This is a horror story, but with a happy end. It happened three years ago when I was studying in the fourth class of the unforgettable San Gig.

My friend's boyfriend, Wolf, wishing to "fill his hand" on intravenous and intramuscular injections, came to one of our resuscitation departments and asked to give him patients. The doctor scratched the tail and took him to the bed, on which an unconscious man lay under the apparatus and said, "Look, exercise, like cats. This still is not a resident, will not die tomorrow at the latest, so studying, a student. "

The one who was delighted, enthusiastically took up the business: pulled in the syringes, vitamins, solutions, hormones - in short, all that was in the department and started: then in one vein, then in the other, then the dropper will change, then intramuscular will do. He struck the man and left.

The next day, he again started to wash his veins and pump vitamins.

And on the third day - whatever you think - the man recovered, and a week later he was discharged from the resuscitation and transferred to therapy.

The wolf was very pleased. The only thing that saddened him was that neither this patient nor his relatives could tell him about his heroic efforts.

Hurry to our medicine!