All language subtitles for The Golden Girls - 05x01 - Sick and Tired (1)

♪ Thank you for being a friend

♪ Traveled down the road
and back again

♪ Your heart is true

♪ You're a pal and a confidante

♪ And if you threw a party

♪ Invited everyone you knew

♪ You would see

♪ The biggest gift
would be from me

♪ And the card attached
would say,

♪ "Thank you
for being a friend"

Oh, girls, let me tell you
this wonderful idea I had.

When I was a little girl,
my mama told me my destiny.

She said, "Peacock" -

that was my nickname -
Peacock.

"...you are destined
for great things."

Why "Peacock"?

Because I was so beautiful.

Anyway, she said...

I don't find peacocks
so beautiful.

They've got skinny necks.

And they shriek.

It doesn't matter, Rose.

And they attack chickens.

I don't care
about chickens, Rose.

She didn't call me "Chicken,"
she called me "Peacock."

You look more like a chicken.

When you're angry, your neck
sticks out like a chicken.

Rose, it doesn't matter.
I was beautiful.

That was the point.
I was breathtaking.

Even more breathtaking
than I am today.

But my beauty was not
everything, my mama said.

My destiny was to be more
than every man's passion.

She said my destiny
was to be great.

She lied to you
so you'd finish high school.

Well, now I know
what my destiny is, Rose.

I'm gonna be a novelist.

A great romance novelist!

That is my destiny.

I shall become
a great Southern writer,

carrying on the tradition

of the other great
Southern writers like...

uh...

All those others so famous
they need not be mentioned.

Oh, girls, it's gonna be
so exciting.

I am gonna make a fortune.

And I won't even have
to use my imagination.

My life is a romance novel.

Your life is a sports page.

Listen. Tell me I can't do
better than this in my sleep.

"He grabbed her.

"She could feel his fingers
pressing into her moist flesh.

"Her heart was pounding,
her loins on fire.

As he spun her around,
her dress ripping open..."

You know how many times
I've experienced that?

Your loins have been on fire?

Yes.

"She melted..."

Where exactly are your loins?

Rose, it doesn't matter.
Just listen.

"She melted into his arms,

faint now with
the animal musk of him."

I didn't know people had loins.

I've heard of
loin of pork, but...

In her case, the same thing.

Dorothy, you want
to hear my idea?

You won't believe it.

Sorry, Blanche, I can't.

What's the matter, Dorothy?

Oh, I don't know what to do.
I just don't know.

I was in front of the class
and I couldn't talk.

I was too tired to talk.

Not that they
would have listened.

They were too busy
sniffing the whiteout

they'd stolen
from typing class.

I had to excuse them early.

I mean, I just cannot
get rid of this flu.

And it keeps getting
worse, not better.

But it's been months now.

Maybe it's not the flu.
Flu doesn't last that long.

You ought to go
back to Dr. Raymond.

I did, Blanche.
He said I'm fine.

Get a second opinion.

She did. She went
to Dr. Schlesinger.

Well, then, you are fine.

Now, you want to hear my idea?

She is not fine, Blanche.
Look at her.

I didn't say she looks fine.
I said she was fine.

She looks like hell.

Thank you, Blanche.

Oh, you know,
I think in my novel,

my heroine will be sick.

Tragically sick,

but snatched back from death

by a doctor with the hands
of a peasant

and the soul of a poet.

Oh, my God,
I'm writing already.

Somebody take this down.

What is she talking about?

Forget her. Dorothy, you've
got to see another doctor.

Raymond is not a specialist.

Yeah, but what kind of
specialist do I need?

Well, just call up
Dr. Raymond and ask him.

He'll refer you.

You have to, honey.
You're getting sicker and sicker.

Just like my heroine.
Sicker and sicker.

Though, of course, my heroine
doesn't look like you.

This is a romantic novel,
not science fiction.

Remind me when I feel better
to kick the crap out of her.

Sorry to keep you waiting,
Lorraine,

but there was something
I had to take care of.

No, I'm not Lorraine.

You're not Lorraine Maslansky?
No.

Really? Because
I have her chart here.

Hand me my purse.
I'll check my driver's license.

