Short Stories from the Lady Justice series

The Bedpan

2012-01-30T11:06:00.000-08:00

Everyone wants to visit you in the hospital.

The guests kept coming and finally, Nurse Ratchett had had enough.

If this gal hadn’t been a nurse, she probably could have been a linebacker with the Kansas City Chiefs. Her arms were about the size of my legs. She had the demeanor of a linebacker as well.

“Okay, all of you, clear out! I’ve got work to do here.”

My friends stared in amazement.

When no one moved, she raised her voice an octave. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear. Why don’t you folks go to the cafeteria and get a snack. I need to check Mr. Williams. You can come back when I’m finished.”

On the way out of the door, Jerry quipped, “Walt, maybe you can save her sometime. If she needs samples of your urine, blood, semen, and stool, you can just give her your underwear.”

Dad chuckled, and Nurse Ratchett glared as they filed out of the door.

Things were going better than I had hoped for. She checked my blood pressure, took my temperature, and listened to my heart. As she was packing away her goodies, I rose up and swung my feet over the edge of the bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To the bathroom.”

“Nope. Your chart says you might possibly have internal injuries, so you have to stay down until the doctor runs some tests.”

“But I have to—uh—you know.”

“Then you’re going to have to—uh—you know in this.”

She pulled a bedpan off the closet shelf.I looked at the plastic contraption.

I’d seen them before, but I’d never used one.

“Look, I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with me. I can certainly walk to the bathroom.”

Then she got that look that I’d once seen in the eyes of Mean Joe Green.

“You’re fine when we say you’re fine. Do you understand? Now get your feet back in that bed.” She plopped the bedpan in my lap.

When I didn’t respond, she gave me the look again. “Well?”

“Well, I’m not going to use this thing with you standing there watching me. I’d like some privacy.”

She shook her head and started for the door.

“Oh, say, I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday. Am I permitted to have breakfast?”

She picked up my chart again. “I’ll see what I can do.”

When she was gone, I picked up the bedpan. The first thing I noticed was that it was cold. Brrr. I turned the thing over, hoping that instructions would be printed on the backside, but there were none. With my luck, they would have probably been written in Chinese anyway.

They must figure that everyone instinctually knows how to use one of these things. Like it’s something innate that’s passed down through our DNA. If so, there were definitely some deficiencies in my gene pool.

So do you lie down on the thing? I tried it and nearly broke my back.

So do you sit on it? Do your legs stick out in front of you on the bed, or do you turn it sideways and let your legs dangle over the edge?

I tried it both ways, and the only way that it was comfortable was to dangle my feet over the edge.
By the time I had turned it and climbed on top, I had exerted more energy than just padding the six steps to the bathroom.

So there I sat, perched on my plastic throne, and to my dismay, nothing happened. It was obvious that my bowels were balking. I was tempted to just chuck the whole thing and march over to the real toilet, but to be quite truthful, I was scared of Nurse Ratchett.

Then I saw it, and an idea formed in my head. On the little table next to my bed was a box full of rubber gloves. Normally, I hate seeing those because it usually means that someone is going to be sticking something somewhere I don’t want it stuck.

I grabbed a pair of the gloves, slipped them on, and put my ear to the door listening for footsteps. Hearing none, I slipped into the bathroom and did my job the way it’s supposed to be done. Fortunately, the resulting deposit was solid and a floater.

I reached in with my gloved hand, scooped up what was left of yesterday’s lunch, and plopped it in the bedpan. Nurse Ratchett would never notice the difference.

Being a cop, I realized that if I was going to commit the perfect crime, I would have to destroy the evidence.
I peeled off the gloves and was about to throw them in the wastebasket but checked myself. She might see them there. I looked at the stool. If it could handle some of the stuff I’ve deposited over the years, surely it could handle two little latex gloves.

What I hadn’t thought of was that these little gloves, unlike my previous deposits, had fingers. Evidently, one or more of those little fingers had clutched the innards of the stool, and I watched in horror as the water, instead of circling and disappearing, steadily rose to the top of the bowl.

“No! No! Nooo!”

