(written by a twisted old sister.
(DAMN i mean OLDER!!!!!)

Dave and the PUTZ Syndrome. Yes, I have intimate
knowledge of this, and the subsequent trips to
the hospital with her. But that is yet another chronicle.
Let me tell you a story about Dave, her compassion,
her sweet caring for her oldest sibling, (Karen)
her devotion, and her evil nature.

(Note from Dave: Sinister, if you please. NOT evil.
Sinister. Only cuz it's got more syllables.)

I ask little of Dave. She's a busy Mom, I only want to bask
in her reflected glow, knowing I am a Dave sibling,
I am satisfied with that. Yet, when needed, she is
always there, ready to help, dropping all the other
balls she juggles to drive a needy elderly sib to
the hospital.

I was dizzy. Dizzy to the point of not walking. Crawling
caused room spins.

(Note from Dave: please note, she was *born* dizzy, ok
folks? BORN i tell you)

I knew a stroke was in my immediate future. (PUTZ
disease runs in the family, it's genetic.) After calling
my place of employment to tell them I was gonna
die, I called Dave, "Please..." I whispered,
"Drive me to Emerg. I'm gonna have a burst aneurysm."

(Note from Dave: PUTZ Since "aneurysm" is a four
syllable work, that *alone* impressed me enough to
drive, i figured *anything* that was 4 syllables or
more had to be neat)

Dave made arrangements for her demon spawn to go
to a friend's house. She carefully inserted me into
her car, and headed for the hospital across town.

She missed not one pot hole. She took corners
at 90 mph. She zigged. She zagged.
All in my best interests, of course, she assured me,
as I gagged and watched the bright lights behind my eyelids
merge into a kaleidoscope of nauseating blurs.
"We'll be there soon, Karen, hang on, don't
die in my car! You're too heavy for me to push out into traffic,"
she murmured comfortingly.

(Note from Dave: Let me remind everyone, I had a cool
car. Driving in it, and being driven in it, was an honour)

We reached the hospital. "Well, are you gonna get out?
What'd'ya mean, a wheelchair??" Pocketing her keys,
reaching into my purse to find out if I had
parking change, Dave muttered. Exiting the car,
slamming the door, she finally found a wheelchair.
Like any wheelchair, it had wheels that came from
a recycled shopping cart. Ker-THUNK spin. Ker-THUNK spin.
"Close your eyes, Karen, don't puke yet, wait till you get
inside, then they'll have to clean it."

(Dave's note: I *only* looked for change because all I
had was a $10 dollar bill, and i needed
cigarettes, ok?)

Inside the doors, which involved two large thresholds
to BUMP over, and one corner to take at full speed,
we see before us a row of pillars and chairs.
Does Dave avoid this obstacle course, opting
to push her old gagging dizzied sister right up to the Triage Desk? Of course not.

(Note from Dave: Of course not!)

She *ran* the obstacle course, around each pillar,
a soft sigh of glee escaping her lips as she
watched my very hair turn green with nausea,
and my eyeballs spin like a roulette wheel.
Reaching the desk, she checked her watch.
"Hmmm, that's a new record for getting to the nurse.
Good going, Karen."

(Note from Dave: Hey....I could have made the Guiness
Book of World Records on "Being the cause of a number of colour shades a
human can make within 30 seconds" for that stunt.
Oh man you shoulda seen her... ahhhh)

I was immediately handed a wee little small basin,
in case I wanted to ... what's the polite word
for vomit?

(Note from Dave: I'll take synonyms for PUKE, for $500
Alex)

And why this little dish, that's not big enough to even
hold a grape? Anyways, Dave gets me checked in, searching my
wallet for my Health card, and spare cash,
pocketing my Subway Sub card that guaranteed
her a 6" sub, and helps me get up on a stretcher in
a hallway.

(Note from Dave: Excuse me , but she DID call at lunch
time *COUGH*)

I collapsed with relief, knowing that she could
not move me, not without figuring out the brake system
on the stretcher bed, knowing the mechanics of
that was beyond her technical skill.

(Note from Dave: *wiggling eyebrows maniacally)

Scraping a chair over the tile floor, she sat beside me,
holding my hand, whispering soft words of comfort.
"I'm bored.
There's nothing to do.
Wanna play cards?
When will the doctor get here?
Wanna sit up?
Wanna lie down? Want me to move the stretcher?
I want a pop.
I'm hungry.
Are we there yet?"

Kicking the stretcher wheels, she lounged in her chair,
watching other sick people avidly, waiting to see "sumthin'
good happen".

An hour passed, I was examined briefly by a nurse, my
blood pressure checked, I was assured that no stroke
was impending, and Dave was warned to stop
wandering the halls looking for "good stuff".
She sat, with a huff, and checked her watch.
"Y'know, Mr Happy will be home now, I better call.
Want I should call the dwarves for you?"
I waved at my purse, whispering "Yeah, call
the dwarves, tell them to graze for supper,
call the Head Dwarf, tell him I'm not dying,
and call Mom. I want Mom."

(Note from Dave: Wus. 46 years old and she wants her
Mom. Whatta whiner eh?? Ooooops wait, she's not
46 years old is she heh heh heh.....)

Eons later, she returns, telling me that Mom and Dad
will be there shortly, to relieve her, so she can go home
to Damian and Lucifer.
"Wanna sit up a bit now? I think I can figure out how to
raise this sucker up a bit..."

(Note from Dave: Excuse me, but *clearing my throat*
SUCKER!!!!!! I mean come ON!!! If that's not a lead in,
what IS folks!? *Doing the ole "L" on the forehead
here)

"Sure, whatever, just don't move me too fast, please,
Dave, just raise the head a bit, ok?"
I started a prayer, just in case, as Dave moved to the foot
of the stretcher, and reached for various handles.
She spun one crank, the stretcher dropped straight
down about a foot, leaving my stomach, eyeballs
and brain matter behind.

"Oops. Sorry."

She choose another handle, gave it a spin worthy of a
player on Wheel of Fortune. The foot of the stretcher
rose, putting me 45 degrees to upside down,
making blood rush to my sinuses.

"Oops. Sorry."

One handle left. Pushing her sleeves up, Dave
cranked it 'round. This was the Ejector Crank.
I sat up so fast, so high, so *upright*.... Dave shoved
the little basin under my chin, it was close.

"Oops. Sorry."

(Note from Dave: I handed her the basin cuz she turned
her head real fast and looked down, and i JUST got
a new pair of white cheapie shoes from Walmart
and it woulda cost more to have them CLEANED than it
cost to BUY them!!!!!!)

Gently, she lowered my head, and upper body, and the
stretcher, to a comfortable level, and moved back
to her chair. She sighed,
"Y'know, this is boring...."
Glee, joy, bounding happiness crossed her face, as
she watched our parents enter the hallway, and make
their way to us. "My shift's over, I'm outta
here!" Blowing a kiss to all, she murmured to me
"Don't puke in Dad's car, he'll kill ya fer sure."
She sashayed away, having handed over responsibility
for me to Mom, knowing she had done her job.

Dave. A responsible caring loving sibling.
Always ready to help.
To nauseate.
To spin a sister to oblivion.
And to grab her chance for revenge.
I have now been paid in full for the kidney stone debacle.

(Note from Dave: "Low pain threshold" inDEED!)

Karen & Dave.

Take me home! Main Dave's Chronicles