the hell he’d been throwing up blood for the past half hour, if he has cancer or GI problems, what's going to happen to him, and of course the question of the stab room: Will I live? "You hear about that guy in Virginia or wherever it was who gambled away his #life savings trying to win a huge stuffed banana for his girlfriend? It was at one of those ring tosses, like at a carnival, you know? Over sixteen thousand dollars. Wouldn't you think that after ‘bout four grand you'd look up at the sky….” He paused, spreading his arms out in front of him and tilting his head to look up at the white tiled ceiling. “You know, maybe reconsider your #life a bit?” He dropped his arms and returned his gaze to the resident, who was smirking. “He got interviewed on TV and when they asked him what he had been thinking he said he just got carried away. You ever get carried away, doc?" "Not in gambling." The resident gave a half smile. The nurse had come up to the bed to check the central line. The man looked at her curiously as she worked. "You have beautiful eyes. Did you know that? Doc, you seeing her?" The resident laughed awkwardly and replied "no comment." The nurse blushed. At this point my abs were starting to ache from trying to hold in my laughter for so long. This was undoubtedly the best stab case I'd seen so far. I couldn't believe how absurdly good humored this man was given his current predicament. I mean for God's sake, if I was lying practically naked on a blood soaked hospital table, with a whole bunch of people milling around throwing out incomprehensible medical jargon, sporting less-than-amused expressions on their severe faces, the last thing I would think to do would be to ask if they get a tip for saving my sorry ass. His eyes swept the room and landed on us two RAs. "And what do you girls do here?" There was a pause in which the two of us realized that he was talking to us. It was the first time a stab patient had spoken to an RA, as far as I could remember. "Research." My colleague giggled. "So I'm the research subject then, eh? The Guinea pig?" "You're safe from us today, sir." I attempted a reassuring smile, which was probably more of a grimace. He nodded, still frowning. They wheeled him out to CT shortly afterwards, muttering something about admitting him to the ICU. I still don’t know how much paperwork the physicians ended up filing on the grimly content man. I laughed to myself as I left the room; it was the only time I had ever been amused by a stab case.