I heaved a sigh of relief when I heard the water stop. Another drop would have put it over the edge.
I looked around and saw a plunger in the corner. I grabbed it and slipped it into the water. Of course the Law of Archimedes took over, and the water displaced by the plunger overflowed into the floor.
The waves caused by my plunging sent more cascades over the edge, and by the time the gloves had been dislodged, there was a mess to clean up.

I grabbed a towel and was on my hands and knees mopping up water with my butt hanging out of the stupid hospital gown when I heard, “Mr. Williams!”

I looked up, and Nurse Ratchett was staring at my bare behind. I cringed, expecting a tirade that would make a sailor blush, but instead her attention had been directed to my little gift in the bedpan.

She just had a bewildered look on her face. “I’ve been a nurse for twenty-seven years, but this is a new one.”

She got me a clean gown and fresh towels, and I climbed back in bed.

By this time she had regained her composure.

“Apparently you have difficulty following orders, and you definitely have authority issues.”

I was about to argue, but I figured I’d better just clam up. As they say, there’s no such thing as a perfect crime.

“Mr. Williams, you have to stay in bed until after your tests.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She emptied the bedpan, rinsed, and flushed. She returned with the bedpan and a gizmo that looked like the thing my mechanic uses to put oil in my car.

“Now, if you have to urinate or defecate, please use these.”

She had said please, but the tone in her voice said, “Do it or else.”

Just then the door opened, and an orderly brought in a tray.

“I ordered you some breakfast.”

The orderly set the tray on my bed table. I was starving, and all during my bathroom escapade I had been envisioning eggs, toast, bacon, maybe even a pancake. I was shocked to see a pile of quivering green stuff, a bowl of yellow swill, and a cup of something barely darker than water.

“What’s this?”

“Your breakfast, of course. Lime Jell-O, broth, and tea.”

“Don’t I even get toast?”

“No, Mr. Williams, you’re on a liquid diet until after your tests. Bon appétit.” I know she was grinning when she walked out the door.

I looked at my breakfast. I like Jell-O. I just don’t like green Jell-O. I know they make Jell-O in other colors. I’ve seen it. Green just isn’t my favorite color. I’ve tried green shampoo, but I like white better. I love a red, ripe tomato, but I just can’t do a green one. I absolutely hate the green stuff that grows on your food when you leave it in the fridge too long. I was perilously close to digging into my liquid breakfast when my friends returned.

Dad looked at the pitiful pile of glop on my tray. “I thought so. I’ve been where you are before. Bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?”

I nodded my head.

“Willie, watch the door.”

Dad reached into a sack and pulled out one of those fluffy, golden brown biscuits with egg, cheese, and bacon.

I almost cried. “I love you, Dad.” It just came out, and it surprised both of us.

Maggie almost came unglued. “Dad! How could you? The hospital has rules…and the tests… Walt has tests to take…and…”

“Tests, shmefts. The kid’s fit as a fiddle. And look at that swill they gave him to eat. If he wasn’t sick before, he sure would be after he ate that.”

He looked at Bernice for approval, and she obligingly nodded her head.

Maggie turned to Jerry and the professor for support, but they just shrugged their shoulders.

“You’re all incorrigible,” she muttered.

After I wolfed down the biscuit and Dad tucked the wrappers away in his pocket, I had an idea.

“Dad, before you leave, could you go to a vending machine and bring me a Mountain Dew?”

“Sure, sonny. Be right back.”

I had just stashed my Dew under my mattress when Nurse Ratchett returned.

“You folks have to leave. It’s time for Mr. Williams’s tests.”

We said our good-byes, and as everyone was leaving, the professor, who had been unusually quiet, turned to speak. I was expecting some words of wisdom or comfort from the old man.

“Walt, I hope your tests come out better than those of a friend of mine.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, he went to the doctor with a sprig of greenery sticking out of his bottom. He said, ‘Doc, I think I have lettuce growing out of my rear end.’ The doctor examined the greenery and said, ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news—that’s only the tip of the iceberg.’”

Without another word, he turned and left, leaving me with my mouth hanging open. The professor was obviously spending too much time with Jerry.

