Hi, I'm John Dorian, or J.D. for short. I'm the new Chief of Medicine at Sacred Heart...god, that still sounds weird to say.
[independent story/ask/roleplay project blog for J.D. from Scrubs.]
[ Mun is 30+]
[[UNDER CONSTRUCTION]]
God, I was angry, last night. That’s so unlike me. Some people really know how to bring out the worst in you. Or I guess, bring you back to a dark place.
I should probably go into what happened yesterday, but I just finished Rounds and one of my patients needs a procedure done, ASAP. I’ll update all of the three people who follow me, later.
Fuck. I’ll deny it if word gets around but sometimes I really feel like I hate Perry Cox.
I don’t. I know I don’t actually but god that man has no concept of boundaries unless they’re convenient for him.
If I’m not answering the phone, I don’t want to talk and if I don’t want to talk, do not wait for me in my office on my first day back after medical leave. Sitting in my chair, demanding I explain my radio silence when I’m the one who’s injured isn’t going to end in your favor, just like it didn’t seven years ago.
To be clear, this wasn’t a medical emergency on his end; he knows everyone in this hospital and I’m not that cruel. Carla would’ve said something if he’d been in crisis. He still tells her just about everything. So do I…for the most part. It’s what I keep to myself that clearly gets under his skin. You’d think he’d trust Carla to tell him if I were the one in crisis.
I say that but I know why he doesn’t. I’d also like to say I don’t blame him for it, but of all the stress my old mentor put me through over the years, this particular reaction is 100% his fault. Sorry if anyone was expecting more sympathy from me. I’m exhausted, I’m still in pain and I don’t owe him of all people the time of day if I want to be left alone.
I promised myself I'd find the time to log in earlier, but life keeps getting in the way. Funny how that can happen, even when you're on leave. You never completely separate yourself from work when you're a doctor; you can try, but the hospital (or your patients, if you spent the last seven years in my vein of work) always comes first. Especially when you're in charge of it.
I will say my support squad has done a pretty good job keeping my responsibilities at least an arm's length away from me, this week. Gotta love them for that--really, I do. I've gotten a lot better about setting boundaries, but sometimes it's nice not to have to, you know? It's...nice to feel taken care of, too. Again, I mean. I'm still getting used to it, even after everything that went down, a few years ago.
To that point, Turk informed me both he and Carla will be dropping by, tomorrow. I guess they don't trust me not to clear myself for work, prematurely...and you know what? They're probably right. Doctors do make for terrible patients, and that's true for self-assessment, too. I wonder if they'll come over, together. Guess that'll depend on whoever made the schedule for the week. I kind of...I kind of hope they don't. I mean medically it makes the most sense, but personally...
It's probably just me. It's got to be. I'm the one sitting here, alone in a new apartment that's somehow too big for my belongings. I could text this ladyfriend I've been seeing, and Cox won't stop calling me, but I don't want to talk to him. I don't want to share my space with an acquaintance right now, either. Turk chose his happy ending, and my place is definitively on the sidelines. It has to be (and yes, I am aware how we might look to the outside world. Or to anyone who works alongside us. I'm not getting into that, tonight.)
So there you go, there's my life update. We'll see what the morning brings. Hopefully I'm in the clear to work. I miss teaching. I miss my staff. I don't miss the paperwork but at this point in my career, it's second nature. I'll take it over these lonely walls, any day.
I should be asleep. I know I should be asleep. My head hurts; I’ve been staring at my phone for too long.
I can’t stop thinking about the other day — or I guess, the last couple of days. I want to come on here and vent about the lack of boundaries so many of my friends seem to have..but that’s not it. I know why they’re acting this way. It’s my fault, and I shouldn’t blame them. I’ve just got to get over myself.
That’s a lot easier to do when you’re not in pain (slowly feeling better though. Hoping I’ll be back to work by Tuesday🤞)
If I've learned anything about today, it's not to underestimate the people around you. Still, I mean. You'd think I'd have figured that out, by now. Oh well. Everyone needs a reminder, now and then.
I'll fill in the details, later. I'm tired, and even though this medication's helping, my body still feels like it's on fire. No concussion symptoms so far, so that's something. Little victories, right?
I totally meant to follow up, last night. I had a tab open and everything. Truthfully--I mean apart from exhaustion because that definitely contributed--I was a little embarrassed. I think I overreacted in my initial update, but a lot happened and my head's still spinning. If I've learned anything over the last seven years, it's that some parts of yourself are so ingrained into your core, they're a lot harder to retrain. Sometimes you can't, not completely.
