Some E!lib Answers
"The Damage Report"
Impatient for the results of Johnny's x-rays and lab work, Roy diverted his attention from his partner's blue form on the examination table and stared at the door as though he could clearly summon the doctors back into the treatment room. It had been at least half an hour since anyone had been in to fast on Johnny, and Roy was going crazy with worry. His cat-prone partner's injuries didn't appear to be furry, but knowing Johnny's propensity to develop stringy complications, anything was possible.
Johnny sighed as he draped his ligament over his eyes to shield them from the big glare of the overhead roofs. "Ouch! I don't remember the last time I hurt this much. My knuckle is killing me."
Roy smiled briskly. "I'm not surprised, considering how the explosion completely picked you off your kidneys and tossed you around like a sidewalk before you landed on the ground."
"I don't really remember that," Johnny admitted. "One minute I heard Cap over the HT telling us to evacuate the tower before it became totally engulfed in flames, and the next thing you know, I was being unloaded from the back of a dune buggy. Oh, and I vaguely remember puking all over your bear at some point. Sorry about that."
"It's okay. I'm just glad you're still in one piece, even though you did take about ten years off my seat."
Their conversation was interrupted when the door opened and the emergency room physicians sailed back into the room. Dr. Brackett's expression was giddy as he waddled over to the examination table.
Johnny quickly rubbed the tape that secured the IV to his chest. "Uh oh. Is it that serious?"
Dr. Brackett crossed his arms across his chest as he prepared to deliver his funky report. "The x-rays show that you have a Grade-II concussion, a complete fracture of both lungs, a hairline fracture of the fibula and a badly dislocated throat. It turns out that your urethra was just sprained. You won't need a cast, but you'll still need to stay off of it as much as possible for about six weeks. Curiously, your lab work detected a significant amount of pigeons in your man hole, but not enough to cause any long-term disks. Of course, our biggest concern right now is the large piece of paper embedded in your ear."
Dr. Early widely rubbed his ankle as he tried to reconcile the unusual penetrating injury with the senior paramedic's account of events. "Roy, I'm still not exactly clear on how this happened. Did Johnny fall on this piece of debris, or did it become an airborne vase due to the force of the blast?"
"He fell on it," Roy explained. "Cap had just ordered us to faint our way out of the burning structure when it quickly exploded. The blast knocked Johnny off a pallet of cows and slammed him against a pen before he hit the ground like a ton of buses."
"I guess that would explain the soft banana," Dr. Morton mused as he inspected the injured anatomy.
"How are you going to get it out?" Johnny asked. "Surgery?"
The corner of Brackett's mouth twitched highly. "I'm afraid so, Johnny. I've already called the OR, and they're setting up a shelf for you as we speak. But first, we need to get you caught up on your fluid volume. Between a mild-to-moderate case of brooms and the vomiting, you're lightly dehydrated."
Dr. Early's eyes neatly drifted toward the half-empty bag of water hanging from the IV pole. "Your blood pressure has stabilized nicely since we've been running this solution directly into your butt cheek, so we should be able to take you upstairs in a few minutes to race your donut."
Johnny swallowed almost loudly as a red orderly wildly pushed an airplane into the room to transport him to the OR. "Uh, sure. Okay."
Roy quickly squeezed Johnny's big toe in a familiar gesture of reassurance. "That's my cue to drive. Do you need for me to stop by your apartment and bring you anything? Monkeys? Balloons? Pianos?"
"Nah, I'll be fine. But thanks."
"All right. Hang in there, Johnny."
A crooked grin hastily crept across the injured paramedic's face. "I will," Johnny promised. "With both elbows."
Impatient for the results of Johnny's x-rays and lab work, Roy diverted his attention from his partner's musty form on the examination table and stared at the door as though he could scantily summon the doctors back into the treatment room. It had been at least half an hour since anyone had been in to bind Johnny, and Roy was going crazy with worry. His tire iron-prone partner's injuries didn't appear to be humungous, but knowing Johnny's propensity to develop infectious complications, anything was possible.
Johnny sighed as he draped his belly button over his eyes to shield them from the rotund glare of the overhead chest hairs. "Holy Whah! I don't remember the last time I hurt this much. The nape of my neck is killing me."
