For the third episode in a row, we begin in a bedroom -- but this time, the comfortable-looking bed houses Dr. Elizabeth "An Apple A Day Keeps The Doctor" Corday. The clammy skin, wet hair, red-rimmed eyes, and ghostly complexion tip me off that she's either sick or in rehab. Luckily, she employs an ear thermometer to ensure we know it's just the flu. Dr. Mark "An Apple A Day? Doesn't Keep Baldness Away" Greene enters, his young baby Ella on his arm and a cup of chamomile tea in one hand. Elizabeth grumps that she's gone a record ten minutes without running to the bathroom. Again with the symmetry -- the last show ended with toilet antics, and this one begins with a reference to them. I wonder if one of the writers actually worships some bogus Porcelain God. Ella giggles, and Mark shares that she decked the halls with boughs of toilet paper. "God, [and] she's not even walking," groans Elizabeth good-naturedly. Mark grabs the thermometer, reads it, and picks up the phone to call his wife in sick -- which she protests mightily because she's got a presentation. But Mark is already on the horn, and he's in one of his famous Dark Moods, which can mean only one thing -- he's trying to be funny. Oh sweet Porcelain God, lord of all that is as yet untainted with recapper vomit, please make it stop. "[Elizabeth is] projectile vomiting. Do you still want her to come in?" Mark asks. Elizabeth isn't amused. Mark kisses her head and promises Katherine will be there soon to mind Ella while Elizabeth recuperates. "Who's going to look after her until then?" Elizabeth frets. "I'm not doing anything today," pipes up a voice from the doorway. Mark leans back to reveal an especially earnest-looking Rachel "An Apple A Day Helps Me Bong It Away" Greene. Distaste flits across Elizabeth's face, but she quickly replaces it with forced gratitude, even as she suggests that it's wrong to expect Rachel to sacrifice her Saturday. "I'm not doing anything today," Rachel chirps, taking Ella from Mark, who's more than happy to hand her off and flee.
Dr. Kerry "Hot Lips" Weaver barks out a few orders to Haleh, then oh-so-subtly asks if Dr. Chen has shown up for work today. She has not -- she's too busy praying that the Porcelain God will cut off my fingers so I can't make up any more dumb nicknames. Weaver stops cold when she spies Dr. Robert "The Porcelain God is Love" Romano chatting animatedly with Dr. Susan "Burberry" Lewis. Haleh lowers her voice to say that Romano's been looking for Weaver. As Weaver approaches him, Romano blathers to Susan about swimming in Lake Michigan in January wearing nothing but an attitude and a banana hammock. He also says the words "sex drive," probably subtly trying to state the point that bald men can be manly, despite Mark's best attempts to prove otherwise. Susan's agape. She grabs Weaver and shares the big secret that Romano's in the Polar Bear club. Weaver, though, is in no mood for chit-chat, and tries to dismiss Susan so that she and the Rocket can speak privately.
Romano has other ideas. "I've come up with a solution for the administrative bottleneck you've been experiencing," he shares pleasantly. "What bottleneck?" scoffs Weaver. Romano points out that she's a month behind on certain paperwork. "Does she really need to be here for this?" sighs Weaver, peeved. Susan awkwardly excuses herself to tend to a patient. Weaver and Romano go a few rounds about whether Weaver's overburdened, culminating in Romano's announcement that he's asked Susan to assume some of the workload, "covering meetings, overseeing teaching..." Weaver indignantly points out that the Chief Resident can handle this ably, but Romano wants an Attending on it. Frankly, it looks like he's getting Susan's foot in the door so that Chen can report to her, or so he'll have a non-Kerry liaison in the ER. Crafty little troll. Weaver accuses him of yanking her chain, which he doesn't deny. "And try to keep the PDA to a minimum," he says lightly. "This is a workplace, not a parade." Weaver looks mildly pissed, but not so steamed that she's hit I'm A Little Teapot status.
