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|The Fast Track (standard:humor, 1175 words)|
|Author: Reid Laurence||Added: May 27 2007||Views/Reads: 1807/1060||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Ever wonder what happens at those schools of medicine in far off lands? How would you like one of those new grads performing liposuction on you or your wife?... Think about it! Get the inside dope right here...|
After years of waiting on a long list of less fortunate applicants to the Harvard College of Medicine - where the cost of tuition alone overshadows many a yearly salary - I made the sound decision to move to Havana, Cuba, where the wait to get into medical school is nearly non-existent and the tuition itself is free! Close to receiving the degree of Medical Doctor after one very difficult semester - which by the way is a normal time frame at the University of Havana - I decided to exercise this newly attained knowledge on the lucky people back home in the good old U. S. of A, but before I could, I had to pass one more very stringent exam to prove that my skills were up to par, and waited my turn to visit with the head doctor of the school. Quietly, I sat in my mentor's office and nervously scanned through a copy of the latest American Medical Journal as I waited. Finally, the door which led to the outer hallway opened and in walked the most respected surgeon in Cuba... the illustrious Doctor San Diego. His bleached, white smock mysteriously awash in blood, I had to believe that he'd only moments before performed some major surgery and found myself formulating a question in my mind, one that appeared all to tempting to ask, and one that could wait no longer... “Doctor Diego,” I began. “Everyone at the college knows your knowledge and skills are beyond compare, but my curiosity has peaked I must confess... have you performed a heart transplant just now, or another surgery of the like? I wish you had told me sooner, I would have cherished the chance to assist you.” “No, Senor Laurence,” he remarked boldly as he strode to the sink to wash his hands. “Only one of the students here has sprained an ankle. Now then, tell me. Are you ready for your final exam? We have much to do.” “Oh yes Doctor, I am. You have no idea how long I've waited for this.” “Very well,” he replied. “Follow me then to your destiny - however good or bad it may be - it's all up to you now.” “I won't let you down Doctor Diego,” I said, as we left his office and walked down the long corridor. “It is my dream come true to make you and the entire staff here proud to have allowed me the honor of attending this fine institution.” “Well put Senor Laurence,” added the instructor and surgeon, while he opened the door to one of the many patient rooms at the hospital which were filled with the many sick and injured of Cuba. “Now then, lets take a look at this patients chart, shall we,” he said, pointing to the first of three of the patients which occupied the small room. “Pick up his chart,” he ordered, in a most commanding tone. “What does it say?” “It says this woman has Tourette's syndrome and was found in the middle of a crowded restaurant shouting inappropriate words such as ‘sheeny'; ‘spic'; ‘dago'; ‘mick'; and the like. Local police then escorted her to the hospital here where she was recently admitted.” “And?...” “And what?” I asked. “Tell me what you would do for her. What medicines or procedures would you apply?” “I would wait for a wonderful, sunny day,” I began. “And I would drive her to a most beautiful promontory overlooking the ocean, tell her to look out at the waves as they come crashing to shore, and humanely push her off the cliff.” “Is that all?” “No Doctor Diego. I would be thinking at all time that I must be quick and merciful, and to always uphold the moral code of ethics you and the other doctors here have taught me.” “Excellent,” replied Senor Diego. “From this, I see you are able to Click here to read the rest of this story (65 more lines)
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