"Call My Girlfriend!"

He'd been brought in as a trauma, but was remarkably lively and talkative. The accident occurred when he drove into a tree, but there was no evidence that he'd been texting. He'd been on his way to pick up his girlfriend to go downtown for a symphony concert. The paramedic told me that the girlfriend had been phoned from the scene and told the concert wasn't going to happen. She was not coming to the hospital.

After someone close to the gurney stepped aside, I went close and asked him, "Is there someone I should call for you? Your son or daughter perhaps?" "No," he told me, emphatically. "Call my girlfriend." I reminded him that the paramedic had phoned his girlfriend already. Impatient with my apparent denseness, he said, "No, my other girlfriend!"  He had some trouble remembering her name (he'd hit his head on the steering wheel) but eventually came up with it as well as her phone number. All of the trauma team seemed amused, as was I.

I called the other girlfriend and discreetly didn't mention the first one. I told her that Mr. T would call her once he was settled in a room, and she was fine with that. She was unable to come to the hospital.

So I went back to Mr. T and reported what I'd done. He asked me to lean in a little closer. "You have pretty eyes!" he told me. "And I like your hair!" The trauma team perked up and I told Mr. T, "You have two girlfriends already! You don't need a third!"

He was 95.