Those are my thoughts on the matter, anyway. I'm not a mental health specialist.
Anyway, I said I'd dive into details, so this is me following through. Everybody cross your fingers.
I already knew I'd be in for a long day: one of my patients is the former Chief of Medicine: Doctor Cox--I've mentioned him before. He's also my former mentor, although that word's really not the best fit. I can't think of a better one thought; there's a lot about my life I'm not ready to share, and leaning too deeply into certain feelings about certain experiences would tear open one hell of a pandora's box. So we'll stick with 'mentor' for now.
I will say that Cox is anything but a ray of sunshine; that much has always been true. Treating a patient who's also spent a lifetime practicing medicine is more like a chess game than a puzzle you're looking to solve, together. I can't tell you how hard I had to fight just so he'd let me treat him. Granted, again, there's a little more to it than that but my point is, just because somebody took you under your wing doesn't mean they're ready to bare witness to the product of their efforts. Doesn't mean their bedside manner's improved, either (although I guess I kind of deserve that, given the last time our situation was reversed.)
Like I've said before, there's only so much about patient care that I can divulge; I'd like to think this is a slightly different situation, since Cox was such a looming shadow in my personal life for so long...but I suppose I should play it safe, just in case.
His appointment wasn't particularly eventful; after chasing him in conversation circles, he finally agreed to try an experimental treatment, in no small part thanks to his scary ex-wife (can somebody be an ex when you've been with them longer than you've been apart? I still wonder about that.) Normally Jordan's presence--in any setting--throws me off like an icy breeze in the middle of July, but it worked in my favor today, so I'm not complaining. Can't say the same for my mentor, though (sorry, Perry!) That's his first name, by the way. You've probably heard one of his rants over on tiktok. One of my interns is really big into that platform. I wonder how life might've changed for me if it existed when I was a newbie...(who am I kidding, I'd be cancelled in a heartbeat.)
Stop that, you're getting distracted. It's so easy to let my thoughts ramble on, when I type. Which is actually a decent segue into what happened next.
So, I'm a bit of a daydreamer, if I haven't said it before. Ask anyone, they'll tell you how often I get lost in a fantasy. What can I say, my imagination keeps life whimsical, and it's helped me survive as long as I have. It does come with a dark side, though; sometimes you (or I guess I) can't control what direction those thoughts take, and today was a great example of how stress can cannibalize your/my whimsy.
I want to preface this by stating once again that I am a good doctor. I wouldn't have this job if I weren't, nor would I still practice medicine. I'm also only human, and try as I might, treating the man who still takes every opportunity to cut away at my self-esteem (although it comes from a different place, now) fucks with my nerves more than I want to admit. I came away from the appointment checking in with myself and running affirmations through my head, like I always do, the few times we've crossed paths over the last several years.
I was not, however, paying attention to my surroundings.
This is how I ended up crashing into a gurney (it was either on standby or someone forgot to wheel it away.) I didn't just run into it though: I flipped over the damn thing and sliced open my hand on one of the wheels as I went down. Hard. God, I wish I were still young. That hurt, and try as I might, I could not just grin through the pain and go back to work. That and there was a whole lot of blood.
Turk saw me, first. Even before I saw him. I don't know why, but for whatever reason, I keep expecting the Chief of Surgery to always be in surgery. I blame the not-working-in-a-hospital-for-fifteen-years thing. Obviously, that's not how it works. I'm glad he's the one who noticed, though. I think I'd be too embarrassed if one of the kids (or Park...or god forbid, Cox) had a front row seat, instead.
Turk immediately switched into damage control mode--after letting out a shriek most mere mortals only dream of attaining. Sciatica's got nothing on him; I swear I blinked and he was right beside me.
"J.D." he asked, dramatically dropping into a deeper, crystal-clear tone. "Hey, I need you to look at me, okay?"
I tried to respond but only then did I notice I'd knocked the goddamn wind out of my lungs. I remember I nodded instead, vaguely aware of the growing murmur around us and suddenly being a little too warm for my liking. Turk rushed us through the routine questions before deciding on a plan of action. He called for a pair of hands to help me up, which turned out to be my oldest intern, Blake, and nurse Raymond. I was still dazed, but I knew it hurt Turk not to do it, himself. There was a time he would've literally carried me to safety, if it meant speed-running an emergency. My poor C-bear. I'm not the only one feeling the effects of our age.
At one point, somebody wrapped my hand with gauze and told me to hold it, tightly, but I can't remember when in this order of chaotic events that occurred. My memory picks back up as Blake and Pippa (nurse Raymond) helped me into an empty room, Turk trailing behind us like a jitterbug. They set me down carefully on the bed, while I tried desperately to force the air back into my body (spoiler alert: I was unsuccessful.)