My tests went well, and the doctor proclaimed me fit to resume my normal activities. I returned to my room and started preparing my parting gift to Nurse Ratchett.

I dug the Mountain Dew from under my mattress, popped the top, poured it into the funny little beaker she had given me, and placed it on the bed table.

I had just finished when Nurse Ratchett popped in.

“I’m going off duty in ten minutes. I just wanted to check and see if you needed anything before I left.”

“Why thank you. Here, you might want to get rid of this.”

I picked up the beaker of yellow liquid and started to hand it to her, but instead I brought it back and chugged every last drop.

Nurse Ratchett blanched, gasped, “Oh my God!” and fainted dead away.

An excerpt from Lady Justice And The Avenging Angels, a mystery/comedy novel by award-winning author, Robert Thornhill.

Visit him on the web at http://booksbybob.com/

New Medical Breakthrough

2011-11-03T14:37:00.000-07:00

NEW MEDICAL BREAKTHROUGH

FACT:

More people are getting medical treatment, taking more drugs, having more diagnostic tests and having more surgeries than ever before in history, yet more people are getting sick than ever before.

FACT:

There are over 200,000 nonprescription drugs and 30,000 prescription drugs on the market and doctors write over three billion prescriptions each year.

FACT:

People who laugh actually live longer than those who don't laugh. (Dr. James A. Walsh.)

Laughter research has shown that humor and especially laughter can help keep

our bodies strong and disease resistant.

FACT:

Laughter has been shown to relax muscles, increase oxygen flow, promote circulation, and reduce tension as well as lower blood pressure, ease stress and boost your immune system. (Dr. Michael Cutler)

FACT:

Spending an hour with a close friend is as effective as taking a pain reliever in treating headaches. (Willie T. Ong, MD)

The answer to this medical dilemma is now available to everyone!
Two years ago, Robert Thornhill began his research on the first novel in his Lady Justice mystery/comedy series.
After months of research and field study across the country involving thousands of patients (readers), the six volume Lady Justice series has been approved by the FDA (Fun-loving Doctors Association) and is available for world-wide distribution.
(Note) This is the only series endorsed by the AMA (American Mystery/Comedy Association)
DOSAGE
This new medical breakthrough is administered in six doses:
Lady Justice Takes A C.R.A.P . (This has nothing to do with bowel movements. It is an acronym for City Retiree Action Patrol)
Lady Justice And The Lost Tapes
Lady Justice Gets Lei'd
Lady Justice And The Avenging Angels
Lady Justice And The Sting
Lady Justice And Dr. Death
OUR GUARANTEE
When taken as directed, we guarantee the following results:
1. You will smile, giggle, chuckle, snort and possibly break into uncontrollable laughter.
2. You will love the characters who will capture your heart and become your personal friends with whom you may spend many wonderful hours.
3. You will have a positive attitude that all is right with the
world, that common folks can be heroes and that life doesn't end at age sixty-five.
WARNING!
POSSIBLE DANGEROUS SIDE EFFECTS!
Extreme caution should be used when drinking beverages or if your bladder is full since reading a Lady Justice novel may cause spontaneous outbreaks of uncontrollable laughter which may cause liquids to squirt from bodily orifices.
Lady Justice novels may cause insomnia. Never start a Lady Justice novel just before going to bed. You won't be able to put it down.
Be cautious of reading a Lady Justice novel in a public place. Your outbreaks of giggles and guffaws may disturb those around you.
TESTIMONIALS
"This book marks the first time a mystery story has made me laugh out loud. I laughed until tears were running, and my sides ached! I laughed so hard that my husband came to see if I was OK." Beverly B. Independence, Mo.
"An excellent book. It is hilarious with numerous 'one-liners' that made me laugh aloud and brought tears to my eye in laughter." Dan, La Porte, Indiana.
"This book is laugh-out-loud funny, on par with today's most popular writers." Marilyn D. Santa Clara, California.
"Very funny and fast-paced. Exactly how I love a mystery. I actually got choked up I laughed so hard yesterday." Rose, Rockton, Illinois.

