But we can’t dwell on that, because Jules has arrived! Jules is a very pregnant Rosie Perez, sporting bloody knuckles and a mouth like a sailor’s parrot. She’s escorted in by a pair of cops, and wants to know who she has to blow to get some stitches. Exhibiting very good judgment, she goes right ahead and offers that directly to Sam, who reacts pretty much how you’d expect.
Can I put you on hold? As Jackie and O’Hara get her settled, Jules reveals that her knuckles got jacked up when she punched her douchebag ex fiancé in the face. This bold move happens to be number 6 on her Fuck It list, which is an actual thing–she pulls a copy of it out of her “Puerto Rican purse,” and sure enough, there it is, right next to “throw a drink on anyone who gives me shit for drinking.” That nets her a couple of side eyes from Jackie and O’Hara, considering the size of her belly, but Jules isn’t trying to worry about the whole fetal alcohol syndrome issue. Wow. Can we say doomed fetus? Someone make the call and give social services a head start.
Now there’s one thing I adore about Akalitus, and it’s that she always manages to shine.Today she puts the turd on top of some poor guy’s sundae by screaming at the top of her lungs at Thor to handle the guy’s possible penis fracture. Thor hops to it, compounding the patient’s misery by ramming his wheelchair into the bed.
As O’Hara patches up Jules’ hand, she and Jackie grill her about her prenatal care, or apparent lack thereof. But when O’Hara tells Jackie to whip out the handheld ultrasound (nice plot point, writers) Jules gets really antsy. And once the ultrasound commences, we find out why: she’s not pregnant at all. That distended belly is hosting a set of benign but deadly tumors, which have grown so big they’ve encroached upon her organs. And no, they can’t be removed; she’s basically just waiting for them to kill her at this point. Yikes. Jules is essentially living on borrowed time, which explains the Fuck It list, the drinking, the attitude–and makes me feel like an asshole for questioning her lack of maternal responsibility. Jules, I apologize. Even though you don’t exist.
But she’s not without a sense of humor; she’s named the tumors Alien and Predator, and gets a huge kick out of messing with people and watching them react to her booze hound habits. Even so, we can see the horror in the situation all too plainly, so O’Hara lightens the mood by revealing her own tattoo: a poorly planned depiction of a porpoise jumping over Australia.
You know, I wouldn’t have pegged O’Hara as one to ink up, but since she did, the choice makes sense somehow. It’s just the kind of inane, spur of the moment design you’d expect to see on someone who likely never put much serious thought into the idea of a tattoo. It works on her. You know, as long as she never mentions it or shows it to anyone, ever again.
When Jackie opens her paycheck, she freaks–her entire check is only $63. She confronts Akalitus, but Akalitus is busy manually strong-arming some dude’s dislocated shoulder back into place, and has no information. She advises Jackie to go ask Cruz, right before the shoulder pops back in. Third time’s the charm, she says. My god, I live for Akalitus on this show. The poor guy rewards her efforts by puking all over her scrubs.
Of course Coop is the one dealing with the fractured penis. Of course he is. He’s very professional about it, though: apparently the patient was trying to rub out an unusually vigorous one, because he’d lost some sensation due to his Zoloft prescription. I have to pause a moment and give some applause to the director, because we get a great shot here of Zoey, working away in the next partition, immediately perking up at the word masturbation. Awesome.
Anyway, that poor dude. He bore down a bit too hard and heard a pop, and now he just looks like he wants to die. Coop wants to know how long he’s been on the Zoloft, and Thor confirms that antidepressants are no friend to the penis. Zoey, unable to stay out of this a second longer, pokes her head around the curtain to inquire about whether Zoloft is a vagina’s BFF. Coop is nothing but serious, though, and tells them not to beat around the bush about another man’s penis. This episode is genius.
You boys need a hand? ‘Cause I’ve got two! Quick aside: Now, I’m not on Zoloft, nor do I have a dick, but I hear that the numbness issue is actually a common side effect of that particular head med. May I just throw a layman’s opinion out there and say that deadening a man’s junk doesn’t seem like the best way to combat depression? On the other hand, wouldn’t a lack of sensation make sex last longer? Zoey may be onto something with her vagina talk, though not the way she thinks.