I'm sorry.
Then you must be...

Oh, Dorothy.
Right, of course.

OK, we have Dorothy here.

Right.

Sorry to keep you
waiting, Dorothy,

but there was something
I had to take care of.

That's all right.

A famous person -
very, very famous.

But I can't tell you who it is.

Ethics - you know, we have to
be quite careful about that.

But if this was Win, Lose
or Draw, I'd draw a crown.

What?

That was a hint.

Oh, oh. Do you have
my test results?

Sure do.

And?
A king. But that's it.

No more clues.
My lips are sealed.

Oh, come on, come on.
Think about it.

I don't care who it is.

It could be the king
of England. I don't care.

No, no. England
doesn't have a king.

Try Saudi Arabia.

Look, all I can think about
are my test results

and how to keep
this gown closed.

Well, don't worry about it.
You won't be needing it.

Dorothy, get dressed.
You're fine.

I beg your pardon?
We've run every test known to man.

They're all normal.

You can get dressed,
go home, enjoy your life.

Dr. Stevens,
I was always healthy,

and then I came down
with this flu.

I can't get rid of it.
I've been sick for five months now.

I have a constant sore throat,

swollen glands, fevers.

My muscles ache and are weak.

I am totally exhausted
all the time.

I know, I know.
You told me.

Well, maybe it bears repeating.

Maybe you still think
I'm Lorraine Maslansky.

Look, Dorothy, can I ask you
a personal question? Yes.

You're divorced?
Yes.

How's your social life?
Do you see men?

What in the world does seeing
men have to do with anything?

Well, Dorothy, we know for a fact
that if people are not happy -

and lonely people aren't -
they get all kinds of symptoms.

Depression, fatigue...

Symptoms very much like
the ones you describe.

Look, Dr. Stevens, I don't
think you understand,

so I'm gonna tell you again.

I am at a point now
where I am so exhausted

that sometimes I cannot speak,

literally cannot speak.

There are days when I
can't get out of bed. I...

Raising my arms to wash
my hair in the shower

is too exhausting for me.

I can't even do that.

I have heart palpitations.

I can't concentrate.
I forget things.

I... I get confused.

Look, Dorothy, I don't
believe you're sick,

but you do.

You want to pursue this,
you want to spend more money,

that's fine with me.

So, go to New York
and see the man I studied with.

He's the best
neurologist there is.

I don't know anyone better.

If you have anything, anything
at all, he'll find it.

Two and a half hours!

I thought you'd died.
What's wrong with you?

Nothing.

Who are you?

I'm the doctor.

We'll see about that.

Look, Mrs...

Petrillo.
I'm Dorothy's mother,

and I want to know
what's wrong with her.

And don't tell me nothing.
I know there's something wrong with her.

Mothers know. Look, Ma, I'll
talk to you about it later.

Your daughter is fine,
Mrs Petrillo.

100%?
100%.

Tiptop?
Tiptop.

Then, Mr. 100% Tiptop,

why the hell
does she feel like hell?

Look, Ma...
Wait, I gotta hear this.

It could be functional.

Functional?

Mental.

Mental!

Well, let me
tell you something,

Mr. 100% Tiptop Mental.

My daughter may be
no spring chicken,

and her jaw might crack
when she chews...

and she may have
noticeable trouble

digesting raw vegetables,

but one thing
she's not is mental.

Thanks, Ma.

Ribs, great.

Why don't you just kick
the dentures out of my mouth?

We never had a barbecue
in St. Olaf after the tragedy.

I guess we have to ask.

No, we don't.

She'll work it in anyway.

What tragedy, Rose?

I can't talk about it.

Fine.
Good.

But it had to do
with barbecuing elk,

a big fire and someone
who lost his balance.

Got it.
Clear as a bell.

Well, now I know why
Hemingway killed himself.

Oh, girls,
I have writer's block.

It is the worst feeling
in the world.

Try ten days without
a bowel movement sometime.

You just sit there
hour after hour after hour.

Tell me about it.

I just don't know what to do.

I don't think there's any
worse feeling in the world

than facing that
blank piece of paper.

Tell me, how much
have you written so far?

Well, that's just it.
Nothing.