　
YOUR CHOICES
If you're feeling down in the dumps, you can spend $265.00 for a prescription of Cymbalta, (If you're lucky and you have insurance, your co-pay would be about $50.00)
OR
You can purchase the complete six volume set of Lady Justice mystery/comedy novels for the same $50.00
Buy the prescription, take it once and it's gone, or buy a set of books you can enjoy and laugh with over and over again and share with your family and friends.
Make the healthy choice.
Laughter is indeed the best medicine!
To Order
Go To
BooksByBob　

Why I Go Somewhere Else For Thanksgiving Dinner

2011-10-31T12:21:00.000-07:00

Why I Go Somewhere Else For Thanksgiving Dinner

One year, Maggie and I decided to host the traditional Thanksgiving dinner.

Although we were both in our sixties, neither of us had done it before, but how hard could it be. I'd watched my mom and grandma do it for years.

The special day finally arrived.

“Ok, I’m ready to tackle this beast,” I proclaimed, and I ripped into the shrink-wrap.

After the bird was fully exposed, I noticed the corner of a bag sticking out of his rear end.

“Hey, somebody hid something inside our turkey,” I exclaimed.

Maggie came over to take a look. “Oh silly, nobody hid anything. Those are the giblets.”

“The what?”

“Giblets! You know, some of the inside parts of the turkey.”

“What am I supposed to do with them?”

“Well, I think you can make things with them, like stuffing and gravy.”

“Hold on a minute. I don’t EVER remember Grandma putting giblets in her gravy. That just doesn’t sound right.”

So I dried my hands, grabbed my dictionary and looked up ‘giblets’. According to Mr. Webster, “giblets are the edible offal of a fowl including the heart, gizzard, liver and other visceral organs.”

I nearly fainted.

“I’m sorry Maggie, but no giblets will ever be eaten in my house or in my presence. I hope that’s not a deal breaker.”

“I think I can live with that,” she replied.

I returned to the turkey, shoved my hand up his butt and pulled out the bag of giblets. For curiosity’s sake, I cut open the bag to take a look.

I shouldn’t have done that. There’s just some things that ought not be seen.

Sure enough, the inner plumbing of Tom Turkey spewed forth onto my countertop --- and something else too.

A stiff piece of grisly meat about six inches long sat there staring me in the face.

“Holy Crap!” I exclaimed. “Come here and look at this! That looks like --- No! Surely they wouldn’t put a turkey’s ----- in the bag!”

“No, silly” Maggie replied. “That’s his neck.”

“This is just WRONG in so many ways.”

After disposing of the offending offal, I turned my attention to the cooking instructions I had pulled off the Internet.

“How To Cook A Turkey in 3 Easy Steps.”

Step 1: Preheat oven to 325 degrees and select a 3-4 inch-deep roaster pan with lid. Cooking time: 15 minutes per pound.

Step one seems pretty easy.

Step 2: For golden brown skin, spread butter evenly and season to taste with salt, pepper, garlic or rosemary.

No problem.

I dipped into the ‘I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter’ tub and under Maggie’s watchful eye, started lathering the bird’s ample breasts.

“Hmmm, this feels kind of good,” I murmured and gave Maggie my ‘sly, whadda you think’ look.

“Don’t even THINK about it, Buster,” she shot back.

“OK, OK, I’ll be good. Can you get me the salt and pepper and see what’s in my spice rack?”

“Nothing here but crab boil and taco seasoning. But you do have salt and pepper.”

“Well it says ‘season to taste’ and we both love tacos. How about we make Mexicali Turkey?”

I’ll bet nobody’s tried that before.

So I liberally coated the buttered breasts with salt, pepper and Old El Paso, and he was ready for Step 3, bake and baste.

“What about the stuffing? Aren’t you going to make stuffing?”

“O yea, stuffing. I almost forgot. How do you make it?”

Seeing the blank look on Maggie’s face, I muttered, “Well, back to the Internet.”

After an exhaustive search, we discovered there were two methods of stuffing preparation, pan and bird.

We went back to the kitchen and took a look up Tom’s rear end.

“Isn’t that where the offal came from?” I asked.

Getting an affirmative nod from Maggie, I made an executive decision on the spot.

“Pan it is!” I said.

Maggie didn’t argue.

