Props to Sars, who spent New Year's hanging around Wing Manor like a good smell, and to Glark, who did me the courtesy of chuckling as I yelled my ER jokes at him during this episode. At last, an episode that inspires me to yell out jokes, instead of one that makes me want to slit my wrists, like the last two did.
Previously on ER, Mark had a seizure; he found out he had an apparently inoperable brain tumour; Dr. Non-McGrath told him that, no, in fact, it was operable; Wing Chun didn't particularly enjoy getting teased like Tiffany's bangs.
With the screen still dark once the "Piece of Mind" title has faded away, a man with a very grating Midwestern accent road-rages at another driver not to "pull out," and follows up this stern admonition with the epithet "dumb-ass." Fade in, and we see that the driver with the brutal accent is Jim "Non-Dead, Unwired" Belushi. He turns to the passenger seat -- totally taking his eyes off the road, mind -- to yell, "I asked you a question." Cut to the passenger, who is...oh, hello, CuteDean. CuteDean -- who is just as cute in fake Chicago as he is in fake Connecticut -- mumbles, "I just don't want to play anymore." K-9 brays that he doesn't enjoy getting up at 5:30 in the morning, either (and I'm thinking CuteDean isn't talking about giving up playing the French horn, if those are the hours he's keeping; it's got to be hockey, because Chicago's a bit nippy for CuteDean to be on a rowing crew, and that's about the only other sport I know where boys have to get up that early to practise). Plus, then About Last Night... mentions cold arenas and his "frozen butt" (and I will thank you not to require me to imagine your butt again, Belushi), which kind of gives it away. Unless CuteDean is a figure skater. Or a speed skater. Or a ringette player. Or maybe he curls. I'm done now, because we all know they're talking about hockey. CuteDean points out that he's "not going to make the NHL." "Not with that attitude!" squeals The Principal. CuteDean shoots him the Arched Brow of Dropping the Chalupa. Mr. Destiny rhetorically asks CuteDean whether he wants to spend the rest of his life working in a factory, as he does, and CuteDean pouts that he doesn't. Meanwhile I'm thinking that CuteDean really has more of a swimmer's build, and that it's too bad his character is not, in fact, a swimmer in this episode -- or on Gilmore Girls and...where was I? Oh yeah -- blah blah blah blue-collar first-kid-to-have-a-shot-at-collegecakes. Curly Sue exposits that if CuteDean attends college, it'll have to be on a scholarship, and that, with his grades, it would have to be an athletic scholarship. CuteDean posits that he might get better grades if he weren't playing hockey all the time. Wild Palms has no response to that. Every time Traces of Red addresses CuteDean, by the way, he stares straight at him -- and doesn't seem to be driving all that slowly, either. CuteDean reaches over to turn up the radio and turns away from the camera, both to stare out the passenger-side window and to give all of us at home a good look at his perfectly sculpted cheek and jaw. Presently, the camera cuts to a truck coming toward Gang Related's little SUV. CuteDean hears the horn and turns back in time to see the truck on its collision course, screaming, "DAD!" Then, from a few feet back, we see the big truck completely plow into the SUV, embedding its grille into the SUV's driver-side door, and propelling it at least thirty feet...sideways. Dude. I just hope CuteDean doesn't land on his face.
In New York (you can tell, because we're right across the street from Radio City Music Hall), "Queen" Elizabeth "of Bedside Manor" Corday and Mark "Runaway Brain" Greene get out of a cab. Elizabeth pays the cabbie and Mark comments that she gave him a "nice tip"; Elizabeth exposits that "it's New Year's Eve" and that the driver has "a long day ahead of him." Mark starts rhapsodizing about what a great job the cabbie has, and he's so right. I really wish the career path I chose required me to sit in impenetrable traffic for eight hours at a stretch, peeing into an apple-juice can between smelly, obnoxious fares -- except on major holidays, when said fares are probably drunk, too. I guess the only fun a cabbie gets during his shift comes from pretending to be off-duty when black people try to hail him. Anyway, according to Mark one of the perks of their cabbie's day is "no brain surgery." Maybe he is having brain surgery today, Mark. Why assume? Elizabeth says, "Very funny," in that way that means, "That was not funny," and Mark muses that he's sent hundreds of people to the OR but has never been himself. Elizabeth deduces that he's "a virgin." Girl, please. You wish he was a virgin. And so do I. She does not, however, further take the piss out of him by recommending that he get a coat that fits him. But she should. Because he looks like he's playing dress-up in Triple H's rag bag. Plus he ties his scarf the same way my grandma does -- like an ascot. And his hat...okay, let me shorthand this: Mark looks like ass. Not even hot ass -- cold ass. AnyWAY, Mark further bores us all by noting that he still has his tonsils (me too), his appendix (me too), and that the only time he's ever been under a general anaesthetic was in the dentist's chair (me too -- well, it was for wisdom-tooth extraction, but I was actually in a hospital. Still -- goocher?). Elizabeth says that it's "no different, really," and Mark's all with the gallows humour, "Oh, sure. Pull a tooth, have my skull sawed open -- it's pretty much the same thing." Elizabeth says she meant that the anaesthesia's no different, and Mark adds, "Except for the part when they wake me up." Hm. The "except for the ______ part" construction. Shout-out? Probably not. Elizabeth Up With Peoples, "At that point, you'll know things are going well." Because it's going to be an awake craniotomy. Remember? They stare at each other. Alex Kingston does a really good job making it seem like it's taking every ounce of her energy to put on a brave, smiling face. Anthony Edwards looks...the same as he always does, only worse dressed. Horns honk. A plane flies overhead. For some reason, they both look up at it like Okies, and we see that Mark has a couple of Old Fisherman's Stickie Pads stuck to his head. Oh, the pathos. Well, it is pathetic, but not in the literary sense. He looks down, his cheeks all collapsed like he forgot to put in his teeth, and just when I'm waiting for him to reassure himself Bill Borchardt-style (you know: "It's all right! It's okay! There's something to liiiiiiiive for! Jesus told me so!"), Elizabeth brightly asks him if he's ready. He says, "Let's do it." She takes his arm, and they go up the steps to the hospital.
