THE HUNTER BECOMES THE HUNTED PORTABLE
They also used a portable defibrillator to attempt to restart his heart. Paramedics tried to revive Smith with CPR. When park rangers arrived, they were horrified to discover Smith lying unconscious beside a tree. Following the voice mail, Smith called park officials because he needed help transporting the deer’s carcass to the park’s check-in station. Smith described how he was coming down from his tree stand after shooting the deer, only to discover that the animal was still alive and willing to fight to the death.Īccording to Smith’s account, he and the deer physically fought before Smith pulled a knife and stabbed the animal to death.
Around 9:00 AM, he left a message on his son’s voice mail about a scuffle that he had just had with a deer. Smith was hunting deer at Chain O’Lakes State Park. In 2011, a 62-year-old Indiana man named Paul J. The following 10 cases involve men who unknowingly walked into the belly of the beast, never to return. However, that serenity can be forever shattered when the hunter becomes the hunted. For some, it’s a favorite pastime where one can feel a sense of freedom and tranquility while alone in the wilderness. ” She went for my trousers, clawing around for the zipper.ĭiary, before I said “No way, Mrs Majaribu,” and kicked her out of my office, I had to summon more will than Samson needed before bringing the temple down on those blasted Philistines.Hunting has been an American tradition since the settlers first arrived, with many carrying on the heritage from generation to generation. It’ll take no more than a minute of your time. In your condition, that’s exactly what I’d be doing.” Secondly, I know you’re referring to the part about doctor-patient confidence, but I’m afraid it also states, ‘primum non nocere’ - first, do no harm. “First of all, it’s called the Hippocratic oath. “Why me? A beautiful woman like yourself must be spoilt for choice.” She rushed me, banged the door shut and dropped to her knees. Psychiatry department is down the corridor to the right.” I just want to feel something between my thighs.” And when he’s home, he’s deader than a sack of potatoes. Since he started that new travelling job, I hardly see him. But you’re a man, aren’t you? That’s what I need. “Mrs Masharibu, I thought you came in for a throat infection.” On her clean-shaven pubic region was a tattoo that read, “Insert probe here.” For emphasis, an arrow pointed downwards. “I came in for this.”īeneath the rich folds of red chiffon was nothing but miles of flawless chocolate skin. Without warning, Mrs Masharibu hiked up her skirt. “Wait!” I shifted my eyes from the chart in my hands to her face. “I’ve heard it called a ‘cat’, but never a dog.” “Can you do me, you mean? The answer is yes, doc!”
“What can I do for you, Mrs Masharibu?” I opened. So, my 11 o’clock appointment was supposed to be a “throat infection,” not Mrs Masharibu, a bombshell suffering way more than a fake cough. We aren’t supposed to see patients as individual people, but rather as mere cases that require our attention. Case in point, my 11 o’clock appointment today.Īs a physician, one is trained to be impersonal. Sometimes we bite off more than we can chew. Being a doctor is no walk in the park, especially not while one is single.
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