WHAT A FOOL BELIEVES

"What a fool beli-e-eves, he-e se-es; no wise man has the power to reason awa-ay; wha-at see-e-e-ems to-o be-e is always better than nothin'..."

For the longest time, I never really knew what the words to that song meant. Or at least not until now. The way I see it, it means some people only see things the way they want to, or they only hear what they want to hear, regardless of how bad the situation is, or who's involved. I know that now, but for as long as I've worked at County General, I'd always played by my own rules. I always knew my attitude would rub people the wrong way, but I never thought it would result in someone I truly cared about having to pick up the tab for my actions.

My name is Dr. Doug Ross, and I broke the rules to fit my needs.

Before you start calling me an irresponsible bastard, all I ask is that you just hear me out, give me a chance to tell my side of the story, because no one else would, not even Mark. To tell you the truth, I can't say I blame him, and if I were in his position, I'd never want to speak to me again.

It all started when a boy named Ricky Abbott came into my care. This kid was only eight years old, and was in the end stages of ALD. In my line of work, I've seen a hell of a lot more than my share of sick kids, dying kids, kids who haven't got a chance in the world to survive whatever it is they have. But it wasn't seeing this particular kid that made me do what I did. It was his mother, Joi. She'd already lost one son to this disease, and here she was, about to lose her other son. Now, for several reasons, I'd already promised Mark and Kerry that I wouldn't sign any more prescriptions for narcotics, so I took Ricky's case to a guy I knew in the Genetics wing. I told him I desperately needed a prescription for Dilaudid, which is what Ricky was given for the pain, but he couldn't sign it, either.

So what do I do? Well, being the saint that thought I was, I went ahead and signed it myself, and went to Carol to see about getting a PCA machine through her clinic. You see, the thing is, I'd discussed the possibility of home care with Joi. To this day, I still don't know how many hoops Carol had to jump through to get it. I don't even know if she knew that by helping me, she was putting her own career on the line. But somehow, we'd gotten it all set up, and the next thing I knew, that little boy was lying peacefully in his own bed, waiting for what was to come. I knew that's the way Joi wanted it.

In retrospect, I wish I'd just followed protocol, and let things happen the way they were supposed to, but I was too caught up in my own macho bullshit to see this from anyone else's point of view other than my own. In case you're wondering what I'm talking about, I'd given Joi the code to the PCA so she could take care of the dosage. I was absolutely convinced that I'd gone over the entire procedure with her step-by-step so she wouldn't give him too much or too little. I'd even told her exactly how many cc's she should administer, and how often, and don't even get me started on how many times I'd gone over it with her.

That's why I didn't expect to see not only Ricky and Joi, but also his father, of all people. I was in another room looking at someone's leg when all of a sudden, the door flew open, and there was Carol. In one second flat, I knew something was terribly wrong. When we got to Trauma 1, there was Ricky, lying on the table, hooked up to practically every machine in sight. I couldn't believe it. What the hell was going on here? He wasn't even supposed to have made it through the night. And for that matter, who called the ambulance?

My guess was the father did, because the next thing I knew, I was sent flying backward into the wall, courtesy of a pretty vicious right cross from that man. At the time, I thought he was completely out of line. I mean, his son clearly wasn't going to make it, not by a long shot. It wasn't until Mark called it and we were cleaning up after ourselves that I found out why he'd gone off on me like that.

Evidently, Joi had accidentally given her son too much Dilaudid, enough to kill ten grown men, as Mark put it. I knew he wasn't going to be very happy with me, but Kerry, on the other hand, really let me have it big-time. Plus, they found out that the machine had come from Carol's clinic, and Kerry told me that they'd have to tell Anspaugh what went down. On top of that, not only was I looking at possibly losing my license and jail time, but we'd also have to kiss the clinic goodbye. I told them both that I had absolutely no idea that Joi would make such a huge mistake, and that I'd made sure I'd gone over it with her numerous times, but they weren't having any of it. They told me that under the circumstances, they'd thought it was a good idea to keep it quiet, but now, they were in big trouble with Anspaugh, Romano, and with the way things were looking, the review board. Kerry also told me that if I wanted to ruin my own career, then that was my problem, but to stay the hell away from hers. And as far as Mark was concerned, I was history.

I felt horrible. Not just for myself, but for Joi, for Ricky, and worst of all, for Mark and Carol. It was bad enough that I'd put my best friend's head on the chopping block, but I never wanted the clinic to close down, whether Carol was involved or not. Carol had, and still does have, every right to hate me for that. She also told me how she practically had to get down on her knees in front of Anspaugh and beg him to keep it open, and after a while, he finally agreed, but he also told her she couldn't run it anymore. And to top it all off, I told her that I'd swallowed my pride, or lack thereof, went to Anspaugh and resigned. (Of course, I should've given Carol more time to herself before telling her. Real smooth, Doug.)

In my mind, it was the least I could do after what I'd put her through, not to mention the hospital itself. Miraculously, Ricky's father wasn't going to press charges, and I wasn't going to lose my license, but I just didn't see any point in me working there anymore. Now that I look back on it, I couldn't blame her for not wanting to move to Seattle with me, either.

The only good thing that came out of this mess was the fact that Joi told me how much she'd appreciated what I'd done for Ricky. Obviously, she was the only one who had anything nice to say to me at all, but it was better than nothing. And no, I don't have any hard feelings toward her. I mean, she'd lost not one, but both sons to a horrible, relentless disease, and a genetic one to boot. Therefore, what right do I have to resent her? The answer is, none.

So that's my story. I'd done enough of undermining authority and looking out for number one, and look where it got me. I'm still amazed that Ricky's father didn't come after me with a malpractice suit for God knows how many millions of dollars, or that I'm not in jail, or that I still have my license, even. If I could do it again, there are two things I would've done differently: one, I would've stayed and made damn sure that Joi used that machine correctly; and two, I would've gone directly to Anspaugh myself and taken the blame. That way, Mark and Kerry wouldn't have had to pay for what I'd done, and Carol would still have her clinic.

But, like the saying goes, sometimes, you just have to learn it the hard way.