Cut to a smashed vehicle and the sound of saws. We pan over to the [gasp!] blood-streaked, moaning, but still cute face of CuteDean. They're trying to be all clever with the camera, but you can tell by the way his hair falls that CuteDean is upside down. With great hesitation, he tries to turn his head toward K-9, who also seems to have his head mashed up against the roof of the car. Outside, you can hear the sounds of paramedics working to free them. A toque-clad head pops in, upside-down (because of the wacky inverted camera), and it kind of looks like...hey, it's "Dr." Dave Malucci! I didn't recognize him at first, because he's upside down, and actually looks kind of...not horrible. He has nice eyes. And...sorry, I had to go fire myself. I reluctantly hired myself back on a probationary basis. ["Not so fast, Luanne Braille. Go clean out your desk." -- Sars] Dr. Dave sort of examines CuteDean -- as much as one can when the patient is basically a human/SUV cyborg -- and CuteDean manages to choke, "No, take my dad!" "I'm sorry, kid, but first we have to cut off your hockey leg," intones Dr. Dave. Just kidding. He quietly, but urgently, tells CuteDean that they need to get him out of the vehicle first before they can get to K-9, and then yells orders to the paramedics outside. CuteDean tells K-9 that he's "hurt pretty bad," and then starts to cry feebly as they yank him out of the SUV. K-9 watches helplessly -- immobilized as he is by the fine Ford product that has evidently become his makeshift coffin -- and calls out CuteDean's name as they load him into the rig. Dr. Dave pokes his head back in; K-9 asks what's wrong with CuteDean. Well, he has a peanut allergy. Oh, and he's just had his body folded up like an accordion. Dr. Dave tells K-9 that they're taking CuteDean to the hospital, asks K-9 his name (which is Dan Harris) and what day it is (which Dan, formerly K-9, correctly pegs as New Year's Eve). He then shines a little flashlight into the camera and...okay, my eyes are equal and reactive, so point that thing somewhere else. Perhaps somewhere that light doesn't tend to penetrate? Like, where the sun doesn't even shine? Now you read me.
The Patient'sPOVCam is such a stupid affectation. I seem to recall watching an episode of SCTV about twenty years ago that punctured that particular filmic trope. And yet, here it is again, just in case we didn't get that, in this episode, Dan is standing in for us viewers, what with our lack of familiarity with medical jargon, our insignificant little unglamorous lives, and -- despite the complete normalcy with which we are burdened every day -- the compelling stories that can still arise out of our own crushing banality. Yay! We are special, too! And K-9...I mean, "Dan" -- he speaks for me!
Look, it's like I am the one lying on the gurney in the rig, as Dr. Dave stares down and asks me whether I passed out! Oh, thanks for asking -- I did. It was a side effect of having this anvil land on my chest and pin me to my office floor. But I'm feeling much better, now. Dan "Surrogate" Harris doesn't know whether he passed out since everything happened so fast. Dr. Dave asks whether he's experiencing any more pain, and Dan says that he was struck in the chest by the air bag in the SUV. Dr. Dave calls for more morphine, and then we can tell we're at the hospital, because we can hear the voice of John "Pilly Joel" Carter at the door of the rig, expositing that he didn't know Dr. Dave was doing a ride-along. Dr. Dave blah blah residency requirement blah procrastinationcakes. Cut to DanCam as they yank him out of the rig; Carter chuckles that he always thought Dr. Dave would make a good paramedic. Hey, that's funny -- so did I, which is why I pointed Dave toward the set of Third Watch way back in my recap of last season's fourth episode. Dr. Dave gives Carter the bullet on Dan: the only salient piece of information is that Dr. Dave cleared Dan's neck on the ride over. Dan asks about CuteDean (as who wouldn't); Carter breezily says he thinks CuteDean was brought to County, and asks whether Dan is taking any medication (no), has any drug allergies (again, no), and whether he's had any medical complaints. Cleo"racle 9i Database" Finch leans into DanCam long enough to ask Carter, "Did Wells give you my paycheque?" "Yes," Carter confirms, handing it to her. "Thanks. Peace out," she replies, and takes off. Good goddamn riddance. Dan says he can't recall any recent medical complaints, and that the only surgery he's ever had was an appendectomy when he was four. Impatiently, he asks after CuteDean's whereabouts again, and is told that Weaver has CuteDean in Trauma Two. The gurney changes direction and we/Dan see/s Dr. Dave at the end of the bed; he's apparently stuck around to say...that...he's leaving. Wuh? Dan asks who Weaver is. No one replies.
By now, we've arrived in a trauma room; Dan looks completely terrified. Well, actually, with his chins all compressed and flattened, he looks more like a constipated Hutt. The various personnel cut off his clothes (whereupon Dan protests, "My wife just bought those pants," and I confess, "pluck" went my heartstring [tm Niki], a little...shut up, I don't want to have to terminate myself permanently!) and shine lights in his face. Carter orders tests. Dan says that the last time he was in a hospital was when his wife had their son. They asks the name of his family doctor, and he tells them, as they pour some (apparently cold) orange goop on his chest and get ready to cut. Dan asks what they're doing, and Carter explains that they're putting in a chest tube. Dan marvels that he had a collapsed lung. They ask who they should notify, and Dan gives the name of his wife, Debra, and the school where she works. Okay, the straight-on overhead shot of Jim Belushi flat on his back is not flattering. It makes his head look really, really wide. Like, Goodman wide. From the room, we can faintly hear Weaver's voice, as the door swings open and Abby "Lisa" Lockhart ambles in, asking for a Foley kit. Dan turns his head toward the door and sees CuteDean on the table in the room; immediately, he starts calling CuteDean's name again, and begs someone to hold the door open so that he may talk to his son. CuteDean's head is still immobilized, so he can't turn to look at Dan, but he calls, "Dad? Is that you?" Dan smiles as reassuringly as one can when both one and one's progeny are both lying flat on their backs in adjacent emergency-room beds, and tells CuteDean everything's going to be all right. Even as they stick in the chest tube, Dan keeps up the patter, joking that Debra will be angry when she learns that the SUV is totalled, and that Dan plans to tell her that CuteDean was driving. Dude, maybe CuteDean would have kept his eyes on the damn road, so whatever. Finch -- who has actually been here this whole time, but who cares -- gets called away from propping open the door (and Dan yells out some parting remarks to the effect of "don't be scared" and "be strong"), and Dan asks her whether CuteDean will be okay. Finch smiles and offers the non-response, "Looks like a tough kid." Dan squints that he is. Sexy, too. But Dan doesn't say that part. Well, one Dan I know does. Not the Dan on the show, though. A Dan that's not a big, fat factory worker. Speaking of which, in what universe would a CuteDean come from anywhere near the loins of a Jim Belushi? If you wanted to get an SNL alumnus for this part, maybe I could believe Christopher Guest.
