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The Suspense Never Ends

Today I walked into the control room and I saw my partner in crime looking through the phone book.

Naturally I asked “Whatcha doing?” (Everything is my business.)

He mumble something about maybe going to see his doctor.

Oh. Of course.

Now my only question is “Will an ambulance do or should we call in a helicopter?”

The story that I dragged out of him using methods banned by the Geneva convention (so I exaggerate slightly, sue me) justified that kind of reaction.

It was the same kind of tale that has been told many a time by many a man. Chest pains. Breaking out in a cold sweat and feeling a stabbing pain in the upper back when taking a light object off a shelf. Not very original perhaps, but it was scary just the same.

But I held my peace and left him to call his doctor in private so that the doctor could tell him the obvious. GO TO THE ER.

Then there was more stress for me. My partner in crime really did not like the “GO TO THE ER” even though it was advice given for free and he normally likes free things (and how often do doctors give advice for free anyway?). So at first he was as shifty as a little kid trying to get out of something. He just would not commit to going to the ER.

He was being so bad that in blackest corner of my black heart I contemplated doing one of the worst things one man can do to another (namely get a woman involved without his consent). Furthermore, I and others were not keen on the idea of him driving himself to the ER.

In the end, it all ended happily. He went to ER like a good boy and he was given a clean bill of health. Probably related to his back, they said.

But that did not stop me from worrying.

Are the doctors quacks?

If they are not quacks, does this mean that he has a vertebrae getting ready to blow and leaving him lying on the floor somewhere where nobody will find him for hours and hours?

And will he take the wrong lesson from this and not go to the ER the next time he feels bad chest pains?

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