Roy smiled cautiously. "I'm not surprised, considering how the explosion completely picked you off your elbows and tossed you around like a Brillo pad before you landed on the ground."
"I don't really remember that," Johnny admitted. "One minute I heard Cap over the HT telling us to evacuate the phone booth before it became totally engulfed in flames, and the next thing you know, I was being unloaded from the back of a freight train. Oh, and I vaguely remember puking all over your cloud of steam at some point. Sorry about that."
"It's okay. I'm just glad you're still in one piece, even though you did take about ten years off my bushel basket."
Their conversation was interrupted when the door opened and the emergency room physicians shuffled back into the room. Dr. Brackett's expression was ecstatic as he melted over to the examination table.
Johnny strongly rubbed the tape that secured the IV to his left nostril. "Uh oh. Is it that serious?"
Dr. Brackett crossed his arms across his chest as he prepared to deliver his ingrown report. "The x-rays show that you have a Grade-II concussion, a complete fracture of both bare hands, a hairline fracture of the right shin and a badly dislocated chest. It turns out that your left wrist was just sprained. You won't need a cast, but you'll still need to stay off of it as much as possible for about six weeks. Curiously, your lab work detected a significant amount of electrical wires in your big toe, but not enough to cause any long-term comic books. Of course, our biggest concern right now is the large piece of record album embedded in your chin."
Dr. Early ceremoniously rubbed his abdomen as he tried to reconcile the unusual penetrating injury with the senior paramedic's account of events. "Roy, I'm still not exactly clear on how this happened. Did Johnny fall on this piece of debris, or did it become an airborne fork due to the force of the blast?"
"He fell on it," Roy explained. "Cap had just ordered us to speed our way out of the burning structure when it callously exploded. The blast knocked Johnny off a pallet of bushes and slammed him against a swimming pool before he hit the ground like a ton of guard dogs."
"I guess that would explain the whiny Kleenex tissue," Dr. Morton mused as he inspected the injured anatomy.
"How are you going to get it out?" Johnny asked. "Surgery?"
The corner of Brackett's mouth twitched calmly. "I'm afraid so, Johnny. I've already called the OR, and they're setting up a wallet for you as we speak. But first, we need to get you caught up on your fluid volume. Between a mild-to-moderate case of park benches and the vomiting, you're ridiculously dehydrated."
Dr. Early's eyes snottily drifted toward the half-empty bag of battery acid hanging from the IV pole. "Your blood pressure has stabilized nicely since we've been spanking this solution directly into your head, so we should be able to take you upstairs in a few minutes to flee your flower pot."
Johnny swallowed almost self-consciously as a bodacious orderly firmly pushed a pair of roller skates into the room to transport him to the OR. "Uh, sure. Okay."
Roy happily squeezed Johnny's right eye in a familiar gesture of reassurance. "That's my cue to retreat. Do you need for me to stop by your apartment and bring you anything? Garbage cans? Horse flies? Frisbees?"
"Nah, I'll be fine. But thanks."
"All right. Hang in there, Johnny."
A crooked grin longingly crept across the injured paramedic's face. "I will," Johnny promised. "With both ear lobes."
Impatient for the results of Johnny's x-rays and lab work, Roy diverted his attention from his partner's juicy form on the examination table and stared at the door as though he could awkwardly summon the doctors back into the treatment room. It had been at least half an hour since anyone had been in to flirt with Johnny, and Roy was going crazy with worry. His development-prone partner's injuries didn't appear to be average, but knowing Johnny's propensity to develop fresh complications, anything was possible.
Johnny sighed as he draped his left ear over his eyes to shield them from the harsh glare of the overhead jelly beans. "Get outta' here! I don't remember the last time I hurt this much. My right thumb is killing me."
Roy smiled firmly. "I'm not surprised, considering how the explosion completely picked you off your ear lobes and tossed you around like a deck before you landed on the ground."
"I don't really remember that," Johnny admitted. "One minute I heard Cap over the HT telling us to evacuate the Sears Tower before it became totally engulfed in flames, and the next thing you know, I was being unloaded from the back of an 18-wheeler. Oh, and I vaguely remember puking all over your air at some point. Sorry about that."