In New York, Mark fills out papers in the posh waiting area and gives the hairy eyeball to a passerby using a walker. We now see that Mark has five Old Fisherman's Stickie Pads arranged in an upside-down "W" shape on his forehead. Look, NBC. For the last time. The. Olympics. Are. OVER. We've had to live with that stupid Olympic-rings bug in the corner of all your shows for over a year -- now you're actually arranging it on your stars' bald pates? Let it go! Elizabeth snaps him out of it by asking for his forms, and he asks her to sign one. She looks it over and exposits that it gives her power of attorney. "If something goes wrong..." he trails off. "'If something goes wrong,' what?" she asks, apparently not having heard The Tale of the Tragic Lesbians, and apparently not having ever watched while a medical procedure went awry during, you know, her career. Mark clarifies that, duh, if something goes wrong, he doesn't want there to be any heroic measures to revive him. (Word. Hey, is there a paper I can sign requesting that no run-of-the-mill, not-especially-heroic measures be used to sustain him, either? Like, a blood transfusion? Or, giving him water to drink? Or, any security measures at the hospital that would prevent, say, a grizzly bear from breaking into Mark's hospital room and eating him? Wait, that's not likely to happen -- it's just a dream I had.) Elizabeth -- and we can barely hear her because she's muffled by The Big, Down-Filled Sleeping Bag of Denial -- insists that he's going to be fine. Mark starts to point out that she's a surgeon, and she knows -- "-- that you're going to be fine," she concludes, handing him back the form without signing it. So...if something bad did happen, who would decide how to dispose of Mark? And I mean that literally. I understand the Hudson River works well in these situations. But seriously, both his parents are dead. He's divorced. His kid is a minor. Who else is there but Cleopatra, Queen of Denial? Elizabeth resolutely reads her magazine as Mark asks, "You don't want the responsibility?" "It's unnecessary," she sniffs. Okay, I know she's trying to be brave and optimistic and doesn't want to tempt fate, but she knows that it is necessary, so what the bloody hell?! Mark very seriously glances toward some poor bastard we can't see and says, "I don't want to end up like that." Elizabeth follows his gaze, pauses a moment, and then huffs, "Now you're being dramatic." No, he is being practical, and DAMN YOU for making me TAKE MARK'S SIDE! Mark and his Dr. Scholl's corn pads hiss, "If I end up in a persistent vegetative state..." "Fine," she snips, and signs the form. Geez, is he supposed to thank you? You're going to be his wife -- which is your funeral, anyway -- so suck it up and get ready to pull the plug, because if you don't want the job, I am in line!
Back at County, Dan gazes sadly into the trauma room. He's apparently stable, since they're sitting him up in bed. Lisa comes in with a form for him to sign, to consent to CuteDean's treatment. Dan asks what they're doing, and Lisa puts a bright face on things, saying that they just had to take Cute
Dean to Radiology to get an x-ray of his leg, and that he'll probably need surgery. Dan asks whether they can't just put a cast on it, and Lisa, not bothering to sugar-coat it, tells him that the bone penetrated the skin. Augh! Why does that keep happening to people this season?! Gross! Dan's response is not...well, what I just said; fairly calmly, he says, "Oh, geez." Lisa quickly adds that there were no joints involved, and that the break is "mid-shaft, so it'll probably heal nicely." Tee hee! CuteDean's "shaft." Hee hee! I'm four. Okay, thirteen. Dan signs the form, but slowly, as Carter tells him that Dan himself needs to go for a CT-scan. Dan looks around, blank, as if he has many more questions, but those jerk-off doctors are all "me me me": Lisa asks Carter, "Did you tell her yet?" "Who?" Carter asks. "Weaver," Lisa says, clearly referring to his slip with the Vicodin in the last episode. They cover up Dan's exposed chest like he's a couch getting a new slipcover; Carter says he hasn't told Weaver yet, but that doing so is among his "New Year's resolutions." Lisa is dubious, but flirty. Whatever. Dan still looks terrified, because it's his own body, and he doesn't know what's going on, and no one's really being very understanding of or solicitous about his fears. Get it? YES, of course you do. There are as-yet-uncatalogued species of insects in the Amazon basin that get it. WE ALL GET IT, already.In New York, Mark (sans glasses, which only serves to make his head look even more like a penis) stares stoically ahead while Elizabeth shaves his skull. There is, like, a whole cup of shaving cream slopped onto the top of his head. Where there is no hair. Who do they think they're kidding with that? Anyway, she takes one swipe with the razor and nervously asks whether he's okay. He asks if he's bleeding; she says he isn't, so he says he's fine. They discuss some banal domestic matters, and, distracted, she slides the water-filled basin in which she'd been rinsing the razor off the bedside table and onto her sweater and skirt. She curses; he apologizes for distracting her; she tells him it's okay; he comments that she'll have to change into scrubs anyway. Uncomprehendingly, she repeats, "Scrubs?" Mark sadly deduces that she wasn't planning to be present during his surgery, and, without looking at him, she asks whether he doesn't think Dr. Humperdinck would object to her being there. Mark, even more sadly, admits that she's probably right, and that it'll probably be "pretty crowded in there." Yeah, crowded with screaming non-fans like me. Well, I would be there, but I couldn't get a ticket at the prices the scalpers were charging. Elizabeth finally realizes how badly she's crushed his gentle spirit, and asks him very seriously whether he wants her to come in. He says he doesn't, and tells her to go get changed, and he'll finish his head himself. They peck chastely, and she books. Mark picks up a hand mirror to examine his head, and gets a glimpse at the little kid in the bed. The kid's lips are bright blue. I think he might be sick, or something.
In Chicago, Dan comes out of the CT-scan thing and complains of claustrophobia. Lisa, in DanCam, says it happens to a lot of people, and that while his scan looked good, a radiologist still has to look at it. She helps him to sit up, and tells him that his wife is on her way. Dan wryly expresses the hope that his wife won't get in an accident rushing to get to the hospital (yes, that would be contrived and ironic, so I'm surprised that it doesn't happen), and asks whether he may see CuteDean before the latter's surgery. The business end of his chest tube, by the way, is all bloody and gross. Lisa says that their seeing CuteDean depends on when the orthopedic surgeon can schedule the operation. "Well, it's just his leg, right?" says Dan. "No, he had a head trauma," Lisa announces. He -- wha? Which is pretty much Dan's reaction. Lisa explains that CuteDean hurt his pretty little head, just like Dan did (except for the "pretty" part. And the "little" part, frankly), and that CuteDean is stable now, but that they observe head traumas very carefully. "You mean he could be unstable?" Dan demands. Lisa says that she's sure CuteDean will be fine -- which, again, isn't much of an answer so much as it is a polite way of saying, "shut up, ignorant patient" (see, I get it) -- and Dan exhales, "Oh, she's going to think it's my fault again." Lisa checks Dan's pulse and totally doesn't ask a follow-up question (well, she says, "what," but she doesn't mean it), and Dan reveals that his and Debra's first son died of SIDS, when Dan was home and Debra was not, and that while she never said so, Dan always felt that she blamed him for CuteDean's big brother's death. Lisa, by rote, tells him, "There's no way you could have known." She doesn't really sell it, though. Because she doesn't care, any more than I do. Which is, not at all. They couldn't have focused this episode on CuteDean? Damn, people!