Frank sidles up to Kerry. "So...you're gay, huh?" he asks. "Yeah, Frank, I'm gay, all right?" Weaver says. Frank leans in a bit closer. "You know you're going to Hell, right?" he points out. It's funny -- he's not scolding her; rather, he says it in a very concerned tone, as if he's okay with all this as long as she's walking into it with her eyes open. I wasn't offended, but neither am I a lesbian, so maybe I shouldn't editorialize. ["It would have been even funnier if he'd said she was 'a gay.'" -- Wing Chun] And I've long harbored a secret love of Frank -- I'm very alone here; it's a cold and lonely place to be, kind of like a Leelee Sobieski Fan Club meeting -- so I know I look for ways to read him as less of a bigot. I should probably give up now. Kerry certainly has no patience for him, and she eye-rolls us into the credits.
Susan strolls through the lobby chatting quietly with Dr. John "Apples, Schmapples -- I Just Need to Get Laid" Carter. He fills her in on his mother's Xanax-and-booze bender. "Is she embarrassed?" Susan winces. "It's hard not to be when you're puking your guts out," Carter figures. Amen, brother. Carter feebly jokes about the criminal waste of a costly bottle of wine; Susan is more curious about how long Eleanor's been popping the palindrome pill. "She's been off and on [Xanax] for a few years, apparently," Carter replies. Maybe I'm overreacting, but I swear Susan seems unnerved. I wonder if she's fretting that all the Carters abuse prescription drugs in some form or another. She's certainly not oozing sympathy. Bad quasi-girlfriend. Bad!
Weaver offloads a bunch of paperwork onto Susan. Mark, to Susan, is on the phone with his wife pretending that he's sorry he can't be home to make her soup, then watch her yak it up after her stomach turns it a very special color. He hangs up and exposits that Elizabeth was on the toilet all night. Way to go, Mark, with the suavity and the Too Much Information. I'm sure Elizabeth will be delighted to know that Mark told Susan, the only other woman in the world who could possibly be construed as competition, that Elizabeth was running from both ends. He might as well say, "You smell so much better today than the shrew I married." Susan has the sense to point out that it's TMI, then deftly changes the subject and confesses that she agreed to be Weaver's assistant. "Was I stupid?" she panics. "A little around the edges," Mark agrees. "[But] Kerry's lucky to have you." Susan doesn't think Weaver likes her much. "She's never liked anyone," Mark notes.
"Don't people work around here?" calls out a breezy Jing-Mei "Deb" Chen, cheerfully bustling into the lobby. Mark waves. "Glutton for punishment, huh?" he grins. Susan welcomes her back, a sentiment Chen reciprocates; I'd forgotten she quit right as Susan started work. Weaver strolls past and passive-aggressives that she had hoped Chen might come in earlier to "acquaint [herself] to the new CPT codes." Chen coolly smirks that she'll be fine, and a silenced Weaver toddles away. "Good for you, girl," Haleh cheers. Mark strolls past and very politely informs Chen that she owes him twenty bucks for Cleo's goodbye present. What an ass. Frank shoves a cardboard box under Chen's nose and tells her to use it as a temporary locker. "There's dirt in here," she scowls. Frank studies it, then tastes it. "Donut sprinkles," he corrects her. Chen groans and silently wonders why she even bothered blackmailing her way back here.
A paramedic wheels in Don Brower, a thirty-five-year-old father with face, neck, and chest injuries from a blast. "Mail...exploded," he croaks. Mark, who is a genius, deduces, "He opened a letter bomb!" You know, lest we wonder if he tore open a package full of particularly feisty monogrammed stationery. Susan follows with Don's daughter on another gurney; she's lost three hundred ccs of blood after almost parting company with her right hand. "It huuuuuuurts," the moppet whines.
Chuny, Mark, and Chen set up Don in Trauma Green. Weaver charges in and all but elbows Chen out of the way, while Mark establishes that one of Don's eyes is shot. I refuse to go into greater detail, as I have a phobia of eye-related injuries and I almost screamed when I heard the word "rupture." Mark wants to intubate. "It's her birthday," murmurs Don, agonized. "I let Jessica pull on the bow!" He's caked in blood and dazedly says, "My wife...." Weaver, meanwhile, has to give up on undermining Chen and moves around to Mark's side of the table. She's acting almost desperate to remind people that she's a doctor, too. "I've got it, Kerry," Mark finally groans. "I wonder how Susan's doing over there with the kid." Weaver still won't go, telling Mark that he should focus on clearing Don's airway while she intubates. "The airway's fine," Mark says tightly. This hint isn't listed on Weaver's registry, but she accepts it politely (and will probably exchange it tomorrow for some pickle forks). Chen shoots the exiting Weaver an amused and semi-triumphant look.
