The Dance We Do

Props to Djb and Sars who, as I write this sentence, are both packing their bags in preparation of spending the weekend with us in Toronto. Whee!

Previously on ER: Abby's mother promised Abby that she would take her medication, and begged Abby not to throw her out; fluid leaked out of the spine of one of Elizabeth's patients, but she blew it off in favour of a weekend getaway with Mark, and then got sued for paralyzing him; Jackie screamed at Jesse's girlfriend; Mark found out he has a brain tumour.

Abby "Lisa" Lockhart is curled up in bed among cozy-looking white linens when a very unobtrusive tapping is heard at the door. It's so unobtrusive, in fact, that, at first, I mistake it for someone tapping his (or her) toothbrush against the edge of the sink in the room. Lisa reluctantly rouses herself and goes to the door, where a room-service dude is escorting a room-service tray full of breakfast. See, here's where the logic of living in a hotel really asserts itself. Come on, that would rule! Why the hell did I spend all this money on a stupid house when I could have lived in a nice hotel for a year instead? But enough about me. Lisa and her bedhead sign for the food and Luka "Balkan It for All It's Worth" Kovac has. No. SHIRT ON. Oh my word. And he's smiling! And he has toothpaste foam all over his mouth! And no shirt! And he's kind of wet! And...give me a minute...calm blue ocean...okay, anyway, he sees Lisa with her sweater half on and chuckles that he told the guy to leave the cart outside. She tells him it's okay, and continues rummaging around on the floor in search of the rest of her clothes. He offers her some of the breakfast, or access to the shower, and she tells him she has to go home. Is he working today? No. Is she? Yes. Insert pregnant pause for them to undress each other with their eyes, and Lisa's out, telling him she'll see him later. Luka goes back to the mirror and thinks, "I am one hot, sexy bitch." At least, that's what I would do if I were him. And I'd take off the track pants and towel while I did so. I'll stop right there because I don't work blue. Much.

At what one might reasonably presume is Lisa's condo, Maggie "Sally Field" Wyczenski is working at a sewing machine; various lengths of purple fabric seem to be draped across every piece of furniture. Sally asks how Lisa's night was, and Lisa blandly asks, "What's all this?" Sally says she borrowed the sewing machine from "Marge," a neighbour Lisa didn't know she had, and adds that the coffee's fresh. Lisa goes to get a cup and asks, with more curiosity than accusation in her voice, whether Sally's been up all night. Sally says that she got up early to finish her project, and that she has a "big interview" today. Lisa asks where all the fabric came from, and Sally claims there was a big sale at the yardage store. Lisa returns to the table with her cup and a carton of cream, and Sally sadly confesses, "Honey, I'm sorry, I used the money you gave me for bus fare. I know it wasn't my money. I will pay you back just as soon as I get this job." Sally adds that the interview is at a "high-end" store with "big commissions," and that she'll use her earnings to "buy [them] all new furniture." Lisa blinks, but her face is completely open and blank and she says nothing. Sally leaps up to show Lisa the suit jacket she's just made; it's nice -- a short blazer in a neutral dove-grey colour. As Sally holds it up to her chest, a cloud comes over Lisa's brow. "You don't like it," surmises Sally, and Lisa visibly shakes off her reverie and smiles, "No, I do." At this tiny morsel of approval, Sally's nervous energy increases and she bellows, "Oh! You know what I got YOOOOOOOOOOU?! Something great!" She starts rifling through the piles of cloth littering the living room, blathering on, "Knit jersey fabric. I LOOOOOOOOOVE jersey. Where is it? I'm gonna make you something [that'll] make that Euro doctor stand up and take notice!" Okay, I hate to say this, but Manic Sally kind of reminds me of my grandma. Of course, my grandma is not actually manic. But she does go on the way Sally does, filling the silences. Also, she sews. Grandma, if you're reading this, I mean it nice. "'Euro doctor'?" Lisa repeats, bemused, and Sally puts hand on her hip and declares, "I've been here long enough to know what's happening. As far as I'm concerned, he's very handsome, but too old to be playing hard to get." Heh. Lisa's all Mae Midwest: "Well, I thought I had him." Sally says, "You do, you just don't know you do. When you're not looking, he stares at you all the time." Lisa looks as if she'd like to ponder this -- or write Sally's assessment of Luka in her *NSYNC diary with the real lock! -- but Sally's located the jersey, which is a bright teal. Good choice for a woman we've only ever seen wearing white, black, cream (as she is now), grey, and, at work, mauve scrubs. And my mom -- daughter of the grandma I mentioned above -- used to do that to me all the time. I am also a fan of black and white and my mom feels I should wear nothing but jewel tones. Any. WAY. Sally calls Lisa over and drapes the fabric against Lisa's chest, muttering, "We're going to make one of those wraparound dresses with the plunging neckline..." "He stares at me?" Lisa asks incredulously, and Sally confirms, "All the time." She tells Lisa she needs to take some measurements, but Lisa begs off, saying she has to take a shower. Lisa leaves the room, taking the wind out of Sally's sails with her, and Sally sputters that her interview isn't until noon: "Maybe we can have breakfast?" Lisa noncommittally replies, "If there's time," and Sally exhorts her to "hurry up."