Mark and the big watch batteries all over his melon undergo a brief neurological examination by Dr. Sarandon, who reviews, "So, you know the procedure, you've had your meds -- anything on your mind?" "That's why I'm here," Mark cracks. Oh, I'm sorry, that wasn't Mark cracking -- it was the tiles on the floor, when Mark dropped that brick. Anyway, Dr. Burke tells Mark that he won't see Dr. Burke in the OR, but that he'll be there, behind Mark, talking to him. Mark wishes Dr. Burke good luck, and Dr. Burke bellows, "YOU SHOULD NOT SAY SUCH THINGS!" Just kidding. He cockily says that they don't need it, but thanks him anyway. He books, leaving Mark alone in his stupid white tights. I know he's wearing them so that he doesn't get blood clots in his legs -- I actually learned that from watching Chicago Hope back in the day -- but all they remind me of is Center Stage, and Mark is no Cooper Nielson. He's not even Connie Nielsen. He's not even a Nielsen brand candy bar. He is certainly not a Nielsen Family member on our forums. Anyway, he strikes up a conversation with the blue-lipped kid bunking to him. Blue Lips Should Move to Kapuskasing is having heart surgery. Blue Lips doesn't know the name of his ailment, but Mark correctly identifies it. Blue Lips asks how he knew, and Mark tells him he's a doctor. "Yeah, right," says the kid, because he's thinking that Mark looks very little like a doctor, and very much like a damn fool, but Mark condescendingly informs him, "Doctors get sick, too, you know." Mark tells him about his brain surgery, like the kid cares, and explains it thus: "I have something growing on my brain." I can't help yelling, "Ch-ch-ch-Chia!" Blue Lips asks if the operation will hurt, and Mark tells him that he'll be asleep the whole time, and that if he hurts when he wakes up, they'll give him "medicine." Or, as Carter likes to call it, "sweet, sweet candy." Blue Lips opines that "this sucks." Mark attempts, "It'll be over before you know it." "It still sucks," pouts Blue Lips, turning back to his Game Boy, like, who plays with Game Boys anymore? As if. Mark agrees that it sucks. Word.
Lisa wheels Dan through the halls of the ER, leaving him in the hall while she looks for a room to which to move him. In the hall, Dan is beset by a drunk loudly and boisterously singing "Auld Lang Syne." Random Nurse comes out to herd him away, and we hear the voice of Kerry "Crutch to Judgment" Weaver, braying at Randi to call "Blue Beacon" and tell them they "cannot deny authorization for a retinal artery occlusion." Dan apparently recognizes Weaver from when she was working on CuteDean earlier, because he urgently calls out, "Excuse me!" She doesn't hear him, though, because Peter "Temp Slave" Benton comes up behind her just then to ask about the surgical consult for which he was paged. Weaver matter-of-factly tells him that "a guy in Curtain Two has a beeper up his rectum." Hey, I think I know that guy! Just kidding. Well, I might. Weaver adds that the patient "has it on 'vibrate,'" and that she can't figure out how he got it in there. Well, I understand that Pam prevents things from sticking without adding fat.... Feebly, Dan calls to Weaver, "Ma'am? Ma'am!" as Benton deadpans, "Never underestimate the elasticity of the anal sphincter." Hey, I had Chinese food for lunch and that was the fortune in my cookie! Weaver finally notices Dan and crutches over; he asks how CuteDean is, and she tells him they've arranged to send him to the OR. Before Dan can find out exactly what for, Malik comes out into the hall to yell at Weaver that CuteDean's sats are dropping. They wheel his bed into the hall at toward a trauma room. Despite the fact that everything attached to CuteDean -- including a Tamagotchi, go figure -- is beeping anxiously and CuteDean is plainly unconscious, Dan starts yelling CuteDean's name, to no avail. He propels himself down the hall with one arm so that he can look into CuteDean's trauma room while they work on him. The doors swing open and closed. Hey! I can totally see up CuteDean's gown! Happy New Year! Dan continues yelling at CuteDean to be strong, hold on, Do the Dew, Slam Into a Slim Jim, and not to go back to Rockville and waste another year.
Dr. Dave returns to County and, without any apparent interest in the answer, asks Dan whether he's feeling better. As if surprised by both the question and the answer, Dan breathes, "No." Carter appears to tell Dr. Dave that the blood bank is low, and that Weaver wants everyone to donate before their shifts end. Dr. Dave says he always does. Carter says that's very generous of Dr. Dave, who admits, "That, and I get drunk for half as much when I'm down a pint." To Dan, he calls, "Take it easy," and books, because he really doesn't care whether Dan lives or dies. Carter, having taken a cursory glance at Dan's CT, says it looks normal. Dan replies that his chest tube is killing him. Lisa wanders over, and Carter tells her to give Dan some more morphine. He then tells Dan that they're going to admit him, monitor him for a day or two, and then remove the tube. Dan asks Lisa whether she "found out anything at all," and she diffidently says that "his" (presumably CuteDean's) oxygen level was "low for a while," and that they're not sure why. Carter asks whether they're talking about Dan's son, and Dan says they are -- a little impatient, it seems, that Carter doesn't remember. Carter asks Lisa what his sats are, and Lisa replies, "A hundred percent after intubation; GCS is ten." Carter makes a mild "yikes" face that Dan doesn't see, and books for the desk. Dan asks Lisa what that means, and Lisa explains haltingly, "It could be a bruise to the brain, but we won't know for sure until after the scan," which will take place "any minute now." She shoots Dan up with morphine as a cop approaches, introduces himself as Officer Darcy, and tells Dan he needs to write up the accident report. Dismayed, Dan says that he honestly doesn't remember what happened: "One minute, I'm driving in the car with my son, and then...the minute the paramedics are just dragging me out. That guy just came out of nowhere." Officer Darcy says that Dan failed to stop at a red light. "I would never do that!" Dan says indignantly, raising his voice enough that Lisa glances up. He adds, "It wasn't my fault!" Officer Darcy sadly informs him, "Several witnesses say it was." Lisa watches watchfully. Dan takes in her judging face.
In Mark's otherwise empty (and, it must be said, incredibly swank) hospital room, Mark and Elizabeth dangle their legs off the end of the bed. Mark muses, "Guess it's too late to change my mind now." "Would you?" she asks, and he immediately replies that he wouldn't. Tense percussion plays on the soundtrack. Mark tells Elizabeth about Blue Lips, and Elizabeth shrugs nervously and says she thinks they'll be there soon, to get him. Sure enough, an orderly wheels in a bed, which Mark and Elizabeth both regard as if it were a casket. The orderly offers to help Mark onto it, but he climbs up on his own. Elizabeth looks like she may vomit.