That's how I know
I have writer's block.

Blanche, you have
to have written

to have writer's block.

Otherwise, all of us have it.

Dorothy, maybe I ought to
go to New York with you.

New York is a writer's city.

I could hang out
at the Algonquin,

talk to my colleagues,
get the juices going.

Honey, I'm going just for
two days to see a doctor.

I've asked Rose to go with me.

Rose? Why her?

She's comforting.
And I'm not?

You told me you were
having a pedicure

when your husband was dying.

Well, of course I was, Sophia.

It was the third Thursday
of the month.

If I'd cancelled, that would
have been it for July and August

when I'd be wearing
open-toed sandals.

Angel of mercy.

Well, I didn't know he was gonna
pick that precise hour to die.

How could I know that?

Well, he was in a coma.

Oh, he'd been in a coma
for days.

The fact is, I happen to be
very good with sick people.

I was once a candy stripper.

That's "striper."

Whatever.
You know, a volunteer.

Oh, Dorothy, I want
to go to New York.

How come Rose gets to go?

Blanche, whenever
I don't feel well,

Rose makes me feel OK.

What is she?
Your best friend?

Rose knows I'm sick.

Well, I know you're sick.

God knows you tell me
all the time.

What a waste.
Rose Nylund in New York.

It's gonna be a great trip.

You wait and see.
You're gonna be cured.

And I'm gonna get
to see the Big Potato.

I said she was comforting.
I didn't say she was smart.

So, what are you doing here?

You've seen everybody.

Nobody found anything
wrong with you.

And between their workups and mine,
there are no more tests to run.

Yeah, but I know...
Look, Mrs. Zbornak.

Your main complaint
is you're tired.

I get tired too.
It's called getting old.

Dr. Budd, that's not
what this is. I am sick.

I've had to give up my job

because I was too tired
to do it.

How'd you get here?
I flew.

No, to my office.
A taxi.

And from the taxi?

What, how did I get from
the taxi to your office?

Not a hard question.

I walked.

Right. You walked.

You're not sick, Dorothy.

The people I see can't walk.
They can't swallow.

Some of them can't breathe.

Look, don't take this
the wrong way,

but have you ever thought
about seeing a psychiatrist?

I have seen two.
Here are their letters.

They both say there is nothing
psychologically wrong with me.

They believe it is physical.

What the hell do they know?
Psychiatry's not a science.

Then why did you suggest
I see one?

Because what you have
is not scientific.

What else was I going to do?

Send you to New Mexico
to a shaman?

There's nothing wrong with you,

Dorothy, except what happens
to all of us.

In case you haven't noticed,
you're not 30.

Take a cruise, Dorothy.
Go to a hypnotist.

Change your hair color.

My wife became a blonde.
She's a new woman.

Yes, room service?

Hello, this is Rose Nylund,

and I'm staying here
in your lovely hotel.

Well, I think
I need a new menu.

Mine seems to be
full of mistakes.

For example, it says
a small glass of tomato juice

is six dollars.

I see.

Oh, room service,
I'll have to call you back.

Dorothy, what happened?
Tell me, what did he say?

Nothing. He said exactly
what everyone else did.

Oh, no. That's terrible.

Oh, Dorothy, I am so sorry.

I thought surely
he'd find something,

so that you'd at least
have a name for this thing.

Oh, let's not talk about that.
Tell me about your day.

Oh, forget about my day.
He didn't say anything new?

Nothing. Come on, now.
What did you do?

You've never been here before.
What do you think?

I don't know how people
live here, Dorothy.

I mean, it's all very
interesting,

and everything
in the world is here,

but it's so tall and so crowded

and so noisy and so much.

I've never seen so much of
everything in my whole life.

I went to Bloomingdale's -
the store.

I swear St. Olaf
could fit into it.

I went to the top of
the Empire State Building.

You know what
I don't understand?

How come the fall didn't
kill King Kong instantly?

I mean, sure, he was big,
but that's 102 stories.

You look down...

(crying)

I know, it was a sad movie.
I cried too.

Every time I see it I hope, "Maybe
this time it'll be different.

Maybe this time
he won't die."

But he always does.

It was only a movie, Dorothy.