In her huge bathroom, Lisa sets her coffee on the counter and runs the hot water in the tub. She gazes back toward the mirror, and then opens the medicine cabinet, snatching a prescription pill bottle out of it. Sitting down, Lisa empties the bottle into her palm and starts counting the pills with her pinkie. Of course, she hasn't locked the door, and of course, Sally bursts in and catches Lisa pill-handed. Unnecessarily, Sally asks what she's doing, and Lisa matter-of-factly admits she was counting Sally's pills. Sally whines that she told Lisa she'd take them. Lisa knows. Sally asks whether she passed inspection, and, by way of answer, Lisa asks whether Sally's been taking Prozac. Sally is wounded by the question, and insists, "I'm normal. I'm normal! I'm a little nervous about this interview." Lisa repeats, "Prozac, Zoloft, Effexor...?" Sally says she gave them all to Lisa, who asks, "Did you get more?" "How would I get more?" is Sally's evasive non-answer. "Mom," says Lisa in a "don't bullshit me" tone. Sally blithers, "I told you, I promised you! You don't believe me?" Lisa asks Sally to do her a favour, and Sally gushes, "Anything!" Lisa asks Sally to come to the hospital with her for a blood test. Sally's all hangdog and then wistfully agrees: "Sure, sure. I'd do anything for you." She hurries out. Lisa rolls her eyes and closes the door behind her.

Should there be two pages of recapping to do before the opening credits? No. Damn this show!

On the El, Elizabeth "White Picket Defense" Corday reviews material related to her lawsuit. Mark "It's not a TOOOO-muh! Oh, wait. It is" Greene advises her that if she answers the questions honestly, she'll be fine. Oh, and then they exposit the only information that's really at issue in the malpractice suit. She says, "I was the only one remotely close to the dura...I had to have punctured it." Mark says, "It's a known risk. It does not constitute negligence." Elizabeth anxiously replies, "Mark, missing a leak does. I don't even remember looking before I removed the endoscope." This will be important later. In fact, it's the only thing that will be important later. It's the only thing they'll be talking about later. Mark assures her, "You've done a hundred of these [she has?], you know the procedure. There was a bad outcome, they're looking for someone to blame. It doesn't mean you did anything wrong." As the light strikes Mark's pate, a big square Band-Aid is visible about an inch and a half above his left eyebrow. The El lurches to a halt, and Mark offers to ride with Elizabeth to her appointment; she says she'll be fine and tells him to go to work. They peck chastely and she adds, "Hey, don't go jogging into any more street signs." He makes an unfunny remark, and as he makes for the door, she bleats, "How long do these depositions usually last?" "Call me if it goes past midnight," he replies. "What?!" she squeaks, and from outside, he catches her eye through the window and tells her he was joking. Ha. Ha. Not. Her medical career may well be over in a matter of days. Yuk it up, Chuck Tumour.