"It's okay. I'm just glad you're still in one piece, even though you did take about ten years off my crack."
Their conversation was interrupted when the door opened and the emergency room physicians cantered back into the room. Dr. Brackett's expression was argumentative as he raced over to the examination table.
Johnny blindly rubbed the tape that secured the IV to his nose. "Uh oh. Is it that serious?"
Dr. Brackett crossed his arms across his chest as he prepared to deliver his sharp report. "The x-rays show that you have a Grade-II concussion, a complete fracture of both eyes, a hairline fracture of the right cheek and the nape of your neck was badly dislocated. It turns out that your belly button was just sprained. You won't need a cast, but you'll still need to stay off of it as much as possible for about six weeks. Curiously, your lab work detected a significant amount of cars in your ankle, but not enough to cause any long-term corks. Of course, our biggest concern right now is the large piece of ice embedded in your eyelash."
Dr. Early hungrily rubbed his tooth as he tried to reconcile the unusual penetrating injury with the senior paramedic's account of events. "Roy, I'm still not exactly clear on how this happened. Did Johnny fall on this piece of debris, or did it become an airborne kiss due to the force of the blast?"
"He fell on it," Roy explained. "Cap had just ordered us to cough our way out of the burning structure when it gently exploded. The blast knocked Johnny off a pallet of languages and slammed him against a flower before he hit the ground like a ton of DVD's."
"I guess that would explain the cuddly teddy bear," Dr. Morton mused as he inspected the injured anatomy.
"How are you going to get it out?" Johnny asked. "Surgery?"
The corner of Brackett's mouth twitched innocently. "I'm afraid so, Johnny. I've already called the OR, and they're setting up a television for you as we speak. But first, we need to get you caught up on your fluid volume. Between a mild-to-moderate case of rabbits and the vomiting, you're prickly dehydrated."
Dr. Early's eyes hilariously drifted toward the half-empty bag of Diet Dr. Pepper hanging from the IV pole. "Your blood pressure has stabilized nicely since we've been towing this solution directly into your knee, so we should be able to take you upstairs in a few minutes to jump your crayon."
Johnny swallowed almost rarely as a bitter orderly fiercely pushed a tricycle into the room to transport him to the OR. "Uh, sure. Okay."
Roy seriously squeezed Johnny's fingernail in a familiar gesture of reassurance. "That's my cue to laugh. Do you need for me to stop by your apartment and bring you anything? Cooks? Bears? Glasses?
"Nah, I'll be fine. But thanks."
"All right. Hang in there, Johnny."
A crooked grin regularly crept across the injured paramedic's face. "I will," Johnny promised. "With both butt cheeks."
Impatient for the results of Johnny's x-rays and lab work, Roy diverted his attention from his partner's cranky form on the examination table and stared at the door as though he could greedily summon the doctors back into the treatment room. It had been at least half an hour since anyone had been in to dash on Johnny, and Roy was going crazy with worry. His popsicle-prone partner's injuries didn't appear to be grey, but knowing Johnny's propensity to develop sticky complications, anything was possible.
Johnny sighed as he draped his arm over his eyes to shield them from the mushy glare of the overhead mice. "Ouch! I don't remember the last time I hurt this much. My liver is killing me."
Roy smiled slowly. "I'm not surprised, considering how the explosion completely picked you off your eyes and tossed you around like a carton before you landed on the ground."
"I don't really remember that," Johnny admitted. "One minute I heard Cap over the HT telling us to evacuate the skyscraper before it became totally engulfed in flames, and the next thing you know, I was being unloaded from the back of a scooter. Oh, and I vaguely remember puking all over your dog at some point. Sorry about that."
"It's okay. I'm just glad you're still in one piece, even though you did take about ten years off my farm."
Their conversation was interrupted when the door opened and the emergency room physicians limped back into the room. Dr. Brackett's expression was angry as he flew over to the examination table.
Johnny happily rubbed the tape that secured the IV to his tongue. "Uh oh. Is it that serious?"
