My Total Disaster
By rosso-bass
Chapter 1: My Almost Normal Day
AN: I don't own Scrubs or any of the characters. That said, a few notes about this story. Like the TV show, this will be essentially outside looking in, except for J.D.'s narration and monologue, where he inputs his personal philosophies or emotional summaries of the events around him. These will be marked with Italics. I don't really foresee his fantasies coming into play, as they're a bit hard to write out. So, enjoy!
My new job as Residency Director at St. Vincent's Hospital was hard to adjust to at first. Not seeing the people I knew and loved more than once or twice a month had been a drastic change from a daily basis. But seeing Sam nearly every day, as well as coming home to Elliot had eased the change, and my new job made me feel like a plaaayaaa.
As Residency Director, my patient responsibilities dropped, but I was making lot more money, on top of being able to teach young doctors more than I would as an attending. Overall, it worked perfectly, and I had no regrets.
J.D. walked in through the front door of St. Vincent's , grazing his hand over the top of his hair. Somehow, it seemed to clash with the medical coat and the business casual clothes he was now expected to wear, but he would never give up his hair. Ever.
"Morning Dr. Mantoots!" J.D. called, crouching in his walk and pointing the index fingers of both hands at him. Dr. Mantoots, Chief of Medicine, nodded his acknowledgment, put off by J.D.'s eccentricity.
J.D. walked through the hospital briskly, greeting nurses and doctors. He assigned cases to his residents, one of whom he'd named "43," as a reference to his likeness to a young George Bush. Sadly, there was no one with whom J.D. could exchange in child humor all day at this hospital. After dismissing his residents, he picked up a folder of his own, glancing over the chart.
His day went as usual, several patients, questions from his residents, overseeing interns, and a panicked call from Elliot. It was only a month until their wedding, and Elliot had driven everybody through the wall. Carla- and Turk- had considered changing their number, as had Kim, and Dr. Cox had even called J.D. to chew him out, saying the calls to Jordan had made her irritable, and as a result, made him miserable. Through the grapevine, J.D. had also heard that the Janitor was being followed and questioned. Hell, J.D. almost changed his number himself.
As the sun began to set, J.D. was anxious to get home. That was another perk that came with being the Residency Director, awesome hours. He picked up another chart, his last patient for the day, one who had come in only an hour ago. He glanced it over: Francis Jacobsen, Age 43, abdominal pain, diarrhea, allergic to penicillin, family history of heart disease and cancer. He passed his finger over the chart, finding the room number. 213B. He bounded up the stairs, seeing a horde of people waiting for the elevator.
In his six months at St. Vincent's he'd learned the layout fully, and he was automatically guided to room 213B. Francis, the only occupant in his room, sat in the furthest bed against the wall, fiddling with the bed remote. He was plump, and had jowls reminiscent of Richard Nixon. He had a hook nose and brown eyes. His hairline was receding, and what was left of it was streaked with gray.
Julie, one of the nurses for the second floor, held up a syringe, examining the blood she had just drawn.
"Hey, Dr. Dorian," she said cheerfully, her platinum blonde hair bouncing as she giggled and tilted her head, the syringe still in her hands.
Hello delicious.
"Hey Julie," he responded.
"Just off to get this tested," she waited for approval.
"Yeah," he replied distractedly. She huffed and walked out of the room. J.D. stood beside the man's bed, checking over the chart. When he was done, he turned to Francis.
"Hello, Mr. Jacobsen!" J.D. said, smiling his best. Francis nodded, smiling.
"Hello, Dr.?"
"Dorian, Dr. Dorian."
"Nice to meet you son."
"And you sir, and you. So, got some abdominal pain?"
"Yes, and some diarrhea. I expect the two go hand in hand."
"I'm going to take your temperature here," J.D. said. He fished out an electronic reader from the cabinet above and placed a new cap on it. He inserted it in Francis' ear, clicking the button. When it beeped, he pulled it out.
"Hoo! 100.2. Pretty high fever." It showed, beads of sweat had drown on the man's forehead and neck. J.D. took his blood pressure, and he was a little low, though it was not in his history.
"I'm going to take a look at your breathing. Could you lean forward Mr. Jacobsen?"
"Sure," he said. He leaned up out of the chair. Through his medical gown, there was a reddish smattering of dots near the base of his neck. Macropapular rash.
"Had any transplants lately sir?" He looked over his chart again. "Doesn't say so on my chart."
"No, I haven't. Never had." He noted the rash on his chart and moved along, checking the man's breathing. He pulled the stethoscope out of his ears, crossing his hands at his waist.
"Sounds a little murky," he said. "Been vomiting lately? Any nausea?"
"Been a little nauseas, but no vomiting."
"Hmm, well, right now, it looks a bad case of the flu. We'll wait for the blood results, and I'll be right back to you, ok?"
"Sure,- wait, Dr. Dorian?" J.D. turned in the door, looking at the man.
"There's something else." J.D. moved to the man's bedside again.
"Yeah, what's up?"
"Well, I've been in the Congo for the past year. I'm a priest and we have an aid mission there. I checked through with medical security and everything, but I thought that might be relevant."
"When did you get back?"
"Five days ago," he said.
"Well, this may just be some traveler's sickness then. It can happen when you're adjusting to new climate or water quality."
"Oh, drank only bottled water."
"Alright well- are you ok Mr. Jacobsen?" The man had put a hand to his chest and put his head down, as if burping. Francis put a hand out to assure J.D., but seconds later leaned over the edge of the bed, vomiting some very bloody bile onto J.D.'s shoes as bloody diarrhea exploded from behind him.
"Jesus!" J.D. yelled, and a nurse from outside the hall rushed in.
"Doctor?" she asked.
"Get me an IV and a heart monitor!" She disappeared. Francis sat back up on the bed.
"Oh, oh, what's happening to me?" he asked. Blood was dripping out of his nose. Something clicked in J.D.'s head. He might be paranoid but… he ran to the phone on the other side of the room. The nurse returned.
"Don't come in here!" he yelled. She stopped halfway through the door. He dialed the Chief's phone.
"Dr. Mantoots residence," the voice said on the other line.
"Dr. Mantoots!" J.D. said excitedly. "Sir I-"
"Dr. Dorian, please, I'm having dinner."
"Sir, I need you to authorize a hospital lockdown, call some uh- Bioterrorist guys or something!"
"Dr. Dorian, if this is a joke, I do not appre-"
"Do it now, goddammit! If I'm wrong you can fire me later!"