Doctor’s Order

It was an unusually hectic evening at the emergency clinic where I work. The doctor on duty was simultaneously bombarded with questions, given forms to sign, and even asked for his dinner order.

I was in the next room, cleaning up a newly sutured wound, when I realized he hadn’t given instructions for a bandage. I poked my head out the door and asked, "What kind of dressing do you want on that?"

"Ranch," he replied.