Chapter 4: July 15, 2000, 3PM, Ambulance Bay (Mark Greene's Point of View):
Doug and Peter were outside playing basketball. It was drizzling, but that didn't stop them. I watch as Carter leaves the hospital after just finishing his shift. I can barely hear their conversation.
"Hey Carter," Doug says, "You off?"
"Yeah." He puts his bag over his shoulder.
"Come play ball. I bet I could win against you and Peter."
"It's on, man," Peter responds.
But Carter says, "No thanks. My back is a little sore." He lights a cigarette as he starts walking away.
"Yeah, sure," Doug says to him, "You wouldn't be able to catch your breath anyway, Smokey."
"Fine, I'll play," Carter takes one last, long drag and then flicks the cigarette to the side.
"That's my boy," Peter replies.
It looks to me like Carter is having fun playing with them, although his back appeared to be hurting. I am still watching from inside the hospital. I am so glad that the young doctor is enjoying himself again; he actually looked happy. I have another memory of when this kind of competition was almost a daily event for us. Doug had done the right thing, inviting him to join. But the game started getting rough. I see Carter go for the ball as it comes down from a shot. Doug playfully shoves him out of the way, just hard enough to knock him to the ground. I hear Carter yelp as his back hits the pavement. Without thinking, I run out to the men and kneel next to Carter.
"Peter get a gurney out here," I order.
"No," Carter replies, "I'm ok, really." He winces in pain.
"No you're not. At least let someone look at your back. You might have injured it again."
"No!" Carter says in a sterner voice.
"I'm really sorry about that Carter," says Doug, "Let me help you up." He starts pulling Carter up by the elbow. Without intent, this action slid Carter's watch down slightly.
The young doctor shruggs off Doug's help and responds, "I'm ok, I am." He stands up on his own. "You people don't have to treat me like glass. I'm not that fragile. I gotta run. Bye." He puts his bag back on his shoulder and lights up another cigarette as he walks toward the El.
Still at the basketball hoop, Doug says to me, "I saw them, I saw the scars."
"What scars?" Peter asks, completely in the dark.
"I guess you should know," I reply. I tell Peter about the scars on Carter's wrist, and about what our idea is.
"Suicidal? Carter?" Peter asks, "No way, man. Not Carter."
"The scars are there-"
"And they could be from anything," Peter interrupts.
"I'm not going to argue with you, Peter," I continue, "But now you know what we are talking about."
"Yeah, thanks. I think I will talk to him about it tomorrow." Peter's pager goes off. "I have to go."
"Peter, if you talk to him just.be gentle," I advise.
"Yeah, I know." Peter gives us one of his crooked smiles before he goes back in the ER.
"You know," Doug says, "I don't think 'gentle' is in Peter's vocabulary."
"That's what I'm afraid of," I reply.
Doug and Peter were outside playing basketball. It was drizzling, but that didn't stop them. I watch as Carter leaves the hospital after just finishing his shift. I can barely hear their conversation.
"Hey Carter," Doug says, "You off?"
"Yeah." He puts his bag over his shoulder.
"Come play ball. I bet I could win against you and Peter."
"It's on, man," Peter responds.
But Carter says, "No thanks. My back is a little sore." He lights a cigarette as he starts walking away.
"Yeah, sure," Doug says to him, "You wouldn't be able to catch your breath anyway, Smokey."
"Fine, I'll play," Carter takes one last, long drag and then flicks the cigarette to the side.
"That's my boy," Peter replies.
It looks to me like Carter is having fun playing with them, although his back appeared to be hurting. I am still watching from inside the hospital. I am so glad that the young doctor is enjoying himself again; he actually looked happy. I have another memory of when this kind of competition was almost a daily event for us. Doug had done the right thing, inviting him to join. But the game started getting rough. I see Carter go for the ball as it comes down from a shot. Doug playfully shoves him out of the way, just hard enough to knock him to the ground. I hear Carter yelp as his back hits the pavement. Without thinking, I run out to the men and kneel next to Carter.
"Peter get a gurney out here," I order.
"No," Carter replies, "I'm ok, really." He winces in pain.
"No you're not. At least let someone look at your back. You might have injured it again."
"No!" Carter says in a sterner voice.
"I'm really sorry about that Carter," says Doug, "Let me help you up." He starts pulling Carter up by the elbow. Without intent, this action slid Carter's watch down slightly.
The young doctor shruggs off Doug's help and responds, "I'm ok, I am." He stands up on his own. "You people don't have to treat me like glass. I'm not that fragile. I gotta run. Bye." He puts his bag back on his shoulder and lights up another cigarette as he walks toward the El.
Still at the basketball hoop, Doug says to me, "I saw them, I saw the scars."
"What scars?" Peter asks, completely in the dark.
"I guess you should know," I reply. I tell Peter about the scars on Carter's wrist, and about what our idea is.
"Suicidal? Carter?" Peter asks, "No way, man. Not Carter."
"The scars are there-"
"And they could be from anything," Peter interrupts.
"I'm not going to argue with you, Peter," I continue, "But now you know what we are talking about."
"Yeah, thanks. I think I will talk to him about it tomorrow." Peter's pager goes off. "I have to go."
"Peter, if you talk to him just.be gentle," I advise.
"Yeah, I know." Peter gives us one of his crooked smiles before he goes back in the ER.
"You know," Doug says, "I don't think 'gentle' is in Peter's vocabulary."
"That's what I'm afraid of," I reply.