In the hall, Mark jokingly asks Elizabeth whether she's going to go see a movie. She tells him that she'll be right outside, then pats his hand, observes that it's "like ice," and offers him a blanket, which he declines. Mark closes his eyes, and she anxiously asks whether he's all right. Mark takes a breath and begins, "If I don't make it --" She hisses at him to shut up. He soldiers on that if he dies, he left her his life insurance to pay for the house for her and the baby. Well, I should certainly hope so, good lord. Again, who the hell else would he leave his house to when she has presumably also been making mortgage payments on it all this time? The orderly stops at a doorway, and Elizabeth, instead of acknowledging Mark's most recent pronouncement, tells him she can't go any further, and leans over to kiss him goodbye. Well, "so long," anyway. If only it were goodbye. But it's totally not and we all know it, so what is with the damn Buffy crypt music? Maybe if it were Dr. Dave on the slab, there would be some suspense as to whether the producers would actually kill him off. Also, I timed it: the kiss lasts exactly two seconds. Because they have no sexual attraction to one another. Because. They. Are. Brother. And. SISTER. Or might as well be, anyway. She tells him she'll see him very, very soon, and they kiss again, for three seconds. Hey, you two -- get a room!
Suddenly, we start seeing the proceedings from Mark's perspective -- MarkCam, if you will. Hey, it's like Mark and Dan are visual parallels, here! Even though they're opposites, they're also analogues. Because, see, Dan is a regular joe working stiff lunchbox blue collar Ralph Kramden Fred Flintstone Dan Conner non-doctor and doesn't know what's going on with his own care, and while Mark is a refined educated sophisticated well-read penis-faced intellectual doctor, he should know what's going on a little better than Dan, but A Health Scare Will Make Ignorami Of Us All. GET IT?! Good. Anyway. MarkCam. The doors swing closed on Elizabeth smiling bravely and wringing her hands, and the orderly says that he's going to lower Mark's head (and calls him "Mr. Greene," because he doesn't know much about his patient, or care to find out -- just like Dr. Dave asking how Dan was doing, and just like Carter not knowing that CuteDean was Dan's son, GET IT?!). Mark's orderly calls out to an unseen co-worker named Jésus that Mark is his "last guy." Jésus has to work a double shift. They commiserate about how much it sucks to work the holiday. Mark wonders, "Have I ever been this cavalier with my own patients? Who am I?! Hey, this is just like that movie The Doctor, where William Hurt is the eponymous arrogant bastard doctor who gets cancer and then finds out first-hand how shitty the medical establishment can be! Huh, imagine that. Life imitating art." Except Mark isn't real, so really it's art imitating art, or pap imitating slightly-less-tired pap, or Fonzie jumping shark, or Wing taking nap.
Mark is wheeled into the operating room, which is freaking huge and filled with about twenty medical personnel. Mark gets on the operating table. The anaesthesiologist introduces himself as Dr. Hammond, and tells Mark he'll be looking at and speaking with Mark throughout the surgery. On the other side of the room, some guy (he's masked, so I can't see if it's Dr. Burke) revs the bone saw a couple of times. Mark flinches and looks all squirrelly. A nurse removes his glasses. Mark calls for Dr. Burke and reminds him that Dr. Burke had said he'd give Mark "a little something to take the edge off." No one responds. Mark is isolated. He's all alone. Just him and his tumour against the world. And now they mean to remove it! No! No, he wants to cry! Not without my tumour!
In a trauma room, CuteDean slumbers cutely. Dan, in a wheelchair at CuteDean's bedside, asks, "So, it's a coma?" Weaver soothingly explains, "It's not what you think of as a coma. He's having what we call purposeful movements, and the CAT-scan shows there's no sign of hemorrhage or skull fractures." Both gaze down at CuteDean -- as who would not? He's cute! -- and Weaver tells Dan that although CuteDean is unconscious, she'd still do him. Wait, I'm sorry. That's what I said. Weaver says that if Dan wanted to talk to him, CuteDean would hear. She crutches toward the door, and Dan resumes his therapeutic nagging -- this time, cooing at CuteDean to wake up. After a few attempts, Dan tells Weaver that he used to have to do the same thing to wake CuteDean up for school, and that sometimes he'd fake sleep, until Dan tickled him. Weaver smiles. I am resisting making a comment about my willingness to tickle CuteDean -- or even to "tickle" him. Hey, how'd that happen? CuteDean sleeps. Dan tells him to be strong, and kisses his hand. Aw.
In the New York OR, a blurry and echo-y Dr. Hammond wakes up Mark. See? The parallel? Because they -- oh, you get it. Even Dr. Dave got it ten minutes ago. They clip a mic to the sheet, near Mark's face. Dr. Hammond asks Mark's name; Mark answers correctly. Another doctor slides into the frame and introduces herself as Dr. Malcolm from Neurology. She holds up her hand and asks how many fingers she's raised (I am also resisting making a comment about how many fingers I'd raise at Mark, given the opportunity), but everything's blurry and he can't answer. Though even through the blur it's clear she's holding up three. You just can't spread two fingers that far apart. Anyway, Elizabeth's voice says that Mark needs his glasses, so someone sticks them on Mark's face all askew. Mark starts calling for Elizabeth, but Dr. Malcolm tells him he needs to pass the finger test, first. Mark tells her she's holding up three fingers, and Elizabeth rolls into view on a stool, Alex Kingston carefully bent over to hide her protruding abdomen. They exchange pleasantries, and Dr. Malcolm tells Mark that she'll be conducting language testing while Dr. Burke maps Mark's brain. Mark responds by complaining that he has an itch; Elizabeth gets up to scratch it. Dr. Malcolm asks Mark to list the months of the year. We get a shot of a pulsating brain on a monitor. Elizabeth scratches. Mark groans with relief.
In CuteDean's trauma room, Dan sleeps with his face on CuteDean's shoulder. Weaver leads in Dan's wife, Debra. She asks him what happened, and he tells her they were hit by a garbage truck. Debra makes a weird "well, that's just great" face, but before she gets a chance to say anything else, Malik appears at the door to say that the OR is ready for CuteDean. Debra protests that Weaver said CuteDean would wake up on his own, and Weaver explains that the surgery is for his leg. Both Dan and Debra stare at CuteDean. Debra starts to tear up. Dan comments that CuteDean "looks so big," and asks her if she remembers the way Dan would hold CuteDean in his hand and rock him to sleep. Baby CuteDean fit in Dan's hand? Was he a kitten when he was born? Dan prods Debra, "You used to think I was going to drop him. Remember that?" Debra nods and bites her lip. She tentatively addresses CuteDean, but Dan interrupts: "Debra, I ran a red." She turns to him, stunned. Dan goes on about the hockey-quitting argument and the loud music. She starts to shake her head at him. He reaches for her hand, saying it was an accident, but she snatches it away and refuses to look at him. Immediately Dan grunts with pain, which makes me think he's shamming for sympathy. However, he says he thinks it's pain from the chest tube. Weaver suggests that he go lie down, but he wants to stay with CuteDean (as who would not?). Weaver asks if he's having chest pain (duh, where were you?), and he says he is. Malik wheels Dan out with Weaver calling orders; Dan shouts back to Debra that he's sorry.
