<strong>Bobby Boss, M.D. at bed 2 with Burpleson, Mox and Dr. Harris</strong><br/><br/>Bobby's eyes lit up in alarm at the sight of the Frankenstein being carted in, orderlies pushing in the racks containing all his bags and tubes.  The man looked like a science project and Mox seemed to just dive in and peer right into the patient's eyes, which had somehow managed to survive the crash.  He plucked the chart from Mox's hand and flipped it open, holding it wide as the other intern swooped in behind him to help evaluate the situation.<br/><br/>He simply had to look up, his eyes seeking out the man's crotch as though he'd be able to see what a pair of "crushed testicles, like grapes!" would look like through the sheets.  There would be time for that later, possibly in the morgue.  Considering his spleen had been repaired during surgery, the same surgery that took care of bottom half of his leg, Bobby cleared his throat, ready to make his judgment.<br/><br/>"Right now I would pump him full of IV antibiotics to keep back any infection from the leg and spleen surgeries.  Um, as for the rest of him...somebody needs to stick a needle in that gut for some paracentisis, his liver is filling his stomach with fluid and it's clear he hasn't been getting treated for it.  Let's give him a couple days, three max, before the ortho surgeons tend to those arms and we'll keep an eye out on his breathing, in case his ribs start to tickle his lungs."  Bobby had to pause for a moment, his head tilting to see if the patient had passed out yet before he said, "If he makes it, get the plastic surgeons in to see what they can do about his testicles, maybe they're salvageable."<br/><br/>The record was closed and passed off to Dr. Harris for his assessment, hoping he had something more insightful to offer to the man's pathetic future.