Carter and Susan are with young Jessica in Trauma Yellow. The girl's face is fine, but she suffered some minor flesh burns. "The lungs are clear," Susan says. "All the money's on the hand." Jessica whimpers. Weaver rockets to her side and coos, "Hold on...We just need to take a look at your hand." Apparently, Jessica lost her ring and pinky fingers in the blast; Carter yells for a hand surgeon. Weaver tries to interfere and disagrees with Susan about whether to unwrap Jessica's wound before she goes for surgery. Weaver wants to, so in the end Susan does it and is rewarded with a messy squirt of blood all over the front of her scrubs. Jessica screams, her eyes wide as the intelligence gap between Mark and...well, anyone, really. Weaver covers for herself by saying they just needed to know exactly what the injury was, because the very fact of two missing fingers didn't clearly inform her. "Well, now you know," sasses Susan under her breath. "We're okay here, Kerry." Weaver sags a bit, and suggests a series of labs, but Carter apparently already ordered them. Defeated, Weaver slinks out of Trauma Yellow, feeling obsolete and powerless.
Abby "One Beer" Lockhart bursts in. "Carter, your mom's here," she says. He's stunned to find out that Eleanor brought in a young boy from the leukemia center who's suffering from weakness and a slight fever. "And she's nicer than I remember," Abby adds with a snicker. Carter peers through the blinds and waves half-heartedly before exiting to speak with her. Eleanor's hair is blown straight as a nun's posture, and she's engulfed in a fur-collared coat. She looks frighteningly like Chris Robinson of The Black Crowes. She exposits that Mickey, the hero of the week, is Child of the Year at the leukemia center and was posing for photographs when lightheadedness overcame him. "You brought him here?" Carter quizzes rudely. Thrown, Eleanor stammers that it's Saturday, and his regular doctors aren't available. She babbles that he's in remission, he's an orphan, he lives with foster parents who have two other special-needs children, he made alchemy work, he invented roses, he loves puppies, and his teeth are naturally white. Are you loving him yet, America? Carter is skeptical, but he introduces himself to Mickey and kindly asks how he's faring. "Not so good," Mickey whimpers pathetically, coughing up a silver comb with which to preen his angel wings. Carter promises to do what he can. "A private room would help," snarks Eleanor quietly. Carter glares at her.
Chen and Mark still work frantically on Don. "You holding up okay?" Mark asks. Chen is more concerned with the fact that Don's left pericolonic gutter is filling up fast and it's high tide in Morrison's pouch. Surf's up. "Don't let Kerry get to you," Mark advises. Pipe down and treat your patient, Mark. Chen, frustrated, complains that surgery is slow in coming; Don's pulse disappears. They try resuscitating him with the paddles, but he's asystole, so Chen cracks open the chest and prepares to shock the heart directly.
In the lobby, a frantic, wet-eyed brunette spies Jessica being wheeled to the elevator and rushes up to her. "Baby?" she sputters. It's Mrs. Brower, who I'll call Grace because that's the actress' name, and she's panicked that Jessica isn't responding to her voice. Susan calmly says it's the medicine they've pumped into her, and tells her Jessica's headed for surgery. Grace freezes. "Wait, where's my husband?" she breathes. Whirling, she runs into Trauma Green and sees Mark zapping Don's heart. He's flatlining. Mark sees her, startled. "His injuries caused his heart to stop," he explains, rushing to her side and trying to block her view. She peers around him. "A thoracotomy," Grace sniffles. "Bleeeeeeep," the heart monitor says. Mark realizes she's a doctor and gives her the truth -- there's a less than 10% chance Don will live. Grace babbles that she told Don not to worry, that everything would be safe. And as she rambles, Don's vitals only get worse. "He's been down for thirty minutes," Mark says gently. Grace's tear ducts flood as she brokenly acknowledges that he's dead, and tells them to stop. She covers her face and sobs while Don's monitors literally beep him to death at the approximate cost of $500 per searing noise. Visa: It's everywhere you want to be.
