Twenty four hours is just not enough. It’s all I have, however. And that creates the dilemma. People get sick, stabbed, bowels burst, tumors grow and these ill or injured parties arrive at any and all hours. Just when is a body supposed to find the time to jot down a clever phrase or create a tragic romance?
When I first took a stab at writing in 2006, there just weren’t nearly as many sick people. My clinic comfortably saw about fifteen patients in an afternoon, call nights brought someone with appendicitis every third night or so, and I was usually home in time for dinner. Now it’s a very slow day when I only see fifteen clinic patients. A typical day on call for the ER call brings me three appendectomies and dinner is now at eight instead of six.
Finding time has become a real problem. My solution is to think and imagine and ponder whenever I have a few moments to stop and reflect. Ideas pop into my head and I commit them to memory until I find a moment to record these thoughts, eventually shaping them into a story. But time doesn’t stop.
“Night Clinic,” the collection of short stories which is the subject of this tour, is a direct result of this quandary about time. “ITP: Book Three,” the third installment of my futuristic science fiction trilogy languishes in my computer because of this shortage of time, its surface barely scratched. Short stories and article proliferate as the scarcity of general surgeons and the expanding number of sick and injured people reduce my writing time. Short stories are far more amenable to a busy irregular schedule than novels.
If I had my druthers, I would reverse it and spend hours every day thinking and imagining and creating, while reserving my surgical skills for those unusual cases which pique my interest. It would have been nice if the law makers of this land had legislated that people are only allowed to get sick between the hours of ten in the morning and five in the afternoon. Then again, it’s possible that buried deep in Obamacare is a rule stating just this. It’s probably on page 1872, paragraph 3. After all, no one ever has had the time or desire to read the entire Affordable Care Act.
But, for now, I search for time, ten minutes here, thirty minutes there and the result is “Night Clinic,” a brilliant and inspired collection of short stories. Visit the “Night Clinic” where you will find depressed vampires, morbidly obese superheroes, dwarves, strippers, dragons, and so much more under one roof. I am glad I found the time to write these stories. “Night Clinic” offers some of the most creative, clever and imaginative writing I’ve ever done. I am sure you will enjoy it.
“Night Clinic” is a collection of short stories which tell the unusual events which occur at the free clinic attended by Dr. Barnes and Nurse James. Monsters, magical beasts, villains along with ordinary folks come to the clinic looking for health and hope.
“Night Clinic” is a unique melding of medicine and magic.
David Gelber, a New York native, is the seventh of nine sons and one of three to pursue medicine. He graduated from Johns Hopkins University in 1980 and went on to graduate medical school in 1984 from the University of Rochester.
He completed a residency in General Surgery at Baylor University Medical Center in Dallas, Texas, and Nassau County Medical Center on Long Island, NY, in 1989. Dr. Gelber now is in private practice in Houston, TX.
Gelber has been performing surgery for more than 25 years, but over the last few years he began to pursue his passion for writing, initially with his debut novel, “Future Hope”, followed by its sequel “Joshua and Aaron.”
These were followed by two books about surgery “Behind the Mask” and “Under the Drapes.” The apocalyptic “Last Light” and historical fantasy “Minotaur Revisited” round out his published works, while numerous articles have appeared on his blog “Heard in the OR.”
Now he presents “Little Bit’s Story” and his collection of magical medical short stories, “Night Clinic.”
He has been married to Laura for 28 years and has three college aged children. He and Laura share their home with five dogs and numerous birds.
Future Hope ITP Book One
Joshua and Aaron ITP Book Two
Behind the Mask: The Mystique of Surgery and the Surgeons who Perform Them
Under the Drapes: More Mystique of Surgery
Last Light (e-book only)
Blog: Heard in the OR http://heardintheor.blogspot.com
David will be awarding a $50 Amazon/B&N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour, and a $25 Amazon/B&N GC to a randomly drawn host.
Excerpt: “Speaking of bizarre and crazy, you are aware that the Intergalactic Convention is in town again? Star Trek, Star Wars, and every other outer space franchise all together. So I’m sure we’ll get our share of phaser burns, blaster bruises, and transporter malfunctions. Oh, and to get us off on the right foot, Derek is back with his annual ‘Trouble with Tribbles.’ I’ve left all the usual instruments in the room for you.”
“Not again,” I moaned. “You would think that after four, no five years, he would learn.”
I picked up the chart and gave it a careless glance. Before I saw the words I knew the problem. I walked into the exam room and saw Derek, a regular visitor, lying on his side on the exam table. Seated on a sterile tray were a rigid sigmoidoscope and a tenaculum.
“Derek, we’ve got to stop meeting like this,” I scolded. “And think of the poor Tribbles. They’re supposed to be comforting, I know, but you’re just supposed to hold them.”
“I do hold them, Dr. Barnes; for a little while. But, the way they coo and vibrate and shake, the possibilities are endless.”
“I hope it’s as simple as last year,” I remarked.
I put on a glove and lubed up my index finger and checked up in Derek’s rectum. Sure enough there was a furry object vibrating just inside. Past experience told me not to try to grab it with my hand; it would just slip away. I greased up the scope and passed it into his rectum. Immediately I visualized a furry yellow ball which was shaking and making low Tribble noises. I reached in with the tenaculum and grabbed the object in its mid portion like a pro and pulled scope and tenaculum out with a single, gentle pull. The Tribble, which was a toy available at the convention, popped out.
“Just one this year?” I asked, although I already knew there would be more.
“No, three,” he replied.
I repeated the routine, pulling out one purple and one red Tribble, both larger that the first and still vibrating.
“I’ll dispose of these for you, Derek. And, please, stay away from Tribbles. You know they’re nothing but trouble.”
He gave a short grunt as I walked out of the exam room.
“What’s next, Nurse?”