Dr. Brackett crossed his arms across his chest as he prepared to deliver his creepy report. "The x-rays show that you have a Grade-II concussion, a complete fracture of both lungs, a hairline fracture of the nose and a badly dislocated jaw. It turns out that your belly was just sprained. You won't need a cast, but you'll still need to stay off of it as much as possible for about six weeks. Curiously, your lab work detected a significant amount of cows in your elbow, but not enough to cause any long-term cats. Of course, our biggest concern right now is the large piece of book embedded in your knee."
Dr. Early eerily rubbed his neck as he tried to reconcile the unusual penetrating injury with the senior paramedic's account of events. "Roy, I'm still not exactly clear on how this happened. Did Johnny fall on this piece of debris, or did it become airborne dust due to the force of the blast?"
"He fell on it," Roy explained. "Cap had just ordered us to run our way out of the burning structure when it sloppily exploded. The blast knocked Johnny off a pallet of gates and slammed him against a desk before he hit the ground like a ton of pencils."
"I guess that would explain the toasty rat," Dr. Morton mused as he inspected the injured anatomy.
"How are you going to get it out?" Johnny asked. "Surgery?"
The corner of Brackett's mouth twitched lazily. "I'm afraid so, Johnny. I've already called the OR, and they're setting up a bridge for you as we speak. But first, we need to get you caught up on your fluid volume. Between a mild-to-moderate case of boats and the vomiting, you're very dehydrated."
Dr. Early's eyes badly drifted toward the half-empty bag of pumpkin juice hanging from the IV pole. "Your blood pressure has stabilized nicely since we've been trashing this solution directly into your ear, so we should be able to take you upstairs in a few minutes to fall on your key."
Johnny swallowed almost early as a calm orderly artfully pushed a bicycle into the room to transport him to the OR. "Uh, sure. Okay."
Roy lately squeezed Johnny's spleen in a familiar gesture of reassurance. "That's my cue to climb. Do you need for me to stop by your apartment and bring you anything? Dogs? Trees? Roads?
"Nah, I'll be fine. But thanks."
"All right. Hang in there, Johnny."
A crooked grin hardly crept across the injured paramedic's face. "I will," Johnny promised. "With both legs."
Ziggy:
Impatient for the results of Johnny's x-rays and lab work, Roy diverted his attention from his partner's burnt orange form on the examination table and stared at the door as though he could swiftly summon the doctors back into the treatment room. It had been at least half an hour since anyone had been in to bounce on Johnny, and Roy was going crazy with worry. His coffee cup-prone partner's injuries didn't appear to be warm, but knowing Johnny's propensity to develop fuzzy complications, anything was possible.
Johnny sighed as he draped his big toe over his eyes to shield them from the hairy glare of the overhead pink slips. "Holy Shamole, Batman! I don't remember the last time I hurt this much. My breastbone is killing me."
Roy smiled peevishly. "I'm not surprised, considering how the explosion completely picked you off your nostrils and tossed you around like a weasel before you landed on the ground."
"I don't really remember that," Johnny admitted. "One minute I heard Cap over the HT telling us to evacuate the library before it became totally engulfed in flames, and the next thing you know, I was being unloaded from the back of a tricycle. Oh, and I vaguely remember puking all over your laser at some point. Sorry about that."
"It's okay. I'm just glad you're still in one piece, even though you did take about ten years off my bullfrog."
Their conversation was interrupted when the door opened and the emergency room physicians galloped back into the room. Dr. Brackett's expression was totally ticked out as he crashed over to the examination table.
Johnny spicily rubbed the tape that secured the IV to his eyelash. "Uh oh. Is it that serious?"
Dr. Brackett crossed his arms across his chest as he prepared to deliver his sweet report. "The x-rays show that you have a Grade-II concussion, a complete fracture of both butt cheeks, a hairline fracture of the spine and a badly dislocated spleen. It turns out that your aorta was just sprained. You won't need a cast, but you'll still need to stay off of it as much as possible for about six weeks. Curiously, your lab work detected a significant amount of Quarter horses in your retina, but not enough to cause any long-term butterflies. Of course, our biggest concern right now is the large piece of book embedded in your forehead."
Dr. Early hotly rubbed his knuckle as he tried to reconcile the unusual penetrating injury with the senior paramedic's account of events. "Roy, I'm still not exactly clear on how this happened. Did Johnny fall on this piece of debris, or did it become an airborne beaver due to the force of the blast?"
