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J. Jonah Jerkson
Wed Nov 01, 2006 at 06:20:24 pm EST
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JJJ/Dancer Parodiopolis Variety Theater Untied-In, Part 3. Visitations
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JJJ/Dancer Parodiopolis Variety Theater Untied-In, Part 3.
Visitations

Scene: Mid-afternoon in J. Jonah Jerkson’s private room at Phantomhwk Memorial Hospital. The newspaper baron and fast food mogul lies motionless in the hospital bed surrounded by the usual array of blinking, beeping and burping monitors and IV tubes. A private nurse sits in one corner of the room working on a Sudoku puzzle. Enter a tall, bearded physician with a pronounced limp, leaning on a gnarled walking stick and followed by an entourage of other doctors, residents and medical students. Mrs. Adele Jerkson, clad in Armani and carrying an expensive Longchamps handbag, brings up the rear.

Limping physician: Who’s this stiff?

Eager resident: J. Jonah Jerkson, age 52, Caucasian, married, newspaper publisher. Presented with apparent ischemic embolic stroke occurring 9:12 a.m. this morning relating to heated argument. Brought by paramedics to ER 9:25 a.m, started immediately on tPA and warfarin. CT scan negative for hemorrhagic stroke. Blood testing nominal except for elevated RTH and PLC. Prior history includes hypertension, cardiac arrest, three previous strokes, seizures --

Limping physician: Yeah, yeah, a real type A basket case. Probably drowns kittens in his spare time. So why am I here looking at him when any first-year resident knows what to do?

Adele Jerkson (crowded into the corner with the nurse, whispers): Why is that doctor so rude?

Nurse (reluctantly setting down her Sudoku): Him? That’s Dr. Gregor Haus, the famous Viennese diagnostician.

Jaded internist: Because the creep’s foundation is being hit up for $15 million for the new oncology wing. And maybe after this we’ll get something for internal medicine. And we can’t figure out why he’s so non-responsive given the limited cerebral trauma.

Dr. Haus: Let me guess. You ordered more blood tests and scheduled him for another CAT scan and a PET scan.

Jaded internist: That’s right.

Naïve medical student (whispering): Amazing!

Dr. Haus: CAT scan. PET scan. Do you have some yearning to be a vet? This man could pass away while you’re waiting for the tests to come back. Let’s observe. (Limps closer to JJJ) Hmmm. Hmmmm. (Points to eager resident) Doctor, what do you conclude from this patient’s hands?

Eager resident: Ink stains. He uses pens a lot? Maybe he stabbed himself accidentally and some exotic bacterium entered his bloodstream!

Dr. Haus: Congratulations. You’re Olympic class in jumping to conclusions. Look at the scars in the center of the palms where the nails dig into them.

Jaded internist: So he gets angry a lot. Eight million people in the metropolitan area know that.

Dr. Haus: But we as physicians should know that it is a classic sign of Buchbinders Tsedudelt Syndrome.

The residents, in chorus: Buchbinders Tsedudelt Syndrome?

Dr. Haus: Buchbinders Tsedudelt Syndrome. A rare neuropathy that interferes with pain signals to the brain. Occasionally signified by body scarring where the patient doesn’t realize he’s hurting himself.

No-longer-jaded internist: So, he may have a hidden neuropathy that exacerbates the effects of the ischemia?

Dr. Haus (preening): Perhaps. We will continue to observe. And you will, of course, read the literature on BTS, if you possibly have the time.

Internist (awed): Yes, Doctor.

Dr. Haus: My work here is done -- for now. (Fishes out a video game console from his pocket and begins twiddling the buttons to play Metroid Supernova)

Adele Jerkson: Oh, Dr. Haus, I’m Adele Jerkson.

Dr. Haus: And that justifies your taking a minute of my valuable time to talk about your husband? (jams joystick) There!

Adele Jerkson: No, I’m wondering if you would care to speak at the Parodiopolis Junior League’s benefit next month. I’m the chairwoman.

Dr. Haus: Madam, nothing would please me more. And since there are many opportunities to do nothing in this city, I decline. (Barges out of room)

Meanwhile, inside JJJ’s head:

JJJ: Damn doctors, always poking around or making noise. Glad they’re gone. Now let’s see, tropical island with sugar sand beaches, chaise longue in the shade, Playmate™ blonde, Playmate™ brunette, pitcher of tequila sunrises, Havana cigars, mood music, and ACTION!

Playmate™ blonde: Oooh, Mr. Jerkson, can I massage your feet?

Playmate™ brunette: Oooh, Mr. Jerkson, can I light your cigar?

POP! The beach seduction scene vanishes.

JJJ: Hey, what happened?

Baron Ottokar Zemo (dressed in full Gruppenfuehrer – SS uniform and grey cape): Jerkson, we need to talk.

JJJ: And who the hell are you, dressed up like some Nazi from Schindler’s List?

Otto: I was a Nazi. They always had the best uniforms. Baron Ottokar Kublai Attila Tamerlane Zemo von Saxe-Lurkburg-Schreckhausen, if you must know.

JJJ: So that gives you the right to walk into my fantasy? I earned that fantasy. Twelve hours a day with the pack of lobotomized cretins who staff my newspaper definitely earns me Lynda and Krista. And probably Darlene too.

Otto: Silence! Jerkson, you are not coming back from this one.

JJJ: Says who? Are you some kind of emissary from the devil or something?

Otto: More of a freelance. I have a proposition. I will arrange to have your stroke reversed and prevent the next five that you would otherwise have. I’ll throw in some heart attack insurance too, because I’m nice.

JJJ: If you’re nice, I’d –

Otto: And in return, your media empire will be at my disposal. Nothing major, just some misleading documentaries, investigative reporting against politicians I designate, the occasional character assassination.

JJJ: So I’m supposed to take the newspaper I built up from nothing and hand it over to you just because you say I’m not coming back? Who the hell says?

Otto: I have a certain amount of expertise in the area.

JJJ: You’re dead. I saw your file.

Otto: I’m not dead, I’m un-alive.

JJJ: Big deal. You still don’t know diddeley-squat about J. Jonah Jerkson. I’m going to be back in the office in three weeks, just as soon as I finish my fantasy vacation on Bora Bora with Lynda and Krista.

Otto: You heard Dr. Haus. Straight from Vienna, the world’s greatest diagnostician. You have a very nasty syndrome, and your newspaper empire goes straight to your dippy wife Adele and your waste of a son unless you play along with me.

JJJ: Get out of here, you two-bit Hitler. Nobody pushes J. Jonah Jerkson around. Especially undead, unalive, whatever ghosts who talk a big game.

Otto: If you change your mind, Mr. Jerkson, just call. But the price will be higher. Much higher.

JJJ: F**k off.

[Baron Otto vanishes.]

JJJ (straining): Nothing’s happening. Can’t move. Can’t talk. Can’t even blink. Maybe he’s right. . . . Goddamnit, no! Aaargh! [Left eye blinks. Monitors beep a bit more.]

JJJ (triumphantly): Everybody lies? Just you this time, Dr. Haus.


J. JONAH JERKSON
Voice of the People



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