“After the operation, Dale will be taken to the ICU by elevator. It will be the first time he’s ridden in one in decades. I’ll call you when we’re on the move.”
Stottlemeyer went into the operating room, leaving Monk and Julie in the corridor.
“It sounds like the captain has everything under control,” Julie said. “Don’t worry.”
“I was born worrying,” Monk said.
CHAPTER SIX
Mr. Monk Plays Doctor
F rom where Monk and Julie were sitting in the hospital hallway, they could see the two officers standing guard between the operating room, which was to their left, and the ER, which was to their right.
The ER was a lot more interesting. Doctors and nurses rushed around and patients were wheeled to and fro, activity that generated a buzz of energy and urgency. Plus there was the instinctive rubbernecking attraction of seeing the injured, suffering, and emotionally distraught people that was hard for either Monk or Julie to resist. It was like watching an episode of that old series ER , only this was live and none of the doctors looked half as good as George Clooney, and the nurses were no Julianna Margulies.
Once patients got past the admitting desk and were buzzed through the security door, they were quickly assessed by a nurse or a physician, who determined how serious their medical situations were.
At that point, patients would be rushed into one of the trauma rooms, or into one of the exam rooms, or into a large treatment room where there were eight beds that could be curtained off for privacy, or parked in the hallway on a gurney or in a chair, until somebody could get to them.
Julie kept an eye on Monk for the next two hours, wondering when just sitting there and watching wouldn’t be enough for him and he’d have to get up and straighten something out, literally or figuratively.
It finally happened when he saw a little girl in the treatment room getting a nasty gash on her right leg stitched up by a young doctor with two days of carefully curated stubble on his chin, the hair on his head meticulously askew.
The little girl, who was maybe ten years old, was brave through it all, biting her lower lip and fighting the urge to cry while her mother held her hand and looked away, apparently unable to handle the sight of blood.
When Dr. Stubble left them to attend to something else, Monk rolled his shoulders, tipped his head from side to side, and went over to the girl.
Julie sat very still in her chair, not sure what to do, and braced herself for an embarrassing incident.
Monk gave the little girl a smile, complimented her on her bravery, and applied a bandage that was identical to the one on her right leg to the same, uninjured spot on her left leg.
Neither the little girl nor her mother questioned the reasoning behind this. In fact, they thanked Monk. They probably assumed that he was another doctor and that he had a very good reason for what he was doing.
Monk patted the little girl on the head, gave her another smile, and then walked away, pulling off his gloves and dropping them in the hazardous waste bin.
He picked up a new pair from a box on a counter and put them on as he returned to his seat beside Julie, who also didn’t say anything about what he’d done.
Giving the girl matching bandages on both legs was harmless and made Monk happy, so Julie figured why make an issue out of it?
I wish I could say I would have handled the situation as reasonably as my daughter did. But I know better and I bet you do, too.
Although there was a lot of activity, the ER seemed to be humming along smoothly.
But then everything changed.
Julie overheard Dr. Stubble gather the nurses and inform them that a set of bleachers on a high school football field had collapsed during a practice game and that paramedics were bringing in a dozen injured people.
Within a few moments of that announcement, the injured started arriving.
Monk stood up and watched suspiciously as one ambulance after another
Stottlemeyer went into the operating room, leaving Monk and Julie in the corridor.
“It sounds like the captain has everything under control,” Julie said. “Don’t worry.”
“I was born worrying,” Monk said.
CHAPTER SIX
Mr. Monk Plays Doctor
F rom where Monk and Julie were sitting in the hospital hallway, they could see the two officers standing guard between the operating room, which was to their left, and the ER, which was to their right.
The ER was a lot more interesting. Doctors and nurses rushed around and patients were wheeled to and fro, activity that generated a buzz of energy and urgency. Plus there was the instinctive rubbernecking attraction of seeing the injured, suffering, and emotionally distraught people that was hard for either Monk or Julie to resist. It was like watching an episode of that old series ER , only this was live and none of the doctors looked half as good as George Clooney, and the nurses were no Julianna Margulies.
Once patients got past the admitting desk and were buzzed through the security door, they were quickly assessed by a nurse or a physician, who determined how serious their medical situations were.
At that point, patients would be rushed into one of the trauma rooms, or into one of the exam rooms, or into a large treatment room where there were eight beds that could be curtained off for privacy, or parked in the hallway on a gurney or in a chair, until somebody could get to them.
Julie kept an eye on Monk for the next two hours, wondering when just sitting there and watching wouldn’t be enough for him and he’d have to get up and straighten something out, literally or figuratively.
It finally happened when he saw a little girl in the treatment room getting a nasty gash on her right leg stitched up by a young doctor with two days of carefully curated stubble on his chin, the hair on his head meticulously askew.
The little girl, who was maybe ten years old, was brave through it all, biting her lower lip and fighting the urge to cry while her mother held her hand and looked away, apparently unable to handle the sight of blood.
When Dr. Stubble left them to attend to something else, Monk rolled his shoulders, tipped his head from side to side, and went over to the girl.
Julie sat very still in her chair, not sure what to do, and braced herself for an embarrassing incident.
Monk gave the little girl a smile, complimented her on her bravery, and applied a bandage that was identical to the one on her right leg to the same, uninjured spot on her left leg.
Neither the little girl nor her mother questioned the reasoning behind this. In fact, they thanked Monk. They probably assumed that he was another doctor and that he had a very good reason for what he was doing.
Monk patted the little girl on the head, gave her another smile, and then walked away, pulling off his gloves and dropping them in the hazardous waste bin.
He picked up a new pair from a box on a counter and put them on as he returned to his seat beside Julie, who also didn’t say anything about what he’d done.
Giving the girl matching bandages on both legs was harmless and made Monk happy, so Julie figured why make an issue out of it?
I wish I could say I would have handled the situation as reasonably as my daughter did. But I know better and I bet you do, too.
Although there was a lot of activity, the ER seemed to be humming along smoothly.
But then everything changed.
Julie overheard Dr. Stubble gather the nurses and inform them that a set of bleachers on a high school football field had collapsed during a practice game and that paramedics were bringing in a dozen injured people.
Within a few moments of that announcement, the injured started arriving.
Monk stood up and watched suspiciously as one ambulance after another
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