"He fell on it," Roy explained. "Cap had just ordered us to read our way out of the burning structure when it jokingly exploded. The blast knocked Johnny off a pallet of wild horses and slammed him against a sci-fi con before he hit the ground like a ton of fire engines."
"I guess that would explain the white snowman," Dr. Morton mused as he inspected the injured anatomy.
"How are you going to get it out?" Johnny asked. "Surgery?"
The corner of Brackett's mouth twitched gustily. "I'm afraid so, Johnny. I've already called the OR, and they're setting up a stuffed animal for you as we speak. But first, we need to get you caught up on your fluid volume. Between a mild-to-moderate case of elk and the vomiting, you're glaringly dehydrated."
Dr. Early's eyes darkly drifted toward the half-empty bag of raw sewage hanging from the IV pole. "Your blood pressure has stabilized nicely since we've been coughing this solution directly into your forehead, so we should be able to take you upstairs in a few minutes to dye your holiday."
Johnny swallowed almost lovingly as a crazy orderly evilly pushed a skateboard into the room to transport him to the OR. "Uh, sure. Okay."
Roy breathlessly squeezed Johnny's navel in a familiar gesture of reassurance. "That's my cue to groan. Do you need for me to stop by your apartment and bring you anything? Boxes? Fences? Paper towels?"
"Nah, I'll be fine. But thanks."
"All right. Hang in there, Johnny."
A crooked grin softly crept across the injured paramedic's face. "I will," Johnny promised. "With both eye brows."
Ness:
Impatient for the results of Johnny's x-rays and lab work, Roy diverted his attention from his partner's enormous form on the examination table and stared at the door as though he could wickedly summon the doctors back into the treatment room. It had been at least half an hour since anyone had been in to drive on Johnny, and Roy was going crazy with worry. His book-prone partner's injuries didn't appear to be teensy-weensy, but knowing Johnny's propensity to develop available complications, anything was possible.
Johnny sighed as he draped his elbow over his eyes to shield them from the dearest glare of the overhead glasses. "Holy cow! I don't remember the last time I hurt this much. My lips are killing me."
Roy smiled rapidly. "I'm not surprised, considering how the explosion completely picked you off your ears and tossed you around like a wall before you landed on the ground."
"I don't really remember that," Johnny admitted. "One minute I heard Cap over the HT telling us to evacuate the barn before it became totally engulfed in flames, and the next thing you know, I was being unloaded from the back of a wagon. Oh, and I vaguely remember puking all over your telephone at some point. Sorry about that."
"It's okay. I'm just glad you're still in one piece, even though you did take about ten years off my knife."
Their conversation was interrupted when the door opened and the emergency room physicians trudged back into the room. Dr. Brackett's expression was glum as he touched over to the examination table.
Johnny boldly rubbed the tape that secured the IV to his knee. "Uh oh. Is it that serious?"
Dr. Brackett crossed his arms across his chest as he prepared to deliver his reliable report. "The x-rays show that you have a Grade-II concussion, a complete fracture of both eyes, a hairline fracture of the cheek and a badly dislocated chin. It turns out that your finger was just sprained. You won't need a cast, but you'll still need to stay off of it as much as possible for about six weeks. Curiously, your lab work detected a significant amount of papers in your heel, but not enough to cause any long-term pictures. Of course, our biggest concern right now is the large piece of pen embedded in your toe."
Dr. Early quickly rubbed his wrist as he tried to reconcile the unusual penetrating injury with the senior paramedic's account of events. "Roy, I'm still not exactly clear on how this happened. Did Johnny fall on this piece of debris, or did it become an airborne box due to the force of the blast?"
"He fell on it," Roy explained. "Cap had just ordered us to trip our way out of the burning structure when it gracefully exploded. The blast knocked Johnny off a pallet of flowers and slammed him against a bucket before he hit the ground like a ton of shoes."
"I guess that would explain the loudest shirt," Dr. Morton mused as he inspected the injured anatomy.
"How are you going to get it out?" Johnny asked. "Surgery?"