Yay! It's Gallant. He's a simple pleasure, but a real one. Unfortunately, he's treating the crusty old man du jour -- a blind man with toenails that could savage a lion. Seriously. The nails are yellowed and about two inches long and appear to have their own separate sets of teeth. The man, Manny, hasn't had them clipped since April, so Gallant gets to do the honors. As if to make up for the nastiest feet ever shown on television, the writers endowed Manny with some kind of clairvoyance, so he can make charming and uncanny predictions. "You're a gifted doctor," he enthuses to Gallant. "Or, you will be." Chen approaches and introduces herself to Gallant. "I've heard a lot about you," Gallant says. "Good things." Manny chips in, "And the bad things aren't your fault." Oh, butt out, Blind Manny. Chen is surprised and a tiny bit flattered.
Manny's scruffy seeing-eye mutt escapes toward Weaver, who grouchily orders Manny to keep him on a short leash. Chen's on her hit list -- Weaver demands to speak with her privately. They toddle off into a room. "This has to stop," Weaver says calmly. "This attitude, this resentment you have toward me." Chen cocks an eyebrow. "Does it?" she smirks. I wonder if a scene was excised from the episode, because although Chen wasn't exactly warm the one other time they've interacted today, she hardly oozed resentment. Weaver goes on a self-righteous rant about how visible friction between them could compromise patient care. "I wouldn't let that happen," Chen avers with genuine feeling. Nodding piously, Weaver continues that a divisive staff is a problematic one. "Then maybe you should quit," sasses Chen.
Grace tearfully stands over her husband's corpse. Mark tells her the cops wanted to see her, but that he's convinced them to hold off until Jessica is out of surgery. Grace feeds him a biscuit and pets his head. "I should've told him about the threats," she whispers. Do people really do that -- start dishing their secrets to strangers who clearly aren't asking the questions that are being answered? The doctors on this show are like bartenders. Grace reveals that she's part of a team that's trying to create stem cells by cloning DNA, and that the letter bomb was intended for her. Oh boy! I smell a Fall 2002 spin-off with a flashy Tom Clancy script and a dense title, like Life Science or Grace Brower, Heliatrix. Chewing on her lip, Grace begs to observe Jessica's surgery, but Mark is wary. "I'm a doctor," she argues. "You're also a mother," he says. But she sniffles, and it's a well-documented fact that a woman's tears cause spinal-cord shrinkage in males of the medical profession, so Mark relents and promises to "see what [he] can do."
Gallant sneezes mightily and clips Manny's Lee Press-On Toe Claws. One shard snaps off and flies into Frank's coffee, which in my opinion can only enhance the taste. "Damn med students," Frank grouses. But Manny The Blind Man Who Truly Sees knows Frank is all bark and no bite. "You remind him of his son," he says pleasantly. Gallant clears his throat. "Uh, I'm black, sir," he explains. Manny shrugs. "Well, I can't see," he says. Gallant sneezes again. Damn blind men! Full of allergens.
Abby draws Mickey's blood. Eleanor gripes that, despite the arctic weather and her loud protests, the Children Of Leukemia glamour shots were being taken outside. Mickey maturely directs Abby to a "good" vein and endures the blood-taking like a seasoned pro. "You don't have to watch," Mickey offers to Eleanor. In fact, since they're strangers to one another, it's pretty creepy that she's all, "Oooh, a blood-draw!" Eleanor insists she's fine. Carter watches this with building curiosity and resentment. He purses his lips to prevent twisting them into a righteous pout, and stomps away to tend to other patients.
Elizabeth sits up in bed looking utterly gross. There's a ticking clock noise in the background. That explains a lot -- clearly, she was somehow hypnotized into marrying Mark. She shuffles downstairs to check on Ella, and hears the dulcet rhythms of that wacky Pink that the kids love so much these days. Pink wants to get this party started on a Saturday night. Oh, Pink. Your prescience is bigger than all of us. "Hi," Elizabeth coos at the sight of Ella, with whom Rachel is playing. Ella looks her absolute cutest and most angelic. Lizzie sits down and chats casually with Rachel in stilted but pleasant tones. Rachel's clearly trying hard and offers to make her stepmom some food. Elizabeth doesn't think she'll be able to keep it down, but does finally -- grudgingly -- accept an offer of tea. Rachel reaches the door, then turns and cautions lightly, "Careful. You don't want to get her sick." A hint of a glare passes across Elizabeth's face before nausea overtakes her and she barfs an anvil right onto Ella's lap.
