Ponds, Pebbles, and Porphyria

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On Saturday night, I presented to the emergency room and explained that I had eaten an entire Barbie, her limbs and torso disassembled, piece by piece. An urgent endoscopy successfully removed the doll. The parts were sent to the pathology lab, where the technicians immediately recognized my name on the label, because I am the only pathologist employed by this hospital. 

“We cannot allow you to work here anymore.” The on-call psychiatrist said. “What if you were to eat a formaldehyde-soaked body part, or lab equipment? I think it’s best if you take some time off, or retire. You’re seventy eight, after all.”

“I am young, sane and intelligent, I just eat things. I don’t eat items from the lab, because they’re dirty.” I told the psychiatrist. “The hospital cannot discriminate against my employment on the basis of my medical records, which they have privileged access to. My workplace performance is not impacted by my consumption of objects.”

I was released into the hospital parking lot, where I immediately reoffended, consuming upwards of thirty cigarette butts. These, too, were removed in time for my Monday morning shift. 

“Doctor Badelspach, we received the foreign bodies from your most recent emergency endoscopy.” The technician stopped me, just as I was about to leave Monday night. “These are some really nice action figures. Did you want them back?” 

“Yes.” I nodded so vigorously that my coke-bottle glasses slipped off the tip of my nose. I held out my hand. 

She handed me a biohazard bag full of action figures. It occurred to me that I was surrounded by idiots as I stuffed the contents of the bag into my mouth, swallowing fast and shaking my head like a dog when they tackled me to the ground and tried to pry my teeth apart. 

When I awoke in post op, the surgeon came around to discuss my procedure. I showed him all of the action figures I had favorited on eBay. “Which of these would you prefer to remove from my stomach next?” 

“If you know you will eat them, please do not buy them.” He begged. 

“I will see you again soon.” I threatened. “And don’t you dare request another psychiatric evaluation. I have a way of making people disappear.”

“Is the way in question eating?” The surgeon asked. “Because that seems to be your MO.” 

“Have you removed any body parts from my stomach yet?” I arched an eyebrow.

“Well… not real ones.” He was still blabbering on as I speed-shuffled out of the hospital.

I anonymously reported myself to the medical board, then claimed that one of my coworkers must have violated HIPPA to file the complaint. Years ago, I opted into the personal legal coverage offered in our benefits package. My fancy lawyer submitted a flurry of threatening letters to the hospital on my behalf. 

“Please vote for me for Provider of the Month.” I told the pathology technicians.

The very next day, I told them, “Nevermind, you don’t need to vote for me for Provider of the Month. I already have plenty of votes.”

“From outside of your own department?” The shift lead asked. “I don’t mean to sound incredulous, but typically it’s members of your own department who vote for you. Whose votes are you counting on?”

“Surgery, gastroenterology, and emergency medicine are all voting for me.” 

Everyone in the lab stared. Their facial expressions ranged from confusion to pity.

After having three pairs of underwear removed from my stomach like a goddamn basset hound, I was made to see the psychiatrist again. He asked me to draw a clock. I drew the best damn clock anyone has ever seen. I framed my drawing and hung it beside the lab clock.  Mine, frankly, looks more realistic than the genuine article.

A coworker reported me for “creating a hostile work environment” after I ate all her desk tchotchkes. She pointed out that I ate the dolls first. My lawyer stipulated that I had disabilities (idiopathic pica, being an otherwise upstanding guy who just didn’t know any better) and that any action taken against me would be discriminatory. 

I won “provider of the month” in an unprecedented landslide. Anyone who finds that suspicious is stupid, and legally liable for slander. Shortly thereafter, rumors circulated that the medical director role was within my reach. 

The psychiatrist again brought up his concerns with management, stating he was convinced I would start eating specimens (body parts in formaldehyde) at work. I feigned offense. “As God is my witness, I would never do that.”, I said to the hospital CEO. “If I lie, may God strike me down where I stand.” I jumped to my feet in front of him. I did not fall. “See, not lying.” I shrugged. 

“Well that’s pretty convincing, and you seem like a nice, capable white man in his prime.” The CEO nodded. 

“Yes, now if you’ll excuse me, it’s AARP discount hour at the hardware store, and I need to pick up some snacks.” I said on my way out of his office. 

“Wouldn’t you prefer dolls? Isn’t that kind of your thing?” He asked with a laugh as he clapped me on the shoulder. 

I turned around and gave him a quick wink.

The next morning I was confirmed as the medical director of the hospital, so I started eating the organs. 

They called the psych team down to try and stop me. I refused. I had the authority to eat those organs. 

“I told you all this would happen!” The psychiatrist shouted at the gathered staff, who watched in horror. “Doctor Badelspach, let me inject you with sedatives, please.”

“No.” I shrieked, organ bits flying out of my mouth. 

“You shouldn’t have promoted him! You knew he wanted to eat body parts!” The surgeon yelled at the CEO. “Everyone told you so, repeatedly!”

“‘Stop playing the blame game.” The hospital CEO stared down his nose at the surgeon. “Just help me apprehend him!” 

Formalin soaked organs weren’t really satisfying, so I limp-shuffled at top speeds towards the elevator to reach the surgery ward, to get some really good, fresh shit. 

“Somebody stop him!” The histotechnologist screamed. 

“I can’t! He’s too fast.” The CEO said.

“And he has too much authority.” The surgeon slapped a hand across his face.

“Really?”, the pathology technician’s face twisted in disbelief, “I feel like a well placed tranquilizer dart would pretty much take care of this problem.” 

“You cannot shoot the medical director with a tranquilizer dart!” The CEO pulled at his own hair. 

“Oh, my bad.” said the pathology technician. 

“We have no alternative options.” The surgeon wailed. “We have to let him eat the organs.”

“From here on out, the hospital recommends that all employees focus on ensuring that Doctor Badelspach doesn’t eat their organs.” The CEO announced. 

Since then, I have descended from the ceiling vents in the operating rooms, loosing a primordial shriek, the moment they open patients up. At first I only ate patients’ organs, but I also craved the organs of my coworkers. I have since eaten the CEO’s liver while he bled out in the hallway. Everyone just watched.