Episode Report Card Niki: C+ | 1 USERS: A+ YOU GRADE IT "R.I.P."
By Niki | Season 1 | Episode 6 | Aired on 10.29.2002
We open with Yang nodding off. That's promising. She's at the bedside of an old man, Mr. Promider, in the middle of taking his blood pressure. Her clipboard slips out from under her arm, and the crash jolts her awake. The old man in the bed doesn't even flinch. So it's safe to assume that he's pretty healthy.
Cut to Joyner striding down the hallway, mumbling into a tiny tape recorder about some patient's heart palpitations. She narrowly avoids crashing into another doctor named Angela. Through their exposition-laden "banter," we learn that Angela is the chief of the obstetrics department, and Joyner is the chief of...cardio? Whatever. The important thing here is how two women could possibly be the heads of hospital departments. The answer is simple (really, really simple): "By working twice as hard as any man. And looking twice as good!"
Joyner moves along to the room of a patient who's just been discharged. It turns out that the woman has rather inconveniently developed shortness of breath since signing her discharge papers. Joyner offers to listen to her breathe, and says her lungs sound clear. Fishlips materializes in the doorway. She looks kick-ass in a WW2 nursing uniform -- complete with a black cape! -- and red lipstick. The patient's eyes widen over Joyner's shoulder. Fishlips asks pointedly whether they're all set. Joyner compliments her on the costume, and Fishlips stiffly informs her that it is not a costume; it's the real thing, worn by her grandmother in the war. Fishlips, it turns out, comes from a long and undoubtedly very straight line of doctors of nursing. She consults her clipboard and notes that the patient was to have been discharged in the morning. She asks what the hold-up is. Joyner fills her in on the shortness of breath. Fishlips keenly observes that the patient wasn't complaining of it when she was admitted. Joyner says she'd like "pulmonary to take a look" anyway. Fishlips asks, "Didn't you just say that her lungs sound fine?" Joyner sighs and heads for the hallway, conceding that she did say that, but she still wants to make sure. "But you discharged her! You can't undischarge her. There's no form for that!" Fishlips complains. The efficiency expert tells Joyner that the patient will have to return to her "gatekeeper," and if he approves it, then she can come back for another check. Joyner points out that the patient is there right now, since that tiny detail seems to have escaped Fishlips's attention. Fishlips doesn't care. "I need this bed," she says crisply, and disappears into the room. The patient whines, "I can't believe she just said that!" Yeah, well, take it up with the writers, sister.
Kellerman, overhearing the "outrageous" exchange, swoops down off his trusty steed and introduces himself to the patient in distress. He grabs her wheelchair and makes for the door. Joyner nervously asks what he's doing. He promises, "I'm not gonna break any rules. I know how you hate that." Fishlips smells the hijinks, and they're riper than ever. She bolts for the elevator into which Kellerman has just wheeled the patient. The doors shut her out. Fishlips wheels around, cape flying, arms flying, legs flying, and books it down the corridor. She reaches the big window overlooking the lobby just in time to see Kellerman, Joyner, and the patient disappear outside. Refusing to admit defeat, Fishlips balls her fists and dashes downstairs, practically mowing down a group of giggling trick-or-treaters, to confront the transgressors upon their return. She arranges herself in the classic Superman hands-on-hips pose and stands heaving in front of the revolving door, silently vowing that she will not rest until inefficiency and its ilk are driven from the hospital for good. Thor just happens to be standing there, decked out -- of course -- as a Viking, and sucking on a lollipop. He asks nonchalantly, "Florence Nightingale?" Fishlips struggles to get enough air to correct him. Thor shrugs and wanders off, just as Kellerman, Joyner, and the discharge return triumphant. Fishlips adamantly protests that the patient is not supposed to be there. Kellerman, unfazed, points out that the woman is no longer a patient. She crossed the street with him to get donuts, thereby leaving hospital property and completing her discharge. She's now returning to be admitted to the emergency room to have her breathing problem examined. Thwarted, Fishlips fumes, "Oh, you're pretty pleased with yourself, aren't you Kellerman? You just love finding your way around the rules." "Not as much as you love writing them," is Kellerman's "clever" retort. Foiled, Fishlips stomps off, leaving Kellerman to puff out his chest and gloat, "And that, Dr. Joyner, is what's known in the trade as 'the boomerang.'" I refuse to believe that on the grounds that, in order for something to garner a stupid nickname, it actually has to happen more than once.