How often do you change your socks?

This guy comes running into the front of the ER hollering, "My girlfriend's having a seizure! Help me!"

So the triage nurse and tech grab a wheelchair and head out to get her.

When they get to the car, they find a 250+ lb 20-something young woman having the worst fake seizure EVER.

The triage nurse tells her to knock it off and get into the chair.

She does.

While pushing her through the waiting room to triage, she starts up again.

Since the lobby is full of suckers medically uneducated patients, the triage nurse calls us for a bed and wheels her back to the back, in an effort to keep her from flopping onto the floor in the lobby (the next step in the "get attention by faking a seizure" algorithm.)

We meet her in the room and apply our mad assessment skillz, noting the lack of urine in the crotch of the jeans, the lack of blood in the mouth, as well as the really bad fake seizure going on, and plan our immediate interventions accordingly.

I head to the cabinet that holds the STAT 16 Fr Punitive Foley Catheter, and Nurse Tinkerbell heads for the cabinet that holds the STAT 16g Punitive IV Catheter.

It's called a "16 Squared", and it's the first line treatment for ODs and fake seizures.

Meanwhile the triage nurse is telling her to knock it off and get into the bed.

Which she does.

Now, the ER nurses out there will tell you that this story is pretty much scripted from this point on. It usually involves the aforementioned 16 Squared, a dead normal prolactin level, a lengthy story about how her boyfriend doesn't love her anymore, a whole lot of drama, and either a discharge home or a Mental Health consult.

That alone is not worth a blog post.

What happened next, however, is.

While the triage nurse was getting her vitals, and Tinkerbell was trying to find a vein buried in the massive rolls of subcutaneous tissue on her arm, I was trying to peel the size 20 jeans off the size 28 ass. (I try not to cut off the clothes of the patients that I know will be leaving, because then I have to find something else for them to wear home. Not easy to do in my ER.)

Once the jeans finally came off, it was time for the underwear removal. Thankfully, it wasn't a thong.

But when I pulled down her panties, I discovered the answer to an age-old question: "What does a redneck girl use when she runs out of panty liners?" The answer: "A sock."

Once upon a time this sock was a plain, white athletic sock.

No more.

Now it was an interesting shade of yellowish-green that falls somewhere in between asparagus and inch worm.

Now, I'm not positive why she was using the sock, but I'm pretty sure it's because a regular panty liner would have dissolved.

The smell was like a cross between athlete's foot and crotch rot. Sort of a Crotchlete's Foot, if you will.

Which begs the question: Do you treat it with Monistat? Or *bam* tough-actin' Tinactin?