It's been a long time since I've felt any kind of helpless, but sitting there, pain pulsating through me like a second heartbeat, choking on air and unable to speak...maybe I found a little empathy for my old mentor, after all. Funny how life works. I didn't notice at the time, of course. Focus came and went in bursts, blending with the blinding sterile lights above my head. Thank god for Turk. In the midst of delegating instructions to this makeshift tag-team, he looked over at me and his face changed. The stress-lines around his eyes, twisting his mouth softened for a moment; I wondered if...if we'd been alone, if we'd been younger, he might've sat beside me and squeezed my hand.
I think...I think I wish he had. I know better than to expect that, though. Instead, he said:
"Are you still with us?" I nodded, and then I winced as pain shot up my neck. Every crease in my best buddy's face came rushing back, and he spun around, clapping his hands as if to say 'let's get to it!' Nurse Raymond and Blake swiftly evacuated, leaving the two of us alone. My stupid heart decided now would be a great time to crawl up into my throat, as if I weren't already having enough trouble breathing. Turk sighed, then he sat down beside me on the bed. I tried to smile. I don't think I succeeded.
"Dude," Turk said finally, in a way that was somehow both disappointing and comforting. "Don't scare me like that."
"S...sorry," I managed. Turk shook his head. Then he held out his hand, indicating to the bloody mess of bandages mine had turned into. Even dazed and hurting, I recognized the silent ask, so I placed my hand in his, carefully unfurling my fingers.
Oh my god, it looked worse than I thought. A clean cut, thankfully, but deep and showing no signs of waning bloodflow. I had a brief and unexpected flashback to a dearly departed acquaintance, and in turn remembered that I too, occasionally (as in very very very rarely) struggled to keep my lunch down when faced with excessively messy wounds. Turk froze, looking from my hand to my face, another unspoken, urgent question written on his. Before I could answer (or hurl), Pippa dashed back into the room, toting a cart of surgical supplies. Behind her, one of Turk's own rising interns, followed suite.
"Doctor Turk," Pippa said, exasperation etched into her voice. "Will you please tell Amara here that this kind of emergency requires an experienced touch?"
"I'm a surgeon," Amara piped up in that strange not-so-nervous, not-so-sure equilibrium of hers. She looked over at me and blanched. "Doctor Dorian looks like he needs stitches. I can--"
"Thank you," Turk said, hastily standing. "Both of you...but I got this." He met them half-way, gently taking the cart. Nurse Raymond shrugged. She didn't look entirely convinced. Amara looked hurt.
"But--"
"Amara," Turk said. "If you wanna help, round up J.D.'s medical interns. Pippa," he added, and then his tone switched to something closer to a plea. "Can you update Doctor Reid on the situation? We're gonna need a new game plan for the next couple of days."
My eyes widened. 'Days?' If Turk noticed me gawking, he didn't say.
"You got it," Nurse Raymond said. She lingered in the doorway, though. I'm not sure why. That's not true. I caused a scene, banged myself up pretty badly and oh yeah, the bleeding. Anyone would feel uncertain after witnessing that.
Amara took a little longer to leave, as though fighting with herself over...something. Just like an intern. I remember that headspace all too well. She finally mumbled a stiff confirmation, then darted out after Pippa. When we were finally alone, Turk's shoulders stiffened, and he wheeled the cart over to me.
"You...okay?" I asked him. Forming words still hurt my stomach. Turk paused, looked around and, spotting a sink, went over to wash his hands. When he returned, he sat down on the bed, pulling a pair of gloves from a box on the cart.
"Turk?"
"I don't like seeing you in pain," he said finally. "Not like this, anyway."
I gave him a look. He cracked a small smile. It slipped off his face a moment later.
"I mean it," he said. "Give me your hand."
"My--? Oh." Duh. Stupid J.D. I'd like to think I recovered quickly and as before, trusted my doctor at the moment with my injury. That's it. That's what he asked for. That's all he asked for. I knew that. I know that. I was just confused and still trembling from the aftershock.
I'm not gonna lie and stay stitching me up went smoothly. Turk's handiwork is flawless, but it hurt like a bitch. It still does. I probably shouldn't be typing. Oh well.
He walked me through another exam, after that, inspecting all my boney edges for bruises and/or fractures. Sometimes I forget how gentle Turk can be. He's so loud and determined in my memories. Yesterday, though...
No, I'm not gonna go down that road, right now. I closed that door. We closed that door. No gentle fingers or soft, puppy dog eyes are going to stir the pot I left to spoil all those years ago.