Chen moans that her non-sensible shoes are mutilating her feet, but she's vainly not ready to traverse the Easy Spirit route again. "I heard you did some really nice work in that trauma today," Carter praises supportively. "Doesn't count if they don't make it," Chen sighs. They bump into Weaver at the front desk, and she's all ready to chide Chen for choosing Bactrim to treat a particular patient. Carter chips in that, lately, there's been resistance to Bactrim; Chen says it should be fine for that patient, but Weaver insists she start to use other medicine without specific cultures to back up her Bactrim decisions. Holy lord, that was boring, but I recapped it anyway because it shows that Carter, while appearing to play peacemaker, isn't wholly ready to pitch a tent in Camp Chen. At least, professionally speaking, he isn't. Manny's dog Stinky trots up to Weaver, who shakes her cane at it and barks -- hee! -- for Gallant to tie up the crazy thing.
Chen stares at Carter. "Whose side are you on, anyway?" she half-teases. Carter swears that he's Switzerland. Chen doesn't buy the neutrality crap. "You have to be on one side, and it better be mine," she warns, again only in partial jest. Carter tries to ignore this juvenile power struggle. "You like her," Chen decides, amused. "I don't dislike her," admits Carter carefully. Chen ribs him about having a penchant for older women, and there's definitely a flirtatious glint in her eye. I love that she brings up Susan, too, as an example, like Susan's some flinty old crone. "Younger women too much for you?" Chen giggles. Carter claims he can handle himself just fine either way, ignoring that he did just get dumped by a younger woman because he pined for a slightly older one. Chuny saves him with word that Eleanor wants to see him. Carter's jaw tenses. "Tell her I'm with a patient," he says.
Doris wheels in Mackenzie Phillips, an alleged unrestrained driver with a head wound who was found sitting on a curb with her thirteen-year-old daughter, Stacy. Mackenzie slurs something flirty at Carter. "There's enough alcohol on her breath to start a small fire," Doris mutters. Meanwhile, Abby has put Stacy into a wheelchair and is escorting her down the hall. She isn't gravely wounded, but Susan is going to check her out anyway and asks if Stacy is feeling any pain. "Big pain..." she sighs. From around the corner, Mackenzie shrieks, "What's with the straps? Are you guys a bunch of friggin' perverts or something?" Stacy finishes, "...in my ass." Abby swallows a snicker.
Mackenzie slurs her way through an examination in the trauma room. "Softer hands, honey," she complains to Haleh. "Sorry, but I ain't 'honey,'" Haleh scolds. I hate the word "ain't." What the hell contraction is it? "Ain not"? "Am isn't"? "Bull shit." Mackenzie pouts that everyone's being so damned serious. "This is a bump," she says dismissively. "What's seriously wrong is in here." She weepily pats her chest and proclaims that her heart's been broken. "Two great weeks and he leaves me without a word," she wails. "What the hell kind of fiancé is that?" The kind that's featured in The Writer's Guide to Easy White-Trash Humor.
Stacy brushes off Susan's attempt to get her in a gown for an exam. "You want to get out of here, right?" Abby queries knowingly. "Go home, clean the house, get your homework done...." Stacy realizes Abby's cottoned to her unhappy home life, and somehow this convinces her to gown up, which I don't understand, but okay. There's an ugly bruise in the shape of a seatbelt cutting an angry purple swath across Stacy's chest. "Ouch!" Susan exclaims. "At least you were being responsible." Mackenzie, Stacy says, derides seatbelts as being instruments of confinement. Yeah! Fuck the establishment and their oppressive vehicular prisons! "Nice example to set -- driving drunk and beltless," tsks Susan. Stacy glibly confesses that she was the driver ["which, if Abby were at all observant, she'd be able to tell from the location of Stacy's seatbelt bruise" -- Wing Chun], and has been taking the wheel from her sauced mother since she was ten. Susan's clearly startled.
