eviscerated junkie 
2003 Reader Submission
Pending Acceptance
I was an ambulance jockey in the middle of a 24 hour shift when we got a 'jail call.' Those were usually for prisoners who 'slipped on the ice,' (aka pissing off a cop) or freqent-stay prisoners who knew how to work the system. The jail had no medical facilities, so even a minor complaint of a headache required transport by qualified personnel to a hospital, where it could take all night (in a clean, quiet cubicle) to get an aspirin.
We picked up a guy with a bellyache and I herded him into the back, got the first few lines on the form filled out and asked him to raise his (handcuffed) arms so I could take a look. His guts spilled out into his lap. The wound was so old there was no blood, but his guts were gray and dirty.
He explained that he'd pulled open an old war wound with his own hands a couple days ago, rolled around on the floor, stuffed his guts back in, and figured by now it would be infected.
He walked into the ER with no problem, other than keeping his entrails from slipping, and the nurse greeted him like an old buddy.
This was an old stunt for him. He'd become addicted to morphine after his first injury, and had only recently been discharged from his last self-evisceration. The infection was insurance; he said last time they'd been stingy with the morphine. Submitted on 02/18/02
Submitted by:
Anonymous
Reference:
personal experience, 1978
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