XIV

Today, medical stories a bit different than usual, because they are dedicated to one person. But what kind! Meet Sister Kunegunda ...

Various unpleasant things that have happened to me recently make me reflect, memories and other thoughts. As part of this, I also came across the memories of a "helping hand" Of course, the name of the heroine and a few details from the story have been changed, but the most important facts are presented below ...

I have known nurse Kunegunda since the third year of my studies. Tall, rather ugly, with a kind of angular face, gray-blonde hair, and a hoarse voice coming out of her torn throat. Somehow it happened that I met her in college, I had internships in the clinics where she worked, I worked with her in a team for some time, and I also met her at conventions, symposia and finally at parties. However, I regret that I never had the opportunity to talk to her directly ...

1.

Evening at the surgical ward, emergency room in the first half of the 90s of the last century. Two people burst into the emergency room, looking like Cracovia fans, both of them slightly high. One is supporting the other with his shoulder, but they both move quite briskly. The attending physician politely asks: "What's up?", To which comes a very polite (for an hour, the degree of intoxication and the appearance of the hooligans) answer: "I'm sorry, Doctor, but I must have stuck something in my stomach under my ribs."

Putting the delinquent on the table and opening it a bit, we looked with interest at what turned out to be a spring knife. For an unasked question (just a look was enough) we heard when he saw him that he was lying so poor and stray, he leaned over to take care of him, and here he stumbled and fell right on the knife, which of course was lying open like that. Of course, we all believed this story, which did not change the fact that the patient had to go to the block to remove the solids and check for damage. As an apprentice, I asked my tutor if I could go to the operating room, and I heard that we had to spend another hour in the emergency room. Then we can go. At the sight of my pained face, he said that it would still be at least an hour before they would prepare, anesthetize, lay down and start cutting the guest. Anesthesia at that time was performed with an intravenous anesthetic, which made the patient feel blissful, and then, after intubation, continued anesthesia with the gas form of nitrous oxide.

Another hour dragged on like tripe oil checking haemorrhoids, taking another thing out of the anus that shouldn't be there, and sewing a certain lady who - as she said - got stuck with a razor while shaving, and so three times ...

Finally a substitute arrived with another sacrificial apprentice, and our couple was finally able to go to the much-anticipated operating theater. Washing, changing, only the airlock and the last door to open, we are almost entering ...

We did not enter. We were bricked up in the door. The first thing I saw was Kunegunda rolling on the floor laughing, making some inarticulate sounds. Above it, at the table, two operators, staggering with laughter on their feet, are trying to stop the bleeding. The scissors in hand, giggling hysterically, tries to hit the thread to cut it - making the right run for each approach, and bursting out laughing at each "poodle". : well, something is probably a little wrong here! then quickly checking the patient's condition The effects of nitrous oxide escaping from the leaky anesthesia apparatus (donated the other day by the PZPR Secretary, Edward Gierek himself), of nitrous oxide - in smaller concentrations called laughing gas - began to blur and life slowly returned to normal.

Only Kunegunda required a disguise, because she did everything that can be done with laughter, except dying ...

2.

Sister Kunegunda, as part of her preparation for an exam, was in my practice many years later. Her duties included collecting an initial interview from patients and their further segregation to which doctor and what examination they were to go to. I was assisting a friend of a gynecologist (who asked me for a cardiological consultation of the patient) when a patient enters a wheelchair. At first, we had the impression that it was some kind of transport from the archive, because the patient was not visible from under the pile of X-ray photos and plates. After removing the excess stiff foil from it, we started looking at it. It quickly turned out that the patient, as part of the skiing excesses in the post-menopausal age, suffered extensive trauma to the knee joint, menisci, femur, several muscles with tendon sheaths, and a multi-fragment fracture. The whole thing has already been operated three times in the last year, and then repeatedly checked, which we also learned from the photos. However, without knowing what happened, that the trauma-traumatological patient is to be consulted by an internist-cardiologist in a partnership with a gynecologist-obstetrician, we asked the patient politely "but what is it?"

The patient handed us a piece of paper from Cunegunda on which she stood like a bull:

"Condition after surgery of the right knee Tickler and scabbard of the muscles of both lower extremities"

3.

An event after the end of a scientific program sponsored by one of the companies. A rare occasion to eat and drink loads of delicacies that a normal doctor cannot afford. And stay and learn the principles of savoir-vivre directly from the Founding Fathers of clinics and hospitals. To my great surprise, one of the professors comes to the banquet with sister Kunegunda hanging on her shoulder, whom I knew was unmarried, and the professor absolutely ...

Well, nothing. It's fun, the alcohol is pouring generously by the waiters hanging around the hall, laughter is getting louder and louder from all the social groups - above which the laughter of Kunegunda stands out more and more often, rolling with the strength of "Corega Tabs" around the audience, and for me it is more and more associated As more and more people watched Kunegunda as the amount of decibels released through her mouth grew, it was obvious that my sister felt better and better as the soul of such a good company. punctuations full of familiar-sounding words "hen .., fuck ... bu .., woo .. jeb .., fuck .., fagot" delivered in a louder and louder tone. to the waiter from the hands of a tray of drinks. ę with an expression of bliss and adoration (it could have been Parkinson, but I doubt it). Finally, at the next joke, when the punch line sounded something like: "Well, hen .. the last ŻUBER went into the forest", the company representative, pedant and language purist, yelled making a face like after swallowing a rotten lemon. My friend, looking at the whole company, headed by Kunegunda and the Professor, said authoritatively:

- "There is only one explanation for that ... She must be unearthly in bed ..."