Besides, I can’t ever remember my grandma digging stuffing out of the turkey’s butt.

Satisfied with our preparation thus far, we plopped the bird in the oven and turned our attention to the stuffing.

“OK, it says to chop up onion and celery and sauté in melted butter. Let’s see what’s in the vegetable bin.”

I had an onion, but the only other green thing was a head of lettuce.

“Aren’t celery and lettuce in the same food group?” I asked. “I mean they’re both green and both a vegetable.”

How can you argue with logic like that?

So we chopped up the onion and lettuce and while they were boiling in the butter, we checked out the next ingredient, bread. More precisely, stuffing bread.

“What’s stuffing bread?”

Another blank look.

I checked the breadbox and found a loaf of Wonder White Bread fortified with vitamins and minerals.

“If we use this in our stuffing, doesn’t it then become ‘stuffing bread’ by definition?”

Again, how can you argue with the logic?

So we cut the Wonder Bread in little cubes and added them to our boiling vegetable mix per the instructions.

Next step, ‘add two cups of stock’.

“What’s stock?”

“Well, I think it’s some kind of meat juice or gravy that comes in a can. I remember seeing cans of ‘beef stock’ and ‘chicken stock’ on the grocery shelf next to the soups.”

We looked in the cabinet and found a can of Campbell’s Beef Barley soup and a can of Campbell’s Creamy Chicken Noodle soup.

“Since this is a fowl dish, I vote we go with the chicken noodle.”

More culinary logic.

We opened the can and sure enough there was a creamy liquid.

“Looks like stock to me,” I said.

“Are you going to drain it?”

“Why? Aren’t bread and noodles almost the same thing? We’ve got a huge crowd coming today. This will add a little more body to the dish.”

So into the pan went the soup.

The final step was to add poultry seasoning.

Having already exposed the deficiencies in my spice rack, we knew the only thing left was crab boil.

We looked at each other.

“What do you think?”

“Well, it’s going to be pretty bland without some kind of seasoning.”

So into the pot it went.

After mixing the gooey mess, we plopped it in a baking pan. Ready for the oven.

So far, so good.

The remainder of the morning was spent with last minute cleaning, showering, shaving and make-up sandwiched around our hourly basting duties.

The directions said to remove the lid during the final hour of cooking to ensure a golden brown skin. So off came the lid.

Our creative recipes had produced a rather unusual aroma that permeated the apartment. There was the essence of Taco Bell laced with a hint of Joe’s Crab Shack. Not exactly what I remembered from Grandma’s kitchen.

By 12:30, it was time for the bird to come out of the oven.

Beautiful!

Guests would be arriving soon, so it was time for the final preparations.

Then it hit me.

GRAVY!

I can’t ever remember a Thanksgiving without turkey gravy.

OK, think. How did Grandma make gravy?

I remembered seeing her add three ingredients, milk, flour and the greasy stuff out of the bottom of the turkey pan. We have all of that --- I think.

We pulled Tom out of the pan and several inches of rich, greasy turkey broth covered the bottom of the pan.

I went to the cabinet to look for flour and came up empty. I couldn’t remember when I had bought flour. I don’t bake.

But there on the shelf, next to my Top Ramen Noodles was my answer --- Aunt Jemima.

OK, so it’s pancake mix, but flour is flour, right?

I kept dumping Aunt Jemima in the turkey grease until I had a thick brown paste. I put the pan on the stove and added milk. I was ready to cook it down to a rich smooth texture. It made my mouth water.

At last everything was ready.

Our guests had arrived, each with their own special dish, and sat expectantly awaiting the holiday feast.

I looked at the food on the table: Mexicali turkey, Wonderbread crab paste, Aunt Jemima gravy, hockey puck rolls, chitlins, and enough pumpkin pie with strawberry Cool Whip to feed the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

And, of course, we had the perfect wine paring, Arbor Mist. It goes good with everything.

Not exactly the traditional Thanksgiving I remembered from my youth, but I wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the world.

*************************************************************

An excerpt from Robert Thornhill’s Lady Justice mystery/comedy series

For more information and reviews, go to http://booksbybob.com/