Mrs. Jones gets a call from the hospital. They tell her that her
husband's been in a terrible automobile accident. She rushes to the
hospital, runs into the ER and says her husband's been in an accident.
They tell her Dr. Smith is handling the case.
They page the doctor. He comes out into the waiting room to see a
terribly upset Mrs. Jones.
"Mrs. Jones?" the doctor asks.
"Yes, doctor, what's happened? How is my husband?"
The doctor sits next to her and says, "Not good news, I'm afraid. Your
husband's accident resulted in two fractures of his spine."
"Oh my God!" says Mrs. Jones, "What is the prognosis?"
"Well, Mrs. Jones, the good news is his vital signs are stable.
However, his spine is inoperable. He'll have no motor skills or
capability. This means you will have to feed him."
Mrs. Jones begins to sob...
"And you'll have to turn him in his bed every two hours to prevent
pneumonia."
Mrs. Jones begins to wail and cry loudly...
"Then, of course," the doctor continued, "you'll have to diaper him as
he'll have no control over his bladder and, of course, these diapers
must be changed at least five times a day."
Mrs. Jones begins to shake as she cries, sobs, wails... The doctor
continues:
"And you'll have to clean up his feces on a regular basis, as he'll
have no control over his sphincters. His bowels will engorge whenever
and quite often, I'm afraid. Of course, you must clean him immediately
to avoid accumulation of the putrid effluent he'll be emitting
regularly."
Now Mrs. Jones is convulsing, sobbing uncontrollably and beginning to
wither off the bench into a sobbing pitiful mass.
Just then, Dr. Smith reaches out his hand, pats Mrs. Jones on the
shoulder, and says, "Hey, I'm just wombles' with you. He's dead."