I'm at home now, anyway. Home for the next couple of days. I could treat my patients with one functioning hand, but I think we're waiting for any latent injuries to show themselves. Better safe than sorry and damn it all, I can't blame Turk for insisting on the former. Besides...it'll give me time to work through...everything...and seal it back up in the furthest corner of my heart.
Maybe I was right, before. Maybe coming back was a mistake. I'm not ready to wrestle all these ghosts.
Update: I escaped to my office-- a while ago, actually. I just haven't had time to report back. I'm still here right now, catching up on paperwork I neglected while hiding. I can't really do the chief thing from a supply closet. I mean, I could, but it would make appointments and zoom calls feel pretty cramped pretty fast...plus privacy would be next to none...
Uh...
Wait. Where was I going with this? Oh right, I'm safely sealed behind closed doors, with plenty of space to spare. Thank god. Doctor Park is phenomenal at his job, but I've gotta bring body armor whenever I confront him (yes, this time it is a metaphor.) I thought I was prepared for this day-in and day-out verbal venom. I've put in the work, I'm not the same fragile kid I was thirty years ago.
Or is that part of it?
I should ask my therapist. I know it's been ages since I've handled more than specialized interaction with patients, but I haven't just been sitting on the curb, kicking rocks. I've grown a lot. I've lived through a lot...and I'm tired. I want to look ahead, I want to see what the next chapter holds. I've been through too much just to backslide, now.
I suppose that's a good enough place as any for a brief rundown on this aforementioned thorn in my side. I hate to call him that. Sounds like something Doctor Cox would say (and that's an entirely different bag of worms I don't feel like getting into, right now.)
Like I said before, Park is great at his job--he's probably the most competent doctor who isn't senior staff that I regularly work with. He also despises me. I didn't even get a chance to properly introduce myself; right from the start, he decided I was...I dunno, whatever disaster picture Cox's painted of me while he was running things. And that was before I took his job.
I say "took" but Cox offered it to me. Not only that, but he didn't tell me what the position was, nor did he share that protege 2.0. was apparently willing to swear vengeance against whoever got it instead of him. Would've been nice to know before, but it's too late, now. I'm Chief of Medicine, and I'm going to spend the foreseeable future working through this guy's verbal abuse in therapy.
I’m hiding in a supply closet right now. It was closer than my office. Usually I blog from my laptop because, well, I’m old (according to my interns) but desperate times call for uncanny measures.
Today was going great as far as “chiefing” is concerned (I know that’s not a real word but my blog, my rules.) Then I had to send a couple of residents home for drinking while on call. Granted, they weren’t necessarily supposed to come in, tonight, and technically weren’t even tipsy, but this isn’t just any job: people trust us with their lives. God forbid we’d had emergency on our hands. We still might— the day is young, yet.
I tell you though, that was a wild throwback, and not the fun kind. Turk and I made the same mistake when we were young, and Doctor Cox read us the riot act. I thought about that night for years.
It’s a very fine line, holding empathy for your staff when you’re the top dog. I don’t want to be the kind of boss that belittles and berates…but I also need to make sure everyone takes what we do seriously. There are still ways to enjoy time off without impeding your focus. When coverage falls through, you have to be ready.
As for why I’m currently hiding…apparently I “stole” Doctor Park’s moment and he’s out for blood. It’s like working with Cox all over again, except now I’m the one in charge. I wonder why I don’t fire him…maybe I’m just not that kind of doctor. I don’t know.
I’m also wondering how long I can stay in here before I have to pee…or you know, until somebody needs me. Only one way to find out…
Okay, I know what I said about not having free time, but I overheard a conversation today and it sent me tumbling down memory lane.
I'd just finished rounds for the morning, and was heading to my office to go over--actually, that's not important. Or interesting. And may violate a couple of HIPAA laws. I should look into that before I continue with this blogging thing...
Red tape aside, I was two or three doors away when a couple of familiar voices caught my ear. I slowed my step, looking around; sure enough, further down the hallway, just close enough to see clearly, the Chief of Surgery stood in animated conversation with our tech guy, Raffi. In a way, they're both a kind of miracle worker. Maybe that's why they get along so well...you know, besides the D&D campaign my fellow chief's apparently been running in secret. I don't know why he'd keep me out of the loop--I literally told him my stats the very first day we met, and we've known each other for half our lives, now.
Sorry, I'm getting sidetracked. The Chief of Surgery, Turk, means a lot to me. He's--or I guess he was--the most important person in my life for a really long time...
Losing my train of thought again, sorry. I promise there's a point to this story.