New York OR. Mark is saying, "Trumpet. Hammer. Dolphin. Guitar. Tent." He's been asked to list his hobbies? The category is, "Things You'd Like to Cram Down Mark's Gullet So That He'd Never Ever Get a Chance to Speak Ever Ever Again"? Dr. Burke is standing over him, trying to drop a Junior Mint into Mark's skull without anyone's noticing; also, he keeps holding up his index finger, and after each word something beeps faintly. The camera swoops around, and we see that Dr. Malcolm is holding up cards with line drawings of various objects, and Mark is identifying what they are -- so far, correctly, as far as we can tell. She holds up a picture of an elephant, and Mark says, "Pachyderm." Her eyes frown, and she asks, "Another name for this one?" "Stampy? Dumbo? Horton? Elmer?" Mark offers. Just kidding, he slowly pronounces, "E-le-phant." Dr. Burke raises a finger, and everyone nods. Dr. Burke tells Mark that everything's going fine. Dr. Malcolm holds up a drawing I can't immediately identify; oh, it's a "cat-a-pult." I Am Mark's Brain looks very pink and happy on the monitor. Mark continues with his baby flashcards, hesitating on "bulldozer." When they get to a birthday cake, he says nothing; Dr. Malcolm notes his hesitation for Dr. Burke, and then asks Mark to read the card. Everyone hangs. Dr. Hammond leans in and asks how Mark's doing. Mark moves his lips silently for a moment, and then stutters, "My th-th-thumb." Pan to said thumb, which is twitching. A machine starts beeping. Elizabeth says that he's "diaphoretic." Mark murmurs, "I don't...good." That he does not. "Elizaba," he continues. No one seems particularly concerned at the angry sounds of the various machines. Mark starts seizing. Dr. Burke calmly calls for saline.
And then...the Fromage Montage (tm Sars). As Dr. Burke explains to Elizabeth that the electronic stimulation has induced a seizure, and that putting saline on the brain should cool it down and stop the seizure, we see very quick cuts: Creek. Birthday cake. Motorcycle. Mark in a nappy-ass fake beard pretending to be a minister as Gena Rowland and Sean Connery renew their marriage vows, and smooth jazz tootles in the background. Tricycle falling over. Motorcycle again. Jen in a bad wig holding a baby and bitching at Mark. Mark slapping Linda Fiorentino's ass. Elizabeth leans in, urgently saying Mark's name, and then demands that someone give him some ativan. Dr. Hammond is like, "Oh, are you the anaesthesiologist, now? Because I didn't get that memo." He adds that if they sedate Mark, he won't be able to talk, and the procedure would have to stop. Back to Mark's life flashing before his eyes: Holling blows some smoke. Mark's mom lies in a hospital bed. Mark is dressed all in white in this big, antiseptic dome. A merry-go-round. A ferris wheel. The set of a low-budget Key Bank commercial. Someone dies. Mark's own voice breaks the news of someone's dying. Mark, when he still had hair, stands beside a stoned-looking Sean Penn for about three seconds -- hey, I blinked and I almost missed him! The clips start coming too fast for me to really tell what's going on (or care) (well, I never cared, but now I care even less). Dr. Burke calls for propofol. Elizabeth asks what else they can do, and Dr. Burke says that they can't continue until Mark's awake and alert. She leans in and starts bellowing at him to wake up. The seizure rages on. Hey, you know what I didn't see in Mark's life as it flashed before his eyes? Elizabeth. You know what else I didn't see? Top Gun.
After some commercials (it's funny if you imagine the ads are part of Mark's seizure montage, like, who knew Pillsbury Crescent Rolls meant so much to him throughout his life?), Mark gags at a scope stuck into his mouth, which is a good sign. Dr. Hammond yells at him. Mark stares ahead catatonically. Cut to MarkCam; Elizabeth stares at him with her hands pressed to her cheeks. Dr. Hammond determines that Mark is "out of it," and Dr. Burke suggests that they close Mark up and "come back in a few days." Elizabeth spits, "A few days?! You've just opened his skull!" Mark mumbles, "Hey, what's going on out there?" Dr. Burke tells him about the seizure, and that they had to stop; Mark says that he's okay now, and that they should continue. Dr. Malcolm gets back in position, and tells Mark to start naming things that start with the letter "B." Mark starts rhyming things off, and we pan over to the monitor just in time to see as Dr. Burke extracts a used tea bag from Mark's brain. Geez, no wonder he's been having all these problems! Mark notices that Elizabeth's anxiously watching the monitor, and asks her if everything's all right. She unconvincingly says yes and asks him how he feels; he says he's okay, but sleepy. Dr. Malcolm -- rather politely, under the circumstances -- asks Elizabeth to get out of the way, and asks Mark to resume naming "B" words; he offers, "Baby. Boy." Elizabeth pokes her head back into view and coos, "So you think we're going to have a boy, do you?" Dr. Malcolm manages not to roll her eyes or tell Elizabeth to sod off so that they may work. Mark says it's "just a hunch." Elizabeth tells him, "We could find out, if you like." Okay, seriously, they start talking about whether or not to find out the baby's sex, and the issue of arguing over both girls' and boys' names, for about a minute. Um, hello? He's going to have a fairly long period of recuperation ahead of him, I'm guessing, and you'll have oodles of time to discuss this then, but, hi. Like, fifty people are sitting here waiting to perform a medical procedure while you two shoot the shit, so could you maybe talk about this later? God! Dr. Malcolm finally breaks in and demands more "B" words, and Mark lists boys' names that start with "B." Shut up, both of you.
County. Dan has a new bandage around his chest tube, and tells Carter he feels better since they gave him some drugs. Carter hands off Dan's chart to Luka "Death Becomes Him" Kovac (uh oh, Dan) and tells Dan he's going off-duty, but that Luka will pick up where Carter left off. Carter jargons to Luka, and Dan asks, "Is that bad?" Luka explains, "You could be at risk for a heart attack; we need to admit you for observation." Dan asks Carter, "Did they start his surgery?" Carter looks blank, and Dan reminds him (rather patiently, if you ask me), "My son. You know, they took him to the operating room to operate on his leg, but nobody's told me how he's doing." Carter promises Dan that Luka will find out, and takes off without a backward glance. Luka asks Dan whether he was having chest pain before the accident; Dan says he doesn't remember anything. Luka asks whether Dan passed out, and when Dan expresses confusion, Luka explains, "With angina, you can get an irregular heartbeat," which can cause fainting because "your heart doesn't pump enough blood to your brain." Dan seems to seize on this, wondering aloud whether that could have caused his accident; Luka says it happens a lot. "So it wasn't my fault!" Dan concludes, happily. Well, maybe. But it's not like Luka was there. Dan groans that he has to talk to his wife, and immediately grunts with pain, as various machines start beeping. Luka asks if his chest hurts, and Dan says it does -- "like a son-of-a-bitch." Luka calls Malik over and tells him Dan is having an MI. Dan, apparently never having watched a single TV show or movie that took place in a hospital, doesn't know that an MI is a heart attack. Luka tells Dan that they need to go to the cath lab to open his blocked artery, and they wheel him off, Dan protesting all the while that he needs to talk to his wife.
