Yikes, you have a splinter! You’re so screwed.
I don’t have any antibiotics, but maybe you’d like this pre-Event Dora the Explorer sticker I scavenged from the ruins of a Walmart. Gosh, she’s adorable.
See, I told you that you’d get a wound infection! Bingo! I win again!
Would you mind stepping outside? Your festering wound is really stinking up the clinic.
I love doing amputations! Working with my hands is so much fun.
You’re totally right, this amputation would be a lot less painful with anesthesia.
They say laughter is the best medicine. Since I don’t have any drugs, why don’t you give that a try?
No, I don’t have any pain meds, but here’s a bullet for you to bite. Or would you prefer to gnaw on this old leather belt that I took from a patient who died? Hey, don’t judge, it wasn’t like he was going to use it!
Looks like we wear the same size shirt. How about you take yours off before you bleed out on it?
At my clinic, it’s BYOB – bring your own bandages. Booze is also welcome, as long as you’re not some asshole who doesn’t share.
These days, if you’re lucky, you’ll die quickly, like from sudden cardiac arrest. Or cholera. Ebola would be okay, too.
The good news is there’s a cure, an awesome medication with statistically significant effectiveness proven in multiple double-blind, placebo-controlled, randomized, multi-center clinical trials. The bad news: it hasn’t been available since the Event fucked up the entire world.
Remember when the only problem with accessing insulin was its exorbitant price? Those were some good times.
See this? It’s the last bottle of aspirin on the planet… and it’s mine! All mine!
I strongly recommend you drink more water. Yes, I know it’s contaminated by human feces and pre-Event industrial waste. But that’s no excuse to not get your eight glasses per day!
You see that exam table? It’s actually a 1925 French Art Deco dining table in genuine rosewood that I stole from a health insurance executive’s mansion. After I shot him… with his own gun. The Louis XIV chairs came from his other mansion. They’re nice, right?
If only I had an X-ray machine… and some electricity.
Wow, this is the first case of polio I’ve ever seen. Bet you wish you’d been vaccinated as a child now, huh?
If you cough your tuberculosis-infected sputum on me again, I will fucking cut you.
That’ll teach you to not store sharp weapons in your rectum unless you wrap them first. Here, let me show you how it should be done.
I don’t know why you’re complaining to me about bright red blood in your stool. What the hell do you expect me to do about it?
Sure, go ahead and ask your friends and family to pray for you. No, in this case, it won’t help.
Here’s what I want you to do: go home and lie down. Put your feet up, even. Eventually, you’ll die of your cancer. Probably very, very, very soon. Okay, tomorrow.
Good luck with that perforated appendicitis! Sure, the post-Event mortality rate is 100% with or without surgery but remember: things could always be worse.
Here’s what I’ve learned from all these amputations: the best cuts of human meat are from the thigh. The gluteus muscles are a close second, though. As for the rest… meh.
Don’t worry, all bleeding stops eventually. After all, you only have about 5.5 liters to lose through that stab wound in your chest.
Yes, you’re about to die. But think of it this way, you exceeded the post-Event average life expectancy when you turned twenty-five.
