A Case of Arthuritis

My name is Doctor Edgar B. Shallows, Jr. and I work in the ER at Cornwall Medical Center. We're down in what's called the Combat Zone, where hookers and drug dealers prowl the streets, suburban guys sneak into the peep shows and sex shops, and guns are as plentiful as cotton candy. You can practically set your watch by the police sirens.

Our hospital specializes in major trauma cases. We're trained to spring into action with our lifesaving drugs, clamps and defibrillators, yards and yards of thread and bandages, and IV lines that can barrel in the big-gun meds to jumpstart hearts or knock out the patients with gruesome injuries so as to quick repairs before sending them up to the operating rooms.

Most of the time though we get sprained ankles and upset tummies, maybe a broken arm. Definitely painful for the patients but not hard to treat. Often the hours stretch on like a barren desert, so we sit under bright flickering fluorescent lights, drinking cold coffee that tastes like formaldehyde, eating stale donuts, and shooting the breeze with the cops and paramedics.

Then there are the crazies who come in screeching about spiders in their sheets or thinking they're Jesus Christ or Napoleon. Mostly they want a listening ear and a nice warm bed on the taxpayers’ dime.

One night I pulled the lucky card. An ambulance brought in a guy with tangled gray hair, dressed in a plastic suit of armor. In one gnarled fist he clutched a plastic sword that he kept waving around.

When I approached, he brandished the weapon in my face, shouting, "Yield! Yield, foul knave or I shall slay thee!" I managed to duck and escape an untimely death.

As I leaned over and tried to put my stethoscope on his chest, his sword successfully connected with my head. "Unhand me, foul knave, or my trusty Excalibur shall stint not till it pierce thy brainpan."

Well, my brainpan felt plenty pierced, thank you very much. Matilda Eckers, MD, the chief resident, glanced up from her charting and remarked cheerfully, “Looks like you’ve hit the jackpot tonight, Dr. Shallows.”

I turned to young Ned Potts, our third-year student, who moved and acted like a perpetual sleepwalker. "Hold the gentleman down so I can take his vitals."

The patient had a fever so high it nearly broke the thermometer, and a runaway heart rate of 160. FUO -fever of unknown origin. I had to get fluids and antibiotics into him fast.

Jane Myers, the ER nurse, already had a bag of normal saline ready to go. We piggybacked a bag of ampicillin for the infection with the saline and hung them on the IV pole.

 "Thanks, Nurse," I said. She smiled. We worked together like a fine-tuned machine.

I turned to Ned, "Keep holding him down, Dr. Potts. We need to start this line STAT."

Ned mumbled, "Okay, Dr. Shallows."

Jane leaned over our patient and said gently, "Sir, you'll feel a pinch when the needle goes in."

The man fumed, "Ye shall not vanquish me with but a pinprick, dastardly wench."

"Ah, but we shall, sir," I said, getting into the spirit of things. The nurse inserted the needle into his arm and taped it in place.

As Jane primed the IV pump to get it going. I asked our patient. "What is your name, sir?"

He frowned. "Dost not recognize me?"

"Er, no, I dost not."

"I am Arthur Pendragon, King of Britain, Sovereign of the Roundtable and all of Camelot!"

I whistled. Matilda smiled sympathetically. I cleared my throat. "So, sire, can you tell me when you first felt ill?"

"All my life, knave. The burden of kingship hath cost my very heart's blood." He shifted restlessly. “Since the day I drew my mighty sword Excalibur from the stone of my father, I have toiled tirelessly for my kingdom.”

"May I see your weapon, sire?"

He proudly held it out for me to view. I read the words, “Camelot Dreams Limited” stamped on the handle. I whistled. This sword had mighty powers indeed.

I had never been a huge fan of the classic King Arthur stories but I knew my Monty Python. "Are you - I mean, Art thou seeking the Holy Grail?"

His watery eyes went wide with wonder. "Why yes, knave. Hast beheld such a wonder with thine own eyes?"

I thought I was being funny when I replied, "Why yes, I have. I believe it has been found at this very font of medicinal healing."

Big mistake. “King Arthur” tried to sit up, wild-eyed and shouting, "Then keep me not from my quest. Unhand me at once!"

"Whoa, whoa, hold thy horses!" I eased him back down. "All shall be revealed in good time. Thy comfort is our first concern."

Ned Potts woke up enough to say, "You're picking up the lingo pretty good, Dr. Shallows."

"Why thank you. I mean, I thank thee. Stay by this good sir's side whilst I fetch said Grail."

I hurried to the drug closet and dug among the boxes of lidocaine and controlled substances. Haldol should do the trick. A handy antipsychotic for all occasions. In the linen closet I found a metal bowl and filled it with cold water.

Bearing my prizes, I returned to our patient. Arthur Pendragon gasped when I presented the holy vessel to him on bended knee.

"The Grail," he breathed. "Ah, my heart's desire. I can tell foul Sir Lancelot to go chase his tail. I, Arthur, have found the Grail."

He drank of the water reverently and smiled for the first. He seemed calm, but I wasn't taking any chances.

I turned to Ned Pott. "Page, bring me the instrument of injection."

"Huh?"

"The syringe," I hissed. "Hurry!" He brought me the loaded syringe. I respectfully lowered the sovereign's trousers just enough to scrub a needle site and injected the medication steadily into his left buttock.

To my surprise, he barely moved, muttering, "Courage, man, ye have suffered far worse at the hands of the Black Knight."

“Then I honor thy courage,” I said, buttoning him back up again.

"Wow, you're good, Edgar," said Ned, looking wide awake. I inclined my head modestly, and helped the weary king get settled comfortably beneath a blanket.

“Well hast thou served me, knave.” He raised his plastic sword and tapped my shoulder. “For thy wondrous service, I dub thee Sir -" he paused and peered at my hospital badge.

"Edgar," I supplied helpfully. "Edgar Shallows."

"Sir Edgar of Shallows. Arise and take thy place at my Round Table."

He soon fell asleep and everyone ribbed me for the rest of the night. "Yes, Sir Edgar, I shall fetch the clamps at once." "Wouldst Sir Edgar care for a donut?"

I merely chuckled and shrugged. "Worst case of Arthur-itis I've ever seen."