New York. Mark groggily awakens from surgery, now with gauze around his head. Mark correctly answers where he is and what day it is; Dr. Burke indicates Elizabeth and asks Mark if he knows who she is, and Mark mumbles, "I've never seen her before in my life." But he's kidding, worse luck. Dr. Burke performs some more quick tests on Mark's fingers and toes, and seems pleased by the results. Mark asks how the procedure went, and Dr. Burke says, "Fantastic. Resected the tumour with clean margins; chemotherapy wafers are in." Mark says, "No." Dr. Burke assures him, "Oh, sir! They're only tiny little thin ones!" "No. Fuck off, I'm full," Mark burbles. "Oh, sir...they're only wafer thin!" Dr. Burke promises. Mark relents. And then his head blows up. I wish. Elizabeth needles Mark that she was right, that he made it. Dr. Burke tells them both to get some rest. Elizabeth pulls up a stool and asks him if he remembers anything. Mark says, "Something about a baby?" Elizabeth reminds him about the discussion of boys' names as if we weren't already all bored comatose the last time, and Mark mumbles, "We're going to have a boy." Elizabeth gazes at him, trying for carnal love but, as usual, taking a wrong turn at sisterly affection.
Cath lab. Dan complains that he feels like someone parked a Volvo on his chest. He's still throwing PVCs. Luka tries repositioning his chest tube. Dan tells Luka again that he needs to speak to his wife, and Luka impatiently tells him that he'll talk to Debra, and that Dan should relax. ["You know, I've said it before, but I think it bears repeating -- Luka is wearing a gown over his street clothes, a surgical cap, and Elvis-impersonator sterile goggles. Everything is covered except his sideburns. The man is virtually invisible. And he's still hot. Okay, that's all." -- Sars] Dan regrets that he was arguing with CuteDean when the accident happened. Luka, showing more interest in Dan and his family than anyone at County has had thus far, asks how old CuteDean is; Dan says he's fifteen. Yeah, fifteen and sixty-three months. Luka muses, "[It's] part of being that age: he needs your support the most when he wants it the least." "You a dad?" Dan asks, apparently shocked that Luka's paying him any attention. After a beat, Luka mutters, "No." (Dude. So sad!) A nurse approaches and says that Debra wants to come in; a gowned and masked Dr. Kayson-Gorpley agrees, "For a minute." Debra enters, all gowned up. "You look like a nurse!" crows Dan. She giggles sort of sheepishly, and says that CuteDean's awake: "They took the tube out, he's breathing on his own, and...well, he's asking for a cheeseburger." Dan thanks god, and Debra glances around and notices that -- hey, her husband's been injured too. Huh. She asks him if he's okay, and he fills her in, adding that "the doctors" think that the blockage made him pass out, causing the accident. Well, actually, one doctor theorized that that's what could have caused the accident. I still happen to think you took your eyes off the road, since we saw you do it about forty times. Debra stutters an apology for the way she behaved earlier, and Dan tells her, "You thought I did it again." Because this is totally the right time and place. Not. Dr. Kayson tells her to leave, and the nurse who ushered her in ushers her out again. Dan tells Debra to tell CuteDean he'll see him soon. "You better," says Debra gently.
New York. A nurse, Terry, is going on break and offers to bring Elizabeth some frozen yogurt, which Elizabeth politely declines. Terry leaves, and Mark sits up, trying to detach himself from the various monitors, saying, "I have to go now. I'm late." Elizabeth brightly tells him she's glad he's still got his sense of humour, but he's not kidding: "I left the oven on." He takes off his blood-pressure cuff and the monitor starts beeping; Terry hurries back and says, "He's off the monitor." Elizabeth yelps, "I know! I know! He's altered!" Mark asks for his car keys. Elizabeth asks Terry to give him some valium, but Terry says that she has no orders for that. Mark refuses to lie back down, yammering about a burning lasagna. Elizabeth says that Mark needs sedation, "and a stat head CT," but Mark replies that he needs to leave. Terry points out that Elizabeth doesn't have privileges at this hospital. Or in this state. Elizabeth begs Terry to page Dr. Burke, but Terry says that Burke is on an emergency consult. "What do you think this is?" Elizabeth snips. I think it's a late Christmas gift for me.
County. Robert "Rocket" Romano barges in on the cath lab and asks what's going on. Luka and Kayson recap the situation for him (coronary thrombosis is apparently a new wrinkle on Dan's chart). Romano asks why he wasn't consulted, and why Dan wasn't admitted to some study. Kayson says that Dan didn't meet the study's criteria, and Romano shoots back, "I decide who meets the criteria." Dan, overhearing, sputters, "What? You mean I didn't have to have this?" Romano snaps, "If you'd been on a low-fat diet, you wouldn't have to have any of this." Something starts beeping urgently, and Kayson exposits that there's a dissection in the left vein. The Timpani of Impending Doom thrums on the soundtrack as Dan quavers, "What -- what, what, what's wrong? What happened?" Luka tells him that the catheter "made a small tear in [Dan's] blood vessel." Dan's blood pressure starts to drop, things start peeping and booping, staff spring into action, and Romano, in a bored tone, declares that Dan is "a surgical patient now." Luka yells for someone to notify the OR. Dan asks what happened, and Romano -- presumably into the DanCam, though he's not looking directly into it, which makes me wonder if Paul McCrane is taking this opportunity to show that Romano doesn't look his patients in the eye -- tells Dan that he's experienced a complication, and that the only way to save him now is with bypass surgery. "Open-heart surgery?" Dan squeaks; Romano confirms that he is correct, and moves to anaesthetize him. Dan protests, "Can't we talk about this?" No, they can't. And this is, I think, about as good a time as any to say that you wouldn't think someone could overact when he's doing nothing but lying flat on his back. But you would be wrong. Jim Belushi has proven that to me.