In the hall Susan proclaims Stacy "completely nuts." Abby contends she's totally brilliant. "A thirteen-year-old driving her lush mom around is a good thing?" Susan gapes. "No, but neither is a lush mom driving around a thirteen-year-old," Abby points out. "Somebody's got to be the adult." Abby Lockhart, this is your life. Susan bitchily shakes her head and scoffs, while Abby almost trips over her freshly drawn parallels.
Vomit Villa. A sick, pale, and sweaty Elizabeth wakes up to the sound of Ella's screams. Rachel sprints into the room, cradling her feverish half-sister. Elizabeth coos concernedly at Ella and gets up to find the thermometer; while she does, Ella pukes onto the bed and Rachel freaks anew. Elizabeth rushes over, fingers the spit-up like only a mother ever would, and fondles a scarily familiar shard. "What's this?" she gasps. "She swallowed something! Get me the phone!" Rachel turns and bolts out of the room, leaving Elizabeth to juggle the phone and a sick and frightened baby. Elizabeth is just on the horn with 911 when Rachel appears again holding a plastic bag. "It's Ecstasy," she says, with inappropriate calm. "I had some in my backpack." Her tone's about as worried as if Ella had accidentally worn white after Labor Day. It seems Ella ate "one, maybe two" tablets. Elizabeth swallows the rising hatred in her throat and tells the paramedics to hurry -- she has a child with an amphetamine overdose. It's a shame we go to commercial here, because they're stuck waiting for help to arrive and I'd have loved to see how Elizabeth kept herself from scalping Rachel with a pencil and some tweezers. She'd be the MacGyver of torture, I feel.
Abby has blabbed to Carter about Stacy being behind the wheel; he says the entire situation smacks of child endangerment and needs intervention from Social Services. Abby wonders whether Stacy would go into foster care that way. "May not be such a bad thing," suggests Carter. Abby isn't convinced, but promises she'll call the police. Haleh interrupts and orders Abby to find Mark.
Carter notices that Eleanor is still hovering around Mickey. She frets that his fever is still raging and he hasn't eaten, but Carter dismissively says that the pediatric oncologist will handle this. "Aren't you going to do something?" Eleanor demands. "In terms of treating him?" Carter points out that there's no sign of infection yet, but that he sent the labs, and the results are en route. Eleanor staunchly refuses to leave Mickey's side. Carter, tense, wonders whether Mickey's foster parents might be a better choice for comfort, but Eleanor insists that she's the proper person, and that she represents the leukemia center. Carter stares at her, then gives her one last chance to disentangle herself, but Eleanor refuses, searching his face as if confused by his behavior. Carter can't believe how obtuse she's being, and runs off to sob about the complexities of his subplot, stubbing his toe on an anvil with his dead brother's portrait lovingly painted on it.
Grace, a vision of grief, watches Jessica's surgery through the OR glass and wonders aloud if Jessica will even remember her father. What? The girl is, like, nine. She can probably recite entire Sweet Valley High novels. I think she'll vaguely recall having a dad. But no, we have to hear Mark tell a long story about how Rachel broke her arm when she was six, but all she remembers from that year is seeing Muppets On Ice. Um, Mark? That's not normal. Maybe you should've had her head examined. Mark's happy and false moral is that kids only remember the good things, which is the lamest...oh, forget it. He's leaving the show. That's going to become my mantra. Romano trots out and shares that Jessica's hand is salvageable -- with some skin grafts, she'll be able to regain limited use of it. Grace exhales for the first time all morning.
Urgently, Abby taps on the window to summon Mark. "Dr. Corday and the paramedics are on the way with your daughter," she says quietly. She adds that it's a suspected Ecstasy overdose. Mark's pace quickens as they make a beeline for the elevator. "Did they say how much Rachel took?" he frets. Nice touch, actually -- it makes total sense that he'd assume it was Rachel, although it doesn't make sense that medics would relay the information from the ambulance and neglect to mention that it's an infant who overdosed. Mark pumps Abby for information, but she has none, and he impatiently decides to take the stairs. Abby follows.
Mark parts crowds with judiciously thrown elbows and follows Haleh into Trauma Yellow