A Stroke of Luck
Pilot Episode-- Spaulding Rehab Hospital
Written by
Jed Power
Based on, author's True stroke journey.
Contact:
Email address-- jedpower@verizon.net
Phone Number--978-777-3011
A Stroke of luck
Pilot Episode--
“Spaulding Rehab.
”
COLD OPEN
MONTAGE OF SPAULDING , BOSTON AND LOCAL ICONS. THEN
CONTINUE WITH SNIPPETS OF GOINGS ON IN THE REHAB.
--
SIGNS “FIND YOUR POWER,
” ETC. OTHERS?
2.
2.
ACT 1
I. SAUNDERS REHAB-LOBBY - DAY
The automatic doors swish open, letting in a rush of
cool fall air and sunlight that gives a more upbeat,
welcoming feel to first time visitors. Patients In
various states of disability sit in wheelchairs,
cling to walkers or shuffle along with the aid of a
cane. The walls are adorned with motivational posters
of attractive models running marathons, biking,
kayaking. All the posters are emblazoned with
Saunders Rehab Hospital’s moto: “Find your Power.
”
The sound of soft, easy-listening music plays over
the PA system-- just loud enough to annoy anyone
paying attention. At the front desk, a cheerful
receptionist in scrubs chats with a young man in a
metal-halo neck brace. Nearby an elderly woman,
pushing a walker, gripes to a nurse about a bingo
prize she feels she was cheated out of the previous
night.
Amid the activity and chaos, a wheelchair rolls in
through the door, pushed by a woman in her early
20’s. She is attractive, average height and weight,
with black, shoulder length hair. Carol Murphy is
optimistic, warm and slightly exasperated. Her dad,
Jack Murphy, late 40’s, sits slumped in the
wheelchair, his left arm limp in his lap, his left
leg jutting awkwardly to the side. He’s pale,
unshaven, and wearing a Red Sox cap that has seen
better days.
CAROL(BEAMING,LOOKING AROUND)
Well, here we are. The Taj
Mahal of stroke rehab
hospitals.
JACK (FLATLY)
Yeah, looks like Nirvana with
fluorescent lighting.
3.
3.
CAROL(TRYING TO STAY UPBEAT)
Come on, Dad, this place is the
best in New England. People
come here from all over to
recover.
JACK
Recover what? Their ability to
put on a damn sock without it
shooting across the room?
CAROL
No, Dad. Their power. Their
lives. Look,I know you’ve been
through hell, but --
JACK(CUTING HER OFF)
And now I get to go through
purgatory, too. Lucky me.
CAROL (SHARPLY)
You are lucky. You’re Lucky to
be alive. You’re lucky they
accepted you here. Do You know
how many people wish they could
be here?
JACK (SARCASTIC)
Wonder if I could auction off
my spot to the highest bidder?
CAROL (ENTHUSIASTIC)
Look at this place, Dad! It’s
great,isn’t it? Super vibe.
You’ll be doing laps around
here in no time.
JACK (SARCASTIC AGAIN)
Laps, huh? I’ll be happy if I
can make it to the bathroom
again on my own.
CAROL
This place looks fantastic!
4.
4.
Jack doesn’t respond. He looks away, his face a mix
of resentment and exhaustion. Carol exhales, her tone
softening.
CAROL (CONT'D)
Look, I know you’re nervous
about this. I’d be nervous too.
But you’ve got to at least try.
Do the therapies. Meet people.
Try to be pleasant. Don’t just
sit around like a grouch
and..... rot.
JACK ( ENDLESSLY SARCASTIC)
Rotting doesn’t sound that bad
at this point!
CAROL (FIRMLY,WITH A HINT OF A
SMILE)
Well, you don’t have a choice,
so you might as well make the
best of it.
Jack grumbles something unintelligible but doesn’t
argue further. Carol forces a smile, but Jack’s
bitter humor lands heavily. She pushes him toward the
reception desk, passing several more patients in the
lobby. A man in his 40’s, on a cane, is walking
slowly with the help of a staff member, his face
focused, determined to make his destination. A
woman, in a wheelchair, is laughing and struggling to
speak as an apparent speech therapist helps her form
words. The atmosphere isn’t one of hopelessness --
it’s of effort, recovery and quiet strength.
