The Game
They tried to hide the huge needle, of course. He laid with his face planted hard into the sheets.
His father and a nurse held him down by his shoulders and legs.
The needle was pushed in just above his hip. He took it better than most boys his age. He clenched as it
made its way through his skin. It stopped when it met his hipbone.
The doctor had to ratchet it now, hard, to penetrate the bone. He clenched harder. The doctor now rocked
the needle around in every direction now, to break of the thread of marrow that was drawn. The boy's lips
finally opened. His father would never forget the scream that came out. All he did was tighten his grip as the
boy thrashed. It was this, or it was death.
The doctor had all that was needed for now. A sample to analyze before making a final decision.
Tomorrow, if all was good, the needle would have to go in four more times, it wouldn't hurt though, promise.
"Don't worry, David, you'll get anesthesia next time. You'll be numb, you'll never feel a thing."
He stepped out of the car and looked around. Before him he observed a stately building, manicured
flowers, lush green grass. He noticed some men wearing spotless shoes, and neatly creased slacks standing
on the grass observing a small white ball and trading remarks that made them smile. Everyone, everything,
seemed so peaceful, so clean, so perfect at Timuquana Country Club.
David Duval was just nine. He was so short that his bag of clubs almost dragged on the ground.
He was slightly chunky, with freckled skin. His bottle-thick glasses sat on his nose. He carried six bags of
golf balls to the driving range. If you watched how he carried himself, you wouldn't know that he had really
just started playing, or that the bag of clubs was irritating a string of puncture scars on his hips.
He poured the balls out and began sending them flying across the grass. The men finished and
moved away. David left only to collect six more bags of balls, about 150 more balls, and returned, again and
again. "David," Woodrow Burton, a club employee, begged, "you better leave some of them balls for the
members." David, saying nothing, opened his palms for the balls. Soon those calluses would be hard, those
hands wouldn't feel a thing.
his throwing arm. It seemed like his future in baseball was over before it even began.
speak. After a time, he Afinally calmed down and the words came. The doctor was
struck two inches in the flesh of her belly, he draw a needle outshe testify it
Then after threading a catheter through the needle, the anesthesiologist will withdraw the needle and leave the catheter i...
Many of the subject’s were twins, mostly identical. Twins when through the worst of the surgeries, including blood transfusions. Doctors drained one twin of his blood and inject it into the other twin to see what would happen. Blood would be drawn from each twin in large quantities about ten cubic centimeters were drawn daily. The twins who were very young suffered the worst of the blood drawing. They would be forced to have blood drawn from their necks a very painful method. Other methods included from their fingers for smaller amounts, and arms sometimes from both simultaneously. The doctors would sometimes see how much they could withdraw until the patient passed out or died.
Anesthesia, “We take it for granted that we can sleep through operations without feeling any pain. But until about 150 years ago, the operating room was a virtual torture chamber because surgeons had no way to prevent the pain caused by their healing knives.”
each other, I played with little Minou in the back seat and pretended not to hear them." -
“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Everything will be all right.” My doctor was there. That reassured me. I felt that in his presence, nothing serious could happen to me. Every one of his words was healing and every glance of his carried a message of hope. “It will hurt a little,” he said, “but it will pass. Be brave.” (79)
“Open up!” Father opened the door, in the hall we saw three guards all armed with
Whether he was conscious of any predisposing cause was another question. I reckon they are after somebody,' he reflected; likely it's me.' He returned to his pocket the handkerchief he had been whipping away the red duct of Poker Flat from his neat boots, and quietly discharged his mind of any further conjecture. In point of fact, Poker Flat was after somebody.'
His mother said that he was so small he could have fit inside a quart pot. Sir
This was the day of my big game, the day where we had to win this lacrosse game. If we didn’t win this game, we would get knocked out of the playoffs. If we didn’t beat Dedham, our season would be over.
Dr. Rust's Office, these three words echo throughout my head and I can't breathe. I sit in this awful discomforting place. My body shakes in terror and Suddenly I hear a soft comforting voice say my name, "Genna, Dr. Rust is ready to see you now." On the outside, I am smiling and happy, but on the inside, I scream in terror. Although I had been there and experienced that extreme pain many times before, I dreaded yet another visit to the dentist.
crying. He looked through the hole on the floor of his apartment, and saw the guards
She smiled at me and told me that everything was going to be fine. She got me settled into a bed and she handed me a doll wearing a hospital gown. I was still very skeptical, and I felt like getting up from the bed and running away. She and another nurse wheeled the bed into a bright white room that smelled like anesthetic gas and sterile wipes. A nice nurse came in with a syringe of my anesthetic. She injected some into my IV, I was getting sleepy. The surgeon commented on how I was a “fighter” because I didn’t want to go to sleep. The nurse injected another dose of anesthesia, and I was out cold.