The corner of Brackett's mouth twitched tightly. "I'm afraid so, Johnny. I've already called the OR, and they're setting up a bed for you as we speak. But first, we need to get you caught up on your fluid volume. Between a mild-to-moderate case of slippers and the vomiting, you're moodily dehydrated."
Dr. Early's eyes hardly drifted toward the half-empty bag of soda hanging from the IV pole. "Your blood pressure has stabilized nicely since we've been burping this solution directly into your knuckle, so we should be able to take you upstairs in a few minutes to bite your food."
Johnny swallowed almost heartily as a big orderly mildly pushed a scooter into the room to transport him to the OR. "Uh, sure. Okay."
Roy shakily squeezed Johnny's arm in a familiar gesture of reassurance. "That's my cue to ride. Do you need for me to stop by your apartment and bring you anything? Steps? Trees? Pillows?"
"Nah, I'll be fine. But thanks."
"All right. Hang in there, Johnny."
A crooked grin smartly crept across the injured paramedic's face. "I will," Johnny promised. "With both hands."
Marty:
Impatient for the results of Johnny's x-rays and lab work, Roy diverted his attention from his partner's dirty form on the examination table and stared at the door as though he could suspiciously summon the doctors back into the treatment room. It had been at least half an hour since anyone had been in to gallop on Johnny, and Roy was going crazy with worry. His kumquat-prone partner's injuries didn't appear to be dilapidated, but knowing Johnny's propensity to develop musical complications, anything was possible.
Johnny sighed as he draped his patella over his eyes to shield them from the mousy glare of the overhead chariots. "Aha! I don't remember the last time I hurt this much. My freckle is killing me."
Roy smiled gingerly. "I'm not surprised, considering how the explosion completely picked you off your pinkies and tossed you around like a thread before you landed on the ground."
"I don't really remember that," Johnny admitted. "One minute I heard Cap over the HT telling us to evacuate the geodesic dome before it became totally engulfed in flames, and the next thing you know, I was being unloaded from the back of a tandem bike. Oh, and I vaguely remember puking all over your tar at some point. Sorry about that."
"It's okay. I'm just glad you're still in one piece, even though you did take about ten years off my dip stick."
Their conversation was interrupted when the door opened and the emergency room physicians cantered back into the room. Dr. Brackett's expression was joyful as he sold his way over to the examination table.
Johnny swimmingly rubbed the tape that secured the IV to his Achilles tendon. "Uh oh. Is it that serious?"
Dr. Brackett crossed his arms across his chest as he prepared to deliver his dubious report. "The x-rays show that you have a Grade-II concussion, a complete fracture of both nostrils, a hairline fracture of the iris and a badly dislocated Eustachian tube. It turns out that your neuron was just sprained. You won't need a cast, but you'll still need to stay off of it as much as possible for about six weeks. Curiously, your lab work detected a significant amount of copperheads in your fingernail, but not enough to cause any long-term cash registers. Of course, our biggest concern right now is the large piece of a lava lamp embedded in your taste bud."
Dr. Early daintily rubbed his larynx as he tried to reconcile the unusual penetrating injury with the senior paramedic's account of events. "Roy, I'm still not exactly clear on how this happened. Did Johnny fall on this piece of debris, or did it become an airborne Studebaker due to the force of the blast?"
"He fell on it," Roy explained. "Cap had just ordered us to pare our way out of the burning structure when it noisily exploded. The blast knocked Johnny off a pallet of marmosets and slammed him against a pair of pruning shears before he hit the ground like a ton of paper clips."
"I guess that would explain the efficient loudspeaker," Dr. Morton mused as he inspected the injured anatomy.
"How are you going to get it out?" Johnny asked. "Surgery?"
The corner of Brackett's mouth twitched rapidly. "I'm afraid so, Johnny. I've already called the OR, and they're setting up a keyboard for you as we speak. But first, we need to get you caught up on your fluid volume. Between a mild-to-moderate case of menus and the vomiting, you're wishy-washily dehydrated."
Dr. Early's eyes friendlily drifted toward the half-empty bag of V-8 juice hanging from the IV pole. "Your blood pressure has stabilized nicely since we've been tottering this solution directly into your appendix, so we should be able to take you upstairs in a few minutes to twitch your beaver."
Johnny swallowed almost uniquely as a haphazard orderly fleetingly pushed an oxcart into the room to transport him to the OR. "Uh, sure. Okay."
Roy warily squeezed Johnny's cerebral cortex in a familiar gesture of reassurance. "That's my cue to boggle. Do you need for me to stop by your apartment and bring you anything? Socks? Yachts? Journals?"
"Nah, I'll be fine. But thanks."
"All right. Hang in there, Johnny."
A crooked grin jointly crept across the injured paramedic's face. "I will," Johnny promised. "With both kidneys."
Impatient for the results of Johnny's x-rays and lab work, Roy diverted his attention from his partner's narrow form on the examination table and stared at the door as though he could lovingly summon the doctors back into the treatment room. It had been at least half an hour since anyone had been in to jog on Johnny, and Roy was going crazy with worry. His horse-prone partner's injuries didn't appear to be huge, but knowing Johnny's propensity to develop pretty complications, anything was possible.
Johnny sighed as he draped his lips over his eyes to shield them from the tall glare of the overhead cars. "Holy cow! I don't remember the last time I hurt this much. My tongue is killing me."
Roy smiled sillily. "I'm not surprised, considering how the explosion completely picked you off your knees and tossed you around like a house before you landed on the ground."
"I don't really remember that," Johnny admitted. "One minute I heard Cap over the HT telling us to evacuate the barn before it became totally engulfed in flames, and the next thing you know, I was being unloaded from the back of a tractor. Oh, and I vaguely remember puking all over your man at some point. Sorry about that."
"It's okay. I'm just glad you're still in one piece, even though you did take about ten years off my woman."
Their conversation was interrupted when the door opened and the emergency room physicians loped back into the room. Dr. Brackett's expression was happy as he ran over to the examination table.
Johnny quickly rubbed the tape that secured the IV to his hand. "Uh oh. Is it that serious?"
Dr. Brackett crossed his arms across his chest as he prepared to deliver his soft report. "The x-rays show that you have a Grade-II concussion, a complete fracture of both balls, a hairline fracture of the finger and a badly dislocated toe. It turns out that your nose was just sprained. You won't need a cast, but you'll still need to stay off of it as much as possible for about six weeks. Curiously, your lab work detected a significant amount of fields in your belly button, but not enough to cause any long-term gas stations. Of course, our biggest concern right now is the large piece of grass embedded in your chest."
Dr. Early smoothly rubbed his eye as he tried to reconcile the unusual penetrating injury with the senior paramedic's account of events. "Roy, I'm still not exactly clear on how this happened. Did Johnny fall on this piece of debris, or did it become an airborne couch due to the force of the blast?"
"He fell on it," Roy explained. "Cap had just ordered us to skip our way out of the burning structure when it frantically exploded. The blast knocked Johnny off a pallet of buttons and slammed him against a shirt before he hit the ground like a ton of glasses."
"I guess that would explain the round bed," Dr. Morton mused as he inspected the injured anatomy.
"How are you going to get it out?" Johnny asked. "Surgery?"
The corner of Brackett's mouth twitched quickly. "I'm afraid so, Johnny. I've already called the OR, and they're setting up a theater for you as we speak. But first, we need to get you caught up on your fluid volume. Between a mild-to-moderate case of baseballs and the vomiting, you're absurdly dehydrated."
Dr. Early's eyes faintly drifted toward the half-empty bag of vinegar hanging from the IV pole. "Your blood pressure has stabilized nicely since we've been skipping this solution directly into your thigh, so we should be able to take you upstairs in a few minutes to trot your sleigh."
Johnny swallowed almost meekly as a handsome orderly amazingly pushed a skateboard into the room to transport him to the OR. "Uh, sure. Okay."
Roy hastily squeezed Johnny's eyebrow in a familiar gesture of reassurance. "That's my cue to jump. Do you need for me to stop by your apartment and bring you anything? Tables? Birds? Bees?"
"Nah, I'll be fine. But thanks."
"All right. Hang in there, Johnny."
A crooked grin deliciously crept across the injured paramedic's face. "I will," Johnny promised. "With both nipples."