CAROL, (GLANCING AT THE PATIENTS,
THEN TO JACK)
See? Everyone here is working
so hard toward their recovery,
just like you soon will be. And
they all seem so happy.
5.
5.
JACK (PEERING AT THEM,SNARKLY)
Yeah, probably heavily
medicated.
CAROL (SOFTLY BUT FIRM)
Just try, that’s all I ask.
JACK (FLIPPANTLY)
Okay, honey, if you say so.
CAROL (FIRMLY)
I do!
Jack grumbles, but doesn’t argue further.
Carol stops pushing the wheelchair, stepping in front
of her father. She crouches down so she’s at his eye
level. She’s used to his sarcasm but doesn’t let him
off the hook easily.
CAROL (CONT'D)
This isn’t easy for me either,
you know.
JACK
Alright. I’ll try to make the
best of it for you. But it
ain’t going to be easy.
Carol sighs, but keeps her calm facade in place.
She resumes pushing the wheelchair and they reach the
reception desk. Carol introduces them to a middle-
aged nurse, stationed there, whose I.D. tag
identifies her as “R. N. Marge Benson.
”
6.
6.
From behind the reception desk strides Nurse Marge
Benson early 50’s, sharp-tongued, but with a warm
heart beneath her no-nonsense demeanor. She’s been
doing this long enough to spot a tough case, and
Jack, with his dubious expression and crossed arms
immediately sets off her radar.
NURSE BENSON (CHEERRFUL BUT
DIRECT)
Ahh, Mr. Murphy, Welcome to
Spaulding Rehabilitation
Hospital. Room number 417, on
the 4th floor, is waiting for
you. I’m Nurse Marge Benson.
You can call me Marge, if you
like, Mr. Murphy, I’m one of
the team that will be getting
you motivated and back on your
feet-- whether you think you
can or not.
JACK SACASTICALLY)
It’s Jack. Mr. Murphy was my father
and he’s probably rolling in his
grave right about now. He had a
very unique sense of humor.
Marge, who’s seen Jack’s type of patient many times before is
not intimidated.
MARGE(JOKINGLY)
And the apple doesn’t fall far from
the tree, I see.
Jack shrugs and Marge pen, to Carol.
hands a clipboard, with papers and
MARGE (CONT'D)
We just need your daughter to fill
out a couple of short forms, and
then we’ll get you up to your room.
7.
7.
Carol takes the clipboard and wheels Jack over to a
seating area by the large window, where they wait.
Carol works on the forms. Jack stares out at the
harbor, only a short distance away. The water is
glinting in the sun. For a moment Jack’s face
softens, a flicker of something--
. hope, maybe
crossing his expression. But then he looks down at
his left hand, limp in his lap, and the bitterness
returns.
Jack looks around, taking in his new reality. A man with a
major mobility issue limps past, pushing a walker and
chatting with a physical therapist. A teenage girl
immobilized in a neck brace sits with her parents, scrolling
on her phone.
Jack’s eyes land on another poster: a grinning man
crossing a finish line, his arms raised in triumph.
The words “Never Give Up” are splashed across the top
in bold letters.
JACK (UNDER HIS BREATH, CYNICAL)
Never give up. Easy for him to
say. He can run, for Crissake.
I can’t even walk!
CAROL (LOKING UP FROM THE
CLIPBOARD)
What, Dad? What?
JACK (DEADPAN)
Nothing. Just admiring the
propaganda.
JACK (QUIETLY, TO HIMSELF) (CONT'D)
How the hell am I supposed to
write again when my fingers
can’t move, let alone work a
keyboard?
Carol hears him but pretends not to. She begins to
roll him back toward the reception desk. At the
desk she hands Marge the clipboard.
8.
8.
MARGE (UPBEAT)
All set? Ready to see your new
home away from home?
Jack looks at the nurse, then at Carol, who gives him
a gentle but pointed nod. He sighs heavily, mustering
what little energy he has.
Carol leans down and whispers in his ear.
CAROL (SOFTLY)
Just one step at a time,Dad.
Just do the best you can. You
got this... We got this.
Jack looks at his daughter, his expression softening
ever so slightly.
Marge comes out from behind the counter and starts
wheeling Jack toward the elevator. Carol follows. She
seems anxious, her face a mix of hope and worry. The
sound of patients laughing echoes faintly, as The
three of them enter the elevator.
The camera pans over
