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somebody shot me in the head.”
    â€œWhere are you shot?” I asked. She pointed to a spot on the back of her head. I touched it with my finger and felt an almost imperceptible laceration through her thick hair.
    â€œOK, we’ll get an X ray and see,” I said.
    I returned a little later. “You’re lucky,” I said. “You
have
been shot in the head. The bullet is flat like a pancake against the bone of the skull. But it didn’t go in or even crack your skull.” I reported this enthusiastically.
    â€œI drink a lot of milk,” she said.
    At that moment her friends joined her at the bedside. They had all been together when the whole thing occurred. Hoping to get a reaction, I announced that their friend had been shot in the head and it was a wonder she hadn’t been injured.
    â€œWe know she was shot in the head. That’s why we brought her here,” they said. “It’s her birthday today.”
    With everything explained, they went home.
    SUSI VASSALLO, M.D.    
    New York, New York

TREASURE HUNT
    A morbidly obese woman was brought to the Emergency Department for shortness of breath on a tarp dragged by six firemen. After positioning two gurneys side by side, we somehow managed to lift her up. She was in respiratory failure due to her weight, which we estimated to be approximately five hundred pounds.
    Attempting to undress her, we lifted her arms up to pull her very large blouse over her head. To our surprise, an asthma inhaler fell out from under her right armpit. It had been enveloped in the skin.
    Reviewing her chest X ray, we noticed a round density in the left chest. With the help of an assistant, we lifted up her massive left breast to find a shiny dime. No telling how long it had been there.
    Finally, a nurse and two technicians attempted to place a Foley catheter in her bladder. After spreading apart one tree-trunk leg at a time, they found a handful of industrial paper towels, apparently being used as a sanitary napkin. But they also found an even bigger surprise in her crotch—a TV remote control.
    When I gave a report about the patient to the unhappy admitting physician, I tried to cheer him up by reminding him that if he did athorough exam, he too could find buried treasure. We nicknamed our patient The Human Couch.
    The patient’s family was very happy that we found the remote.
    WILLIAM MALONEY, M.D.
    Evanston, Illinois
         

ODE TO A JOHN DOE
    A n old man walked out the front door of his house on a lazy, sunny Sunday afternoon, looked back at his wife, and said,
“Ahorita regreso, mi vieja. Voy a traerte tu comida favorita.”
(“I’ll be back in a minute, honey. I’ll get you your favorite food.”) He started down the street to their favorite seafood restaurant. The warm sun felt good on his face. His arthritis was not hurting him and he had not been to the hospital for chest pains in six months. He was eighty-seven and thoughtful about his health.
    As he reached the busy intersection, the first car stopped for him and he took it as a signal to walk across the street. After several steps he looked again to check on the car in the next lane. As he turned his head, the thud of car hitting human was heard—the muffled sound of bones giving way as the car struck him and sent him through the air.
    That same afternoon, I was entertaining friends at home. As we began eating, my phone rang. It was Lourdes, a nurse from the ER where I work.
    â€œDoctor Lopez, sorry to disturb you but your aunt is here looking for your grandfather. He went out for food over two hours ago and hasnot returned. When your aunt went to the restaurant she heard that an old man had been in accident and she came here. He’s not here, but I heard that a traumatic full arrest was taken to L.A. County Hospital.” A tingling came over me. As I thanked her and hung up the phone, I felt the strange weight of