At the hospital, Sally -- who's curled her hair into a flip which is quite becoming -- is perched on the edge of a bed with her right sleeve rolled up, yammering, "I hate to go on an interview with a big Band-Aid on my arm. What will they think?" Um. They might wonder why you're showing off the bare inside of your elbow when you're wearing a blouse with sleeves straight to your wrists. I really think Maggie would be able to come up with a more plausible pretext not to go through with the test, under the circumstances. Either that, or they could have dressed her in a short-sleeved blouse. Though maybe that's the point -- that her excuses are weak and groundless and yet she has to make them. Anyway. Lisa chirps that Sally has a suit jacket, and Sally passive-aggresses that she doesn't have to take it off if the room gets warm. Lisa blithely tells Sally to tell them she gave blood. Sally tries another tack: she doesn't want to be late, and, in fact, wants to be early. She suggests that she return to the hospital after the interview, "and then, if you still want to do this...." Lisa tells her to hold still. Sally babbles, "I just don't understand, Abby. I mean, you've let me in your home, we're getting along so well. This is an absolute gift! I mean, what will taking my blood accomplish?" "Hopefully nothing," says Lisa, getting exasperated. Throughout this speech, Lisa has been prepping Sally's arm for the needle, and Sally finally claps her left hand over the crook of her right arm and wheedles, "When this test comes back negative or positive, or whatever it's supposed to be, then you're going to feel foolish, and I'm going to be hurt. And then you're going to feel back." Lisa looks down, her face drawn and weary, and she quietly says, "You can't touch the vein after I've cleaned it." Sally blurts, "That can't be what you want!" Lisa says it's not, and Sally throws up her hands and begs, "Then, honey, let's just not do this." At this moment, "Dr." Dave Malucci ducks into the exam room and flattens himself against the adjacent wall, peering through the glass in the door. He registers the scene and asks whether they need any help. Pointedly, Lisa tells him that they're fine, and Sally simpers, "Hi, Dave!" He greets her as Ms. Lockhart, and she corrects him: "It's Wyczenski." He asks if she's not feeling well, and she asks, "Why, do I look sick?" He tells her that she looks great; Lisa fixes him with a "stow it" look. Sally thanks Dr. Dave and tells him he looks good, too; Lisa shoots her a "girl, please" look. Dr. Dave nosily asks, "What's the draw for?" and Sally proudly replies, "I'm giving blood." Dr. Dave nods noncommitally and continues monitoring something or other out in the hall. Lisa smirks. Sally hisses, "What? That's what you told me to say!" Lisa gives up, removes the tourniquet, and tells Sally to go. Sally kisses her rapidly a few times and flits off, telling her she'll call and let Lisa know how the interview goes. Dr. Dave remarks that it must be nice for Lisa to have such "good genes, knowing that you're gonna grow up looking like that." And that is an appropriate observation in what professional universe? He indicates that Lisa has some of Sally's lipstick on her mouth, and Lisa bitterly swipes at it with her hand.

By the desk, Randi asks a sulky blonde, "Is this about a patient?" "No," whines Sulky, adding, "He's supposed to be working!" Lisa walks behind the desk and Randi asks her whether she's seen Dr. Dave. Sulky tells Randi to give Dr. Dave the message that Stephanie stopped by. "Your last name?" prompts Randi, and Sulky pouts, "He knows my last name." Cleo "LoveLetter Virus" Finch, standing beside Randi, snickers, "I don't get it. He had some other girl in here looking for him yesterday." Chuny snorts, "You fire enough shots, eventually you're going to hit something." "Or catch something," prigs Finch. "Don't knock it 'til you've tried it," Randi drawls. Sally returns to the ambulance-bay doors bleating, "Abby! Abby! A girl out here needs help! She's bleeding! Some kids, they just threw her from a car!"

Outside, Lassie leads Timmy to the boy trapped by a...no, my bad, what actually happens is that Sally shows Finch to the bleeding girl and then proceeds to place herself between the patient and the caregivers, and generally to make a nuisance of herself. (I hope you were sitting down when you read that.) Leaning against a lamppost is Braids, Jesse's girlfriend, first introduced in "The Visit." Sally hands Braids a handkerchief and tells Finch and Lisa (following close behind) that Braids's apparent assailants "hardly stopped the car." Beset by the crowd, Braid mumbles through her split lip, "I'm okay," and Sally, fluttering around in front of her, insists, "No, you're not okay!" Lisa tells Sally to step back, and Finch helps Braids to sit down on the curb. Basically, Finch attempts to perform a preliminary exam on Braids (who claims she "fell") while Lisa and Sally bicker. Sally reluctantly leaves. Finch determines that Braids did not experience a loss of consciousness, and tells Lisa to get a gurney and page x-ray. Lisa doesn't respond at first because she's too busy watching Sally leave, but Finch gets her attention and she takes off.