That was really a fake gorilla.

Oh, Rose, that's not it.

Well, what is it, Dorothy?
What happened?

Oh...

Maybe I am crazy.

Nobody believes me.

Everybody thinks I'm crazy.
Maybe I am.

Maybe I'm really crazy.

Oh, Dorothy, you are not crazy.

I mean, you are
absolutely not crazy.

I've seen the way you walk.

I've seen
how wiped out you get.

You're not crazy, honey.
You're sick.

I think so too.

I really do,
but nobody believes me.

Doctors don't know
everything, Dorothy.

You're right.

I mean, they think they do,
but they don't.

You're right.

I mean, after all,
Dr. Seuss was a doctor too.

I'm gonna finish it tonight.

I don't care
if I never sleep a wink.

It's just like
giving birth, Rose.

Once you get started,
you can't stop.

Actually, you can, Blanche.
Ingrid Thurman stopped.

What was she writing?

She wasn't.

She was giving birth to
Hans and Franz, the twins.

And she stopped right in the
middle, right after Hans.

Well, what happened to Franz?

He stayed in.

For how long? I don't know.
A long time.

They were a year apart
in school.

That's impossible, Rose.

No, it isn't. How is she?

Wiped out and depressed, even
though she tries to hide it.

Oh, Sophia, she's gonna
be OK, I know it.

She will be, Sophia.
Now, she's tough.

You know, there are
all sorts of things

that people get
that they can't diagnose.

And then they disappear just
as mysteriously as they came.

Gustav Ljungqvist got sick

from something mysterious,
and he nearly died.

Well, he did die, in fact.

Then at the cemetery,
Beatrice Ljungqvist -

his wife - kept screaming,

"He's alive, he's alive!
I can hear him from the grave!"

Well, everybody thought
it was the hallucinations

of a grieving widow,
so they sedated her.

But when she woke up
from her sedation,

she told them that he said,
from the grave,

"We never paid our '78
through '86 income taxes."

And his partner said,
"Only Gustav would know that.

He must be alive."

So they all raced
to the cemetery,

and the entire town
started digging like crazy -

kneeling by the grave,
using their hands even,

dirt flying
and Beatrice screaming -

and when they opened
that coffin,

there he was,

dead as a doornail.

What is the point of that
ridiculous story, Rose?

The point is Gustav didn't die

from his mysterious
disease at all.

He lived and recovered.

Trouble was, he recovered
while he was buried,

so by the time they got to him,

he'd died of suffocation.

I just don't believe these
stories you tell, Rose.

The other tragic aspect was the
IRS was waiting at the cemetery

to arrest Gustav's partner,
Bergstrom.

So Bergstrom killed himself
right then and there,

by grabbing the gun from Sheriff
Tokvisten and shooting himself.

What they did then was, since
the grave was still open,

and everybody was right there,

and Gustav and Bergstrom
had been partners,

so they put Bergstrom
in with Gustav

and had a double burial.

Unfortunately,
later they found out

that Bergstrom wanted
to be cremated.

Oh, shut up, Rose!

I think the worst thing
in the world

is if your child dies
before you do.

Sophia, Dorothy is not going to die.
I know that.

She'll be fine.
I know.

Why do you do that, Rose?
Why do you make up stories?

It wouldn't feel right
to live anymore, you know?

If a kid dies, it wouldn't
feel fair to live.

Sophia, Dorothy's not dying.

How do you know, Rose?
I know.

Oh, now, honey, she's right.

I know too, and I'm a writer.

I see things more clearly
than the average person.

My perceptions are keener.

Oh, knock it off, Blanche.

Sophia, we have all
seen our husbands die.

We know what that is.

Except for her.
She was getting a manicure.

Pedicure.

Well, I'm 80-something,

and I've seen more death
and dying than any of you.

Over the past five months,

we've seen a perfectly healthy,
energetic woman waste away.

She can't do anything anymore.

So what difference does it make

that they don't have
a name for it yet?

It's still something.

There were lots of diseases
they didn't have a name for.

You think they had a name
for the Black Plague

when one guy had it?

Thousands had to die
before they knew what it was.

Dorothy could be dying,
and they just don't know it.