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gleesanatomy2011-05-07 11:18 pm
bad2theboner.livejournal.com) wrote in gleesanatomy2011-05-07 11:18 pm
"Symptoms, then are in reality nothing but the cry from suffering organs."
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bad2theboner, rockstarwarbler and later justbeingaqueen
What: Surgical consult with Dr. McDouchebag
Where: Emergency Room
When: 11.23pm Friday night
Rating: Purely innocent
Andrew latest patient was an enigma. Andrew didn't like enigmas when he was functioning on very little sleep. If he wanted enigmas, he would harbour yearnings to be the next House, M.D. But at just after eight pm that night, one Jackson Fraser showed up on the gurney in Resus #4, unconscious, shirt covered in his own vomit, broken wrist, and a nasty looking bruise up the side of his face. He was brought in from a wedding reception across town, and according to a witness, he took a really nasty tumble in the carpark. Drunk or high... probably both.
Only not.
Jackson's blood alcohol levels were clear, and his tox screens were all negative. Andrew had just stood there at the nurses' station dumbfounded when the first round of bloods came back clear. Maybe it was overkill, but Andrew asked his nurse, Rachel Berry, to re-run the work up and when the second round came back just as clear, Andrew started to think something more sinister might be going on. Said witnesses reported Jackson acting weirdly at the wedding party, and then seeming to be drunk in the car park right before he threw up and fell in the gutter near his car. The fact he even had his car could prove to Andrew he had no intention of drinking... not that Andrew was one to make those assumption, from personal experience.
CT had to be the next stop, and while the poor guy remained unconscious through the whole ordeal the tests were run and at least this time Andrew got some answers. Unfortunately, it didn't look like Jackson was going home that night. Andrew knew he needed a surgical consult and quickly, so he had the Emergency surgeon on-call paged in. When he saw who it was coming up the hall though, he stifled a groan and scratched his fingers through his hair. Out of all the surgeons in this hospital, he had to get the arrogant douche, didn't he? It was the middle of the fucking night! How could his hair look that perfect at this hour, and how was his labcoat always so blindingly clean? If Andrew hadn't heard amazing reports about the guy's skills with a scalpel, he would be wondering if he was just employed to look pretty.
He flicked the file open and lay it out on the counter of the nurses' station, waiting for Monsieur Unwrinkled to approach. "Evening," he greeted him, quirking an eyebrow at him. "Sorry to drag you out of the confines of your Egyptian cotton sheets, doc."
bad2theboner, rockstarwarbler and later justbeingaqueenWhat: Surgical consult with Dr. McDouchebag
Where: Emergency Room
When: 11.23pm Friday night
Rating: Purely innocent
Andrew latest patient was an enigma. Andrew didn't like enigmas when he was functioning on very little sleep. If he wanted enigmas, he would harbour yearnings to be the next House, M.D. But at just after eight pm that night, one Jackson Fraser showed up on the gurney in Resus #4, unconscious, shirt covered in his own vomit, broken wrist, and a nasty looking bruise up the side of his face. He was brought in from a wedding reception across town, and according to a witness, he took a really nasty tumble in the carpark. Drunk or high... probably both.
Only not.
Jackson's blood alcohol levels were clear, and his tox screens were all negative. Andrew had just stood there at the nurses' station dumbfounded when the first round of bloods came back clear. Maybe it was overkill, but Andrew asked his nurse, Rachel Berry, to re-run the work up and when the second round came back just as clear, Andrew started to think something more sinister might be going on. Said witnesses reported Jackson acting weirdly at the wedding party, and then seeming to be drunk in the car park right before he threw up and fell in the gutter near his car. The fact he even had his car could prove to Andrew he had no intention of drinking... not that Andrew was one to make those assumption, from personal experience.
CT had to be the next stop, and while the poor guy remained unconscious through the whole ordeal the tests were run and at least this time Andrew got some answers. Unfortunately, it didn't look like Jackson was going home that night. Andrew knew he needed a surgical consult and quickly, so he had the Emergency surgeon on-call paged in. When he saw who it was coming up the hall though, he stifled a groan and scratched his fingers through his hair. Out of all the surgeons in this hospital, he had to get the arrogant douche, didn't he? It was the middle of the fucking night! How could his hair look that perfect at this hour, and how was his labcoat always so blindingly clean? If Andrew hadn't heard amazing reports about the guy's skills with a scalpel, he would be wondering if he was just employed to look pretty.
He flicked the file open and lay it out on the counter of the nurses' station, waiting for Monsieur Unwrinkled to approach. "Evening," he greeted him, quirking an eyebrow at him. "Sorry to drag you out of the confines of your Egyptian cotton sheets, doc."