Finch and Dr. Dave examine Braids in a trauma room. Finch tells Braids that she'll need to remove her pants, and Braids is adamant that she not: "It's just my face!" Finch glances outside and sees Peter "Deep Knee" Benton loitering in the hall. She goes out and tells him there's a patient with a hernia for him to examine, and he says he will, "after the assault victim." Totally blank, as ever, Finch says it's probably just a facial fracture, and Benton says that he'll clear the belly. She insists that the patient is stable, whereupon Lisa comes out and says that Braids has blood in her underwear, which she claims is her period. Finch is like, "Nice one," and tells Lisa to get a rape kit. Benton makes to go in, and Finch tells him he shouldn't see Braids: "It's Jesse's girlfriend." Of course, this only steels Benton even more; he takes two steps away, and then charges past her to Braids's bedside. Dr. Dave tells Braids that she didn't crack her skull. Benton roughly throws back the sheet covering Braids and gruffly introduces herself; she tells him she knows who he is. He glances at her face. Dr. Dave -- for once -- slips out unobtrusively upon Benton's appearance. Benton curtly asks Braids whether there's anyone she wants them to call -- her mother, for instance -- and Braids slurs that her mother won't be home. Benton shoots Finch a warning look; she stares back placidly, while millions of applications are processed behind her face plate.

And now, Mark Greene stars in Prognosis: Negative. A man I'm going to assume is a neurosurgeon says, "The ring enhancing legion and central necrosis on MRI was suspicious. The biopsy confirms it." Mark chokes, "Another pathologist should take a look. Could be an astrocytoma." Dr. Death says, "Two neuro specialists have reviewed the slides independently; they concur. It's a GBM." That stands for glioblastoma multiforme, which is most common in patients fifty years of age and older. It's a kind of tumour that most frequently occurs in the cerebral hemispheres and grows as an irregular mass in the white matter of the brain. The prognosis is very poor; the mean survival length, post-diagnosis, is less than a year, with less than 10% survival after two years. (Thanks, Brigham Hospital at Harvard University!) Mark looks stricken, of course, and asks the survival rate in his case; Dr. Death says that, untreated, the rate is eight weeks, but that he can gain six to nine months with radiation treatment. Well, at least he doesn't have to worry about losing his hair! Mark asks, "What about surgery?" and Dr. Death breaks it to him with no preamble at all: "I'm afraid the tumour is inoperable." Mark asks why, and Dr. Death explains (speaking really fast in order to make it as difficult as possible to transcribe), "It looks like it invaded Broca's area. The speech arrest that you were experiencing was probably the result of a focal seizure. Even if we removed the entire tumour, you'd most likely be left with the inability to speak and understand language." "Communication," Mark surmises, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. Dr. Death clarifies, "More than communication: you'd lose all ability to comprehend, interact with the world around you -- essentially what makes you human. Even if you consented, I wouldn't even consider operating. We'll keep you on Dilantin, three hundred milligrams daily. Do you have disability insurance?" Mark doesn't answer right away, and Dr. Death prompts him, "Dr. Greene?" "Yeah," says Mark. Okay, first, this is my PSA: it's exactly because of stuff like this that it's even more important that you get hooked up with disability insurance than it is that you have life insurance. The likelihood that you'll hurt yourself and linger on, unable to work, is much greater than that you'll be accidentally killed and leave your heirs destitute. You should have both, of course, but -- disability insurance! I'm not on commission! Get some! Second, I'm experiencing intense option paralysis, here. I can't decide which is more appealing: a Mark who can't talk and is barely human, or a Mark that's dead like a doornail. Oh, and, happy holidays!

Mark evidently decides that the best thing to do after getting hit unexpectedly by this devastating news is to go to work anyway, and inflict his bad mood on his oblivious co-workers. He starts by bitching about how backed up it is. John "Total Eclipse of the" Carter haltingly says that he doesn't know why it's so backed up, since he just started his shift; Randi says it always gets like this when Weaver's off. Weaver's off? Yeah, happy fucking holidays to me, not. DAMMIT. Randi adds that Weaver left Mark a note, which he reads. Carter asks what happened to Mark's head, and Mark feeds him the jogging/street sign cover story. Carter makes for a couple of patients we'll never see, and Lydia appears to tell Mark about a patient with palpitations; Mark gives a quickie diagnosis that Carter, overhearing, corrects, and Mark takes back his initial orders, thanking Carter for the catch. Carter asks him whether he's okay, and Mark waves Weaver's note and says that since it's been three months, it's time to do a blood and urine test on Carter. "Right now?" Carter asks, and Mark says it has to be sometime in the six hours. "Whenever," Carter says tightly, and Mark adds that if Carter wants privacy, Mark will do the stick, or Carter can ask a nurse; Carter says he'll get Lisa to do it.