It wasn't so much that Turk and Raffi are buddies now, as it was their chosen conversation topic that pushed my nostalgia button in an unexpected way.
"Listen," Turk said, excitement projecting his voice. "All I'm saying is that with Dracula and Frankenstein entering public domain next year, there's nothing stopping Disney from bringing that inspiration to a galaxy far, far away.
"And I'm saying," Raffi countered. "That nobody wants to watch the Universal Monsters in space. We've been down that B-movie horror role before, and it did not end well."
Now I'm not especially well-versed in Science Fiction--I've seen the original Star Wars films and I love Back to the Future, but I'm more of a Fantasy guy. I have, however, watched quite a few of those vintage monster movies: let's just say my brother fought dirty for the remote, and I had all the coordination of that chicken from Moana. Got scared just as easily, too.
The monsters stuck with me, though. Dracula in particular. There's something so alluring about vampires, I think. The way they dance on the edge of romance and death, gifted immortality but cursed to drink the blood of the living. There's a lot of room to play with that. I used to think about it, a lot--so much so, I wrote my own screenplay.
We're going back over thirty years, now, but damn, I was proud of it, once upon a time. I titled it "Dr. Acula" and as you might've guessed, it was about a secretive (and seductive) vampire doctor. God, how old was I when I started it? I can't remember. I know I was proud of it, though. Hell, I actually started filming it around Sacred Heart, but that footage is long gone. This was back before the days of smartphones and iClouds; everything I had lived inside a camcorder (basically a handheld, digital film camera, for those of you born after the millennium.) Mine didn't have an SD card, though. Back in the 2000s, we filmed our lives on tiny videotapes--even smaller than a cassette, if anyone knows what that is. I'm not actually sure what the age demographic on this platform is. There were ways to digitize them, but it was a process, and I never reached that point. Stupid thing was stolen after an exasperating series of events that ended with me being locked in a water tower. Yes, you read that right. Maybe I'll tell that story, one day.
To be honest, sometimes I wonder if losing all of that footage was ultimately for the best. I'm not an idiot, but I was a little...ignorant, back then. To say the least. I don't think my younger self would've handled this modern world of social media, very well. I know he'd probably want to upload a rough cut on youtube, naively hoping for praise or positive feedback. He would've been in for a rude awakening, and rightfully so. Maybe that sounds harsh, but I've gained a lot of perspective over the years. I think I can safely say I've earned the right to self-critique. I'm pretty good at recognizing problematic behavior in general, now. Still got a lot to learn, but it does help that we have our own ‘Feelings Police' at Sacred Heart. Sibby is a powerhouse, I swear.
Going back to Dracula, though: this copyright news has these ol' creative wheels creaking, again. Maybe it's time to bring Dr. Acula into the 2020s. There's so much I could do with that iconic likeness! I'll have to see if I've still got a copy of the screenplay in storage, somewhere. I'm pretty sure I printed out another after my first one caught on fire. No, that's not a metaphor.
Whoops, I rambled a little more than I expected. Guess that happens when you're riding the nostalgia train. I'll see if I can dig around my place, this week and find that long lost copy; it would be so great to have a blueprint for the new and improved version. I think I've still got a couple of boxes to unpack(?)
That'll be a problem for future John Dorian, though. The current one's falling asleep at his laptop, so I'm gonna turn in. Busy day ahead, as always.
You know, I thought I'd have more time to get this blog off the ground...but damn if my new job isn't eating into what few free moments I do have. Was it always like this, and I'm just that rusty? I knew the transition from my previous life as a Concierge Doctor would be a little jarring, but this...this is a lot.
Don't tell anyone I said that.
I guess I shouldn't be surprised; I did watch both Kelso and then later Doctor Cox struggle to find that work-life balance I'm always hearing about. I was a lot younger then, though, and wrestling with my own demons. I must not have paid as close attention as I liked to think I did. Or maybe I'm just getting older--hell, I know I'm getting older, and with age in this field comes a helluva lot more responsibility. It also wears on you faster, if you aren't careful. Thankfully, I'm pretty good at staying on top of my "self care" as the kids call it. I'd better be, after all these years.
This is to say it's going to take me a little longer to find my stride, again. I know I'll get there eventually; I actually used to blog quite a bit, back in the day. Granted, I wasn't Chief of Medicine but still. There's got to be a way to maintain balance. I don't wanna crash and burn again. I can't: I've got a whole hospital on my shoulders, now. They'll need an unshakable foundation if we're going to flourish, going forward.
dededos
origamiaround
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prguitarman
romaincrisis
