ER
Piece Of Mind

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Wing Chun: C+ | Grade It Now!
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Piece Of Mind

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 previous 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 next area code. Crappy New Year.

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