Benton does an ultrasound on a wan-looking Braids. Apparently her belly is fine. Under a sheet, Finch performs an external pelvic exam and asks Braids when she last had intercourse; Braids claims she doesn't remember. Finch asks Lisa for a "Wood's lamp," which, when pointed at Braids's action, shows no semen in the vicinity. "What?!" squeaks Braids. Finch tells Braids that she needs to do a full-on pelvic exam, and Braids objects and tries to get off her bed. Finch says they have to check her out, and Braids tells them just to "fix [her] face." She explains that she didn't get raped: "I got beat up. That's all." Long story short, she got jumped out of a gang, and proudly says, "I did okay. Some girls, they get real messed up. I did okay!" So she probably got that bleeding in her underwear from getting kicked in the crotch? Um, ow. That's why I could never be in a gang. Well, it's one of the reasons. Another is that I'd have to spend a lot of time out-of-doors, and I don't care for that. Finch purses her lips and sits in judgment. Benton prefers to stand in judgment.

Back at the deposition, Danvers and Elizabeth argue over whether she rushed Mr. Patterson's procedure because of Jesse's arrival at the hospital before Mr. Patterson's operation. Danvers knows Jesse's relationship to Benton, as well as Elizabeth's former relationship with Benton. Matt Craven tells her not to answer whether Benton is a "former lover." Danvers moves on to whether Jesse's death upset her ("of course") and how long it upset her ("I'm not sure"). Blah blah, the point of his line of inquiry is whether she messed up Mr. Patterson because she was upset about Jesse.

Lisa prepares to draw Carter's blood, and Carter engages in a lot of lame gallows humour: "I guess I should have had that blood transfusion this morning, huh?...Check my cholesterol while you're at it." On the other side of the room, Mark writes on a chart; Carter amiably calls, "Hey, you, you're supposed to be watching this! You better watch!" Mark looks up and snits, "You think I want to be doing this, Carter? I don't have better things to do?" Carter stares back like a wounded puppy, and Lisa asks Mark what she should do with the blood she's just drawn. Mark curtly tells her to give it to him. Carter leaps off the bed, snaps, "Are we done?" and makes for the door; before he can complete the Carter Stomp out of there, Chuny sticks her head in and tells Lisa that the paramedics called to say that Sally's hurt, that she's outside a clothing store, and that she's asking for Lisa.

Benton and Finch talk to a cop, who says there's not much he can do for Braids unless Braids gives him some names. A nameless nurse pokes her head out and tells Benton that Braids wants to talk to him.

Within, Benton tosses some x-rays on a table. He tells Braids that she broke her cheekbone, and that they'll have to do a CT-scan of her face. Braids says nothing. Benton scoffs, "So, you're really going to protect the girls who did this to you, huh?" Braids says that she's protecting herself, since if they find out she said anything, they'll kill her. "Like they did Jesse?" Benton leads the witness. Braids is quiet for a long moment, and then says, "You don't know that." Benton says he knows that Jesse wasn't a gang member, and that Braids is. "Was," she corrects him. Benton adds that he knows the only reason Jesse was in that neighbourhood was because of Braids. Braids murmurs, "He only came there twice. He said he didn't like me banging. Kept telling me that I was better than all that. That he loved me. That he was going to get me out!" Oh, it's just like Romeo and Juliet, except with people getting kicked in the crotch until they bleed into their panties. Oh, wait. That happened in Romeo and Juliet. Oh, no, excuse me, I'm thinking of A Winter's Tale. Anyway, Benton takes in Braids's story and asks, "You're telling me that's why they killed him?" Braids continues, "He ditched school. Tried to get me to come over. Told me that his mom was going to figure things out. We had a fight. I was walking away when it happened." "You saw who shot him?" Benton asks. Braids muses, "That's why I don't want to be a part of it no more. I loved him, too!" Benton asks who shot Jesse, and she evasively says that he'll just go to the cops if she tells him. Benton says that he won't, and she asks why, then, he wants to know. Benton growls, "'Cause I gotta know." Braids tells him to swear he won't say anything, and he asks her again, "Who murdered my nephew?"

