Nurse Wilson, her uniform as crisply pressed as the day she graduated nursing school thirty years ago, sat at her desk in the Wilmington Emergency Department. She took a sip of black coffee and flagged down Dr. Smith as he walked by. He'd clearly been headed to the vending machines. 

"Difficulty breathing, room 2," she declared. He paused and looked wistfully towards the vending machines. Nurse Wilson looked the skinny young doctor up and down. He looked exhausted. He had sweated through the armpits of his white coat. Despite being prematurely balding, his beard had grown a five o'clock shadow in just a few hours–only it was 1am not 5pm. 

Dr. Smith still had four hours to go in his shift. It had been a long night. His stomach rumbled, but difficulty breathing was serious so he sighed, turned, and walked towards room 2.

"This place is eating that boy alive," whispered Nurse Wilson to Nurse McMillan who had just dropped a pile of papers on her desk. 

Nurse McMillan snorted. "He's going to have to toughen up if he wants to last as long as we have." 

"True that!" said Nurse Wilson. The two elderly nurses looked at each other for a moment and then burst out laughing. 

Nurse Wilson quickly filed the papers on her desk and then leisurely finished her coffee. She looked at the clock. It was now 1:25 am and Dr. Smith had not yet emerged from room 2 to request her assistance. She shook her head and went into the supply room. A moment later she entered room 2 with a metal tray and the necessary tools.

"So are you having any chest pain?" Dr. Smith was asking the middle-aged woman sitting on the gurney. 

"Oh, son," she replied. "Let me tell you about the pains in my chest." 

Dr. Smith nodded ready to take notes on his notepad.

"It began with my first husband. He was a drinker. Not a bad drinker mind you, but he couldn't keep a job. I mean he was nice enough and he always got another job and he would bring home a paycheck most weeks and I would take it and make him bacon and eggs on Friday night for supper and oooh, he loved bacon and eggs for dinner! He was like a child in that way."

"Uh, huh," said Dr. Smith, clearly confused. 

"But bacon in the evening does NOT agree with my system and I would burp it up all evening–especially if I had a little brandy with dinner, not that I usually have brandy with dinner, but on Friday nights I like a little brandy or if I don't have brandy I like a little white wine– but it burns when you burp up bacon. Burns your chest."

"Are you having any burning in your chest now?" asked Dr. Smith.

"Like I was saying, my first husband, God rest his soul. He was just a dear, always loved it when I tried out new outfits, bought me this skirt I'm wearing." She stood and twirled looking at Dr. Smith for approval, but not waiting for his reply, continued. "It's my favorite, I wear it every Saturday night and I put it on tonight for my date– a lovely gentleman, a friend for years, but more than a friend if you know what I mean..." the patient trailed off.

"Dr. Smith," said nurse Wilson, handing him a long set of tweezers. "I brought you the tools you need to remove the eraser from her nose." 

"E..eraser from her nose," repeated Dr. Smith. 

"Yes she was trying to pierce her nose before her date and so she put an eraser up her nose to stick the post into." 

Dr. Smith gave both Nurse Wilson and the patient a befuddled look. They smiled at him kindly and nodded.

"I would have gone on the date but I can't breathe through my nose at ALL," said the patient.

Dr. Smith snapped to attention with renewed vigor. "Hold still ma'am," he said, "I'll have it out in a jiffy."