dical Center – Ergency Room
Adam glanced at his little cousin, pretty sure the kid didn't an any harm, and said, "Mary, take him over there to sit for a bit."
"Yes, Doctor."
Nurse Mary quickly grabbed the kid's hand and led him away.
If she didn't, his older cousin might've actually blown a gasket thanks to the little guy's blunt honesty.
By the ti the X-rays and CT scans were done, the young man's parents had rushed in.
"Doctor, how's Pride doing?" they asked, voices tight with worry.
"Spontaneous pneumothorax," Adam explained, sliding the X-ray and CT films onto the lightbox. He pointed at them. "Here's the lung. Next to it's a ruptured bulla—basically a weak spot that burst. That's what's causing his chest pain, tightness, and trouble breathing."
"What do we do now?" the father pressed.
"The trapped air's over 20% of his chest cavity volu—it's a closed pneumothorax, so it won't clear up on its own. We need to do a thoracentesis, drain the air, relieve the pressure on his lung and diastinum, and help the lung re-expand to normal," Adam said.
"Then do it, quick!" the mother urged.
"Alright."
Adam nodded and started prepping for the procedure.
"Doctor, why'd this happen?" the father asked, unable to hold back.
"A bulla's like a bubble on an old car tire—push it too hard, and it pops," Adam said casually while working on the thoracentesis. "The lungs are key for breathing. When you're angry, excited, or stressed, your mind gets wound up.
Your brain tries to calm things down, but it pumps out adrenaline instead, ramping up the tension even more. It's a vicious cycle. Once it hits a breaking point, boom—the bulla ruptures."
After the procedure, Pride's symptoms eased up fast.
Adam told his parents to step out and let him rest.
Otherwise, if they got into the whole story, the kid might spiral again and set himself off.
Hallway
"I told Pride to take his little cousin out to have fun. What the heck were they doing to get this worked up?" the mother griped.
"It wasn't excitent," Adam corrected. "It was anger."
"Anger?"
The parents blinked, totally thrown. "How's that possible?"
Adam laid it out for them.
They exchanged a look, dumbfounded.
That's it?
They'd just heard from Adam that a ruptured bulla could get serious—heart issues, brain bleeds, sudden death risks.
And all this over losing a ga to his little cousin?
They couldn't wrap their heads around it.
"It's rare, but it makes sense," Adam said. "Pride took his cousin out to play, probably wanting to show off. But the kid's a gaming prodigy. After Pride lost a few rounds, he couldn't handle the embarrassnt.
He kept dragging the kid back for more, desperate to win at least once. Too bad the little guy's a genius at it—Pride couldn't beat him. Fifty-eight straight losses later, he hit his limit and blew up."
Getting owned by a grade-schooler after trying to flex isn't that uncommon.
Kids these days have a knack for gas.
Grown-ups getting smoked by a squad of tweens happens all the ti.
Like in the original tiline—Barney and Robin teaming up for laser tag, only to lose and curse out loud: "Damn it, we lost again! Those little punks!"
Or in The Big Bang Theory, Sheldon's gaming crew—online or IRL—getting absolutely wrecked by a pack of kids, leaving even smug Sheldon wondering if he's just too old for this.
Kids are that scary!
"Doctor, could this happen again?" the parents asked, worried.
"He'll need to watch it—no big emotional swings," Adam advised.
Nurse's Station
"People these days, huh? Anything's possible," Susan said with a sigh.
"Just wait—there'll be more like this," Adam replied with a grin.
"Clinic Room 3," Susan said, handing him a chart. "Check it out. Bet it'll blow your mind."
"Heh." Adam took the chart with a chuckle.
After dealing with a gold-digger scam and a guy who rage-popped his lung over a ga in the last two days, what could possibly surprise him now?
He was basically unflappable at this point.
"Don't believe ? Wanna bet?" Susan teased. "Ten bucks?"
"Sure," Adam said, happy to play along.
Every week, this holess guy nad Arthur would pass out drunk on the street and get hauled into the ER. The staff would place bets on his blood alcohol level while he slept it off.
One veteran nurse got so good at it, she could sniff him from a foot away and nail the exact number—spot on every ti.
Over the years, betting on weird cases beca an ER tradition.
Clinic Room 3
Adam stepped in and imdiately wrinkled his nose.
A nasty, fishy stench hit him hard.
A middle-aged guy sat there, eyes darting, looking awkward.
Adam gave him a once-over, his gaze landing on the man's mouth.
"Open your mouth."
"Doc…" The guy hesitated but complied.
Adam's lip twitched.
He looked away, swallowing a sarcastic comnt, and asked professionally, "Been, uh, balancing the yin and yang lately?"
The man nodded.
"You're big on… giving, huh?" Adam said tactfully.
"…Yeah."
The guy caught the drift, his face flushing. "Doc, is it bad?"
He'd already Googled it before coming in—based on the symptoms, he had a hunch what was up. So he got it right away.
"It's a bacterial infection," Adam said, shaking his head. "tronidazole, twice a day for seven days. Keep your tongue clean, no spicy or irritating foods.
Your partner needs to take the sa ds and stay clean too."
"We split up!" the man snapped, a little heated. "I'm done giving! n should just be selfish from now on!"
Adam didn't react.
Stuff like this? Even regular folks talking about it could spark a fight or get shut down fast.
A doctor? Forget it.
You stay professional—cold, detached diagnostician and healer. No personal feelings allowed.
After the diagnosis, he bolted.
tronidazole's over-the-counter; the guy could grab it at any pharmacy.
Back at the nurse's station, Susan already had her hand out.
Adam pulled out so cash, counted ten bucks, and handed it over.
A bet's a bet!
---
PS: Thanks to BatmanJoker, BuddhaShow℡, and GaiIsPrettyCool for the tips!
Reviews
All reviews (0)