CHAPTER 4: Morris

The three of us were standing at Jerry's bedside, EXPLAINING what happened and how the surgery went. Even though he had tubes in his chest and nose and an IV in his arm, and would have a long road ahead of him, he still looked a helluva lot better than he did downstairs in the Trauma room. Believe me when I tell you, that man was the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet. And at the risk of tooting my own horn, if it wasn't for Neela and me, Jerry would be playing backgammon with Elvis right now.
But, I digress.
"Okay, so Morris got you through the ER," Greg began.
"The first circle of hell," Neela clarified.
"And Neela got you through the operation."
"The second," I chimed in.
"I guess the rest of it is up to me, right?" Jerry guessed as he winced in pain.
"Yup," Greg nodded. "Those are circles three through nine."
"Well, here's one way to start," Neela said as she held up a little plastic gizmo with a short hose attached to the side and three ping-pong balls in it. "The incentive spirometer. Just suck on the hose twice an hour to make the balls rise. It'll keep you from getting pneumonia."
"I see."
Just when Jerry was starting to give it a whirl, the door swung open and in came his mother. She was a little spitfire of an old lady with a white, curly mop of Art Garfunkel-looking hair and a great big voice. And I mean the kind that was so shrill and overbearing that your ears would be gushing with blood after less than a minute. "Do you know what time it is?" she demanded. "I have been out there watching the samn damn cable news over and over!"
"Hi, Ma," Jerry weakly greeted her.
"And furthermore, I missed my water aerobics class," she continued, without missing a beat. "You were supposed to take me, in case you've forgotten."
"Yeah, I know, Ma."
Then, in the blink of an eye, Mrs. Markovic's demeanor changed from scolding and abrasive to soft and gentle. "Oy vey," she murmured, trying her best not to burst into tears. "You gave me such a scare, my sheyn boytshik."
"I'm sorry, Ma."
Maybe I'm overly sentimental, but seeing Jerry's mom doting on him like he was six years old again made me feel warm and fuzzy all over. "Aw, look at that punim," I grinned. Upon hearing that, Mrs. Markovic looked at me like I was from outer space. After a few awkward seconds, I looked up to see that Pratt and Neela had gone, then said, "Well, uh—I'll just give you two some privacy. Oh, and don't you worry, Mrs. Markovic. Your son is in excellent hands."
She nodded, and I turned on my heel and left the room. Don't get me wrong—for the most part, she seemed like a nice enough woman, but I wasn't exactly looking forward to having her talk my ear off any more than she already had.
"Hey, guys," I called when I caught up with Greg and Neela. "I was just thinking that since we're technically done for the day, maybe we could get a bite to eat. And yes, I'm buying."
"I don't think so, Archie," Neela answered. "It's been a long day today, and I'm really tired. I'll take a rain check."
I understood exactly where Neela was coming from. After Gallant's funeral, not to mention all the crazy shit that happened here today, I could tell she was pretty wiped out. "No problem," I said gently as I patted her shoulder. "Take as much time as you need."
"Thanks," she said. And she went into one of the exam rooms to take a much-needed and well-deserved nap, leaving Greg and I standing in the hallway.
"Greg?"
"Yeah?"
"You hungry?"
"Yeah, a little. Uh, listen, I'm gonna go check on Sam and her kid, and I'll be right with you."
"Gotcha. I'll wait for you downstairs."
"Cool."
About half an hour later, we were sitting in a booth at Ike's, and having our dinner. Neither of us were saying a lot, mostly because of everything that happened that day. We see a lot of crazy, chaotic things at County, but this really took the cake.
"How's Sam?" I finally asked.
"She's good," Greg answered. "No concussion, and other than her arm, nothing else was broken. And Alex is gonna be fine, too."
"Boy, that's a relief," I commented as I ate a forkful of chicken. "I can't even imagine what they must've been through."
Greg nodded in agreement, then said, "You know, I was talking to Frank a little while ago while Jerry was in surgery."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Look, I know he's always been a cynical kinda guy, and sometimes, he can be a real asshole. But today, he was pretty spooked. And he doesn't scare easily. He said something about watching the slow, steady descent of the human race."
I won't lie to you—I was totally caught off-guard when I heard that. I never expected Frank, of all people, to feel this way. For as long as I'd known him, he never let much of anything get to him. And I agreed with Greg that he was kind of an asshole.
"I told him I didn't buy that," Greg went on. "I think it was just a rough day for the home team."
"Yeah, I can't argue with you there," I sighed. "But you know, things aren't always like that."
"Nope. And besides, after something like this, all we can really do is just get up, shake it off, and keep going. Know what I mean?"
"Oh yeah. And you know, Neela and I were talking, too. She said that when she was in the OR with Jerry, she felt like Gallant was there helping her through it."
Greg thought about that for a minute before saying, "Now that you mention it, in a way, he was."
"Yup."
As we continued eat in silence, we took another minute or so to contemplate what we'd just talked about. And you know what? Maybe, just maybe, Gallant really was with both Neela and Jerry. In spirit, mind you, but still with them nonetheless.
"So, uh—I'm guessing this wasn't how you were picturing your last day at County, was it?" Greg suggested.
"Ohh, right," I remembered. "This was supposed to be my last day."
"Yeah. As I recall, you were trying to get us to help you make a suck-up video for the bigwigs at Maxanoxx."
I pretty much lost my appetite right then and there. "Oh, my God, what the hell was I thinking?!" I groaned. "And why the hell didn't any of you tell me I was selling out to the man, not to mention making a total ass of myself?!"
"Because that's what you do best," Greg snickered. "So, I'm guessing you're having second thoughts on Maxanoxx and all the perks that come with it?"
"Aw, fuck Maxanoxx. I mean, think about it: can you honestly see me in those Armani suits that sell for 10,000 bucks a pop, flying first class, and eventually turning into just another one of those uppity money-grubbing bureaucrats?"
"No, not really."
"Exactly my point. You know, Greg," I continued, "being in that Trauma room with Jerry scared me half to death, but it was also one of the best moments of my life, ya know? And when I was watching Neela, Dubenko and the others in action, I realized something: I wanna practice medicine again. At the end of the day, that's what's really important."
"Sounds to me like you had an epiphany."
"Oh, man, did I ever!" I agreed. Then, picking up my Coke, I added, "Well, here's to the home team."
"To the home team."
As Greg and I finished our dinner, I was able to put things into perspective, and eventually came to the conclusion that working for some faceless, multi-billion-dollar conglomerate wasn't for me. I wanted to have a job that made a difference in peoples' lives. Sure, it wasn't always easy or fun, and like everyone else in the ER, I wasn't a fan of being hurled, pissed, or bled on, or being the target of abuse from the nasty, mouthy little brats that come through our doors; but when I really stopped to think about it, if I could save just one life (Jerry's, for example), then it was worth it. And all the rewards of being part of Maxanoxx no longer mattered.