New York. Elizabeth dozes sitting up beside Mark's bed; Mark feebly coughs a couple of times, waking Elizabeth and drawing Dr. Burke over to the bed. Dr. Burke says that there is no post-op bleeding, but that "the steroids made [him] a little crazy." As Elizabeth places his glasses on his face, Mark asks what he said. "I've heard much worse" is Dr. Burke's non-answer. He makes to leave, and Elizabeth skips off after him, leaving Mark to look over at Blue Lips, lying in bed. As soon as Mark directs his attention to him, something attached to Blue Lips starts filling with blood; Mark tries to call someone to attend to Blue Lips, but he's too feeble. Presently, the machines attached to Blue Lips start making angry noises, and a bunch of nurses and a doctor swarm him. Wire cutters are involved. Ech. Mark watches, dismayed, until Elizabeth pulls the curtain around Blue Lips. Okay, but could you at least hook Mark up with a TV? The latest InStyle? He's bored!
DanCam. Dan's on the move. Luka leans in to see him off to surgery. Dan expresses his surprise that Luka will not be accompanying him, but Romano explains that Dan's with the surgical team now, and instructs him to bid Luka adieu. (That goes for the rest of us, too, DAMMIT.) Luka smiles and wishes Dan good luck. Dan looks very, very alarmed.
We see the doors swing closed before Luka, and Dan chokes out that he doesn't want surgery. Romano heartily says that it's too late for Dan to make that decision. Dan, flailing, says he wants a second opinion, and Romano tells him that he'd be dead before another doctor could examine him. He then yells to everyone within earshot that he wants "to be cutting in five minutes," and offers Dan a frat-boy thumbs-up by way of reassurance. DanCam follows Romano as he heads into the scrub room to change. Dr. Babcock, the anaesthesiologist (who is played, I believe, by Laura Innes's real-life husband...speaking of whom, did anyone other than me watch the People's Choice awards this week? Did you check her out accepting the award for favourite drama series? Her hair was out of control! She was like Patty Duke in the '50s. The hell?), introduces himself and asks if Dan's allergic to any drugs, or on any meds; someone else shines a bright light directly into the DanCam. Romano comes in and angrily asks why Dan isn't "under" yet; he's accompanied by a gowned and masked Benton, who, despite his attire, Dan recognizes. Blah blah exposition blah perdiemcakes. Benton remembers the circumstances under which Dan came to County. Dan starts hysterically yelping that he has a bad feeling about the surgery, and doesn't think he'll make it. Benton perfunctorily tells him he'll be fine. Dan babbles for Benton to tell CuteDean (remember CuteDean? Me too, VAGUELY) that Dan loves and is very proud of him, and Benton dismissively says that Dan will be able to tell him that himself. DanCam out. (Because he goes under.)
New York. A woman -- presumably Mrs. Blue Lips, the kid's mom -- sits and stares sadly at Blue Lips's former bed, now stripped of its linens. Dr. Burke's voice asks Mark to follow Dr. Burke's finger, but Mark is, as I said above, bored, and is amusing himself by creating soap-opera-calibre scenarios in his mind, starring Blue Lips. I can tell by the expression on Mark's face that he's imagining Blue Lips digging up buried-alive Sheridan. Elizabeth hectors Mark to pay attention to Dr. Burke; Mark snaps out of it and successfully passes the finger test. As he does so, Terry ushers Mrs. Blue Lips out of the recovery room, promising to give her surgical updates. So Blue Lips didn't die. Anyone? Anyone care? Show of hands? Right. Dr. Burke reminds Mark that he'd asked him to remember three things, and Mark duly supplies, "Giraffe. Beach ball. 123 Main Street." Elizabeth congratulates him, "Three for three." Mark asks her if she knows what happened to "the heart kid," and Elizabeth distractedly tells him that "they got him to the OR; it's touch and go." Dr. Burke tells Mark that he's going to send someone from Psych to talk to him, and when Mark protests, he exposits, "Depression suppresses the immune system. It can hinder recovery." Mark -- who, I must remind everyone, spent about half a season struggling, without any professional help whatever, with some sort of post-traumatic stress that I believe he still hasn't had treated by a therapist or counsellor of any kind -- curtly says that he doesn't need a psychiatrist, but would like to have his Foley removed. Since I have made a New Year's resolution to think as little as possible about Mark's penis, I'll shorthand it by saying that Dr. Burke doesn't want to take it out, but Mark insists that he is strong enough to pee the old-fashioned way. (By which I mean, into a toilet, not against a tree or in the corner of a cave or into a chamber pot. Anyway.) Dr. Burke agrees to take it out, and Elizabeth pledges to assist Mark in the john. Dr. Burke gives Mark a little Tony Robbins routine, to which Mark has no discernible reaction.
DanCam. Benton, holding paddles, pronounces the time of death, and...my god, he was right! Dan's premonition was right! He...oh, wait, that's not the end of the scene. A blonde nurse pulls the sheet over the DanCam, and the RegularCam pulls back to reveal Ye Olde Fake-Oute; Dan is lying in a bed on the other side of the room, alive and awake. Whatever. The surgery's over, he's fine. He muses that the car accident saved his life, and then off-screen we can hear the voice of GOD, FINALLY CuteDean, razzing his dad about not getting yearly checkups. God, CuteDean looks like such a string bean, I had no idea his arms were that big. [Sigh.] Anyway, father and son gaze at each other across the railings of their beds and exchange fond banter. CuteDean's fine. Dan's fine. They love each other. CuteDean has great hair. I can't help thinking that the point, ultimately, of the Dan and CuteDean Follies is to serve as pro-medical-industry propaganda. Like, they may not seem to be paying you all that much attention -- they may seem to be totally distracted by patients more interesting than you are -- but ultimately, they get the job done, so you stupid patients (the ones, unlike Mark, who don't know what questions to ask and exactly what is going wrong when things go wrong) should just be grateful these doctors want to bother with your bitch asses at all. But maybe it's just me.
New York. The Times Square ball drops on TV. At Wing Manor, when that happened, Glark, Sars, and I were all chatting in the living room as we had been for the four hours until Sars glanced at her watch and noticed it was midnight; we all trooped upstairs to watch the ball drop only to reach the game room in time for the post-ball-drop fireworks. Wah wah. Then Sars and I ate some snacks and watched Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead on TBS. Don't act like you're not jealous when you know you are. Anyway, bandaged Mark watches from his bed, with Elizabeth crowding in beside him. Mark whines that his Foley's still in, and wheedles Elizabeth into taking it out for him, against hospital regulations. Mark moans with pain and relief (I guess), and says he doesn't think he can order a Foley for a patient ever again. She helps him up, and they head for the bathroom. Again, more discussion of Mark's urinary life takes place than I care to consider. He tries to take a couple of steps on his own and falters; I really doubt that he'd be walking the day he had an awake craniotomy, but I've never had one, so whatever. Elizabeth grabs his arm before he falls and gently chides him that "it's not a race." Mark knows he has to take "small steps." Right on cue, the fireworks start outside the hospital window. I roll my eyes into the area code. Crappy New Year.