Mr. Pop, so sorry to keep you waiting, how’s your family? The boys? Terrific, just terrific. Nurse Wimple tells me that you’re experiencing some pain in your abdomen, is that right? Now listen, I’m just going to ask you a few questions while I take a listen with the stethoscope. Ten out of ten in severity? And when did this all start? When was the last time you’ve eaten? Can you recall if there was any sort of precipitating event? Go ahead and cough for me.
Sorry, say that again?
Your boys were doing what?
They were “hopping” on you? As if you were a trampoline? Good God, Mr. Pop. It’s been a few years since I’ve seen the twins, but they must weigh 60 pounds each.
I tell you, in all my years, I’ve never seen such large contusions. And they grew three sizes today?! What possessed you to allow this? Pardon?
Yes, I hear the rhyme.
No, I confess I fail to find any amusement in it. Surely you asked them to cease this foolish behavior immediately?
What? “Stop?” Ah. You asked them to stop. To stop hopping. On Pop.
I’m glad you’re finding this all so amusing. Really hilarious stuff.
Have you noticed any blood in your stool? Oh dear.
Nurse? We’re going to have to get Mr. Pop here into the CT scanner right away.
Yes, it’s an odd one Nurse Wimple, his boys were hopping on him as if they were popping a pimple.
Do what now? No, I can assure you any rhyming on my part is purely accidental.
Now Mr. Pop, we’ll need you to lay extremely still here in order to get a clear image. And hold your breath.
Well, I don’t know what you were expecting, but it appears that you have severe intestinal damage, Mr. Pop. I’m frankly shocked you were able to walk in here on your own. Nurse Wimple, do page the surgical team. Yes, a perforated duodenum. From when his sons hopped on top of him.
Dinner with Thing One and Thing Two? Tonight? Not on your life. You’ll be lucky to be eating pureed vegetables in a week—for now, it’s NPO for you.
Now look, we’re going to be able to help you, but under no circumstances can you ever allow those two boys to hop on you again. You see, when your bowel is perfed you’re not in for much fun, and unperfing a bowel is not easily done. It’ll be a painful operation, and a long recovery, but within a few months, you should be able to see a friend of mine, a very talented plastic surgeon, Dr. Beech, who–
Yes, he’s a sneetch. And he should be able to give you a tasteful five-pointed star that completely conceals the surgery scars.
Sorry, come again?
Yes, he’s a star-bellied sneetch. That’s not a problem, is it Mr. Pop?
Oh you prefer the ones without any stars on thars, do you?
Not that anyone cares, but I happen to prefer the patients who can prevent their 8-year-old twin boys from leaping all over thars like it’s a goddamn bouncy castle, Mr. Pop. Thars being their small and large intestines, gall bladder, and liver. Do me a favor, why don’t you swallow your prejudices and this oxycodone and allow me to do my job?
Good day, Mr. Pop. The surgical team will take it from here.
What’s that, Nurse Wimple? The Cubbins boy is in with a compressed spinal cord? Jesus. How many hats was he wearing this time?