Lisa leaps out of her SUV at the scene of Sally's evident crime. A paramedic is trying to treat Sally, but she is angrily telling him -- at a pace of ten miles a minute -- that her daughter is a doctor and that she will take care of Sally. Sally spots Lisa trying to bypass Sally and go straight to a nearby police officer; Sally waylays her to say that none of this was her fault, and that some man she didn't know came after her. A woman -- I'll assume a woman from the shop -- interjects, "She was shoplifting." Sally rounds on her and barks, "I was not shoplifting! Why would I shoplift a ten-dollar scarf?" "It's a three-hundred-dollar scarf!" Shop Woman replies. Holy shit, really? Admittedly I am no fashion plate in my Old Navy t-shirt and fleece leggings right now, but for $300 a scarf better double as a lawnmower before I'd think it was a worthwhile investment. Anyway. Shop Woman tells Lisa that Sally walked straight through the shop's door and shattered glass everywhere. Lisa nods rapidly, evidently not even considering contesting the charges against Sally, and tells Shop Woman and the nearest cop that they don't want to arrest Sally: "Believe me, It's not worth your trouble. I'm a nurse at County --" The cop asks what's wrong with Sally, who hysterically answers for herself: "Nothing! Nothing is wrong with me!" Lisa looks down and speaks over her: "She has a mood disorder." Shop Woman snaps, "She was stealing." Lisa replies, "She wasn't stealing, she was confused." Shop Woman spits, "You weren't there! She walked into the store, demanded a job, and when I explained to her --" "Let me tell you something, dearie -- I have better retail skills than you do any day of the week!" hisses Sally. Shop Woman is both incredulous and amused. Lisa turns on her and snaps, "Be quiet, Mom!" Sally goes on for a while about her retail skills, and Lisa gives the cop her phone number and offers to pay for the broken glass. Shop Woman snottily asks, "What if she comes back?" and Lisa promises that Sally won't come back. The cop confirms that Lisa will take care of it, and Shop Woman finally agrees not to press charges as long as they get Sally out of there. Shop Woman? I'll go in on that action with you. Get Sally out of here! Her constant yammering is making me so very, very tired.

At the hospital, Mark enters a trauma room as Dr. Dave accompanies a patient out. Carter comes in and, to Mark's back, snaps, "What." Mark offers the witty rejoinder, "Huh?" and Carter reminds Mark that he wanted to see Carter. Mark tells Carter that his naltrexone level was non-detectable. Carter says he thought it was just a drug screen, and Mark reminds Carter that taking naltrexone is one of the terms of his contract. Carter calmly says that his prescription ran out, and that he hasn't had a chance to refill it. Mark raises his voice a little to repeat that Carter knows he's supposed to take it. Getting even calmer in the face of Mark's agitation, Carter evenly replies, "And I'm taking it. I don't need it, but I'm taking it." Mark looks down and passive-aggressively chuckles a bit. "What?" Carter asks, and Mark hissyfits, "You're not the only one with something at stake here, Carter! We put ourselves on the line to give you a fresh start! In any other circumstance, you would either be dead or in jail." Carter takes a step back the better to let Mark have it: "'Fresh start,' huh? You really think this has been a fresh start? I think that I've done absolutely everything that you've asked of me, and I think I've done it without complaint. I think that I've obeyed all these arbitrary and arcane rules and regulations about what patients I can treat and what patients I can't, and when I can treat them, and when I can't." The Strings of Imminent Trauma thrum on the soundtrack as Mark looks vaguely nauseous. Carter's on a roll: "I think I've peed into cups! I think you've taken my blood, and I think at some point, it's going to have to be enough. I think at some point, you're actually going to have to trust me!" Mark's face is crumpled in on itself, and he falls to the floor, taking a small tray of instruments with him. On the floor, he shakes and seizes. Carter and Chuny administer ativan. I yell at the TV, "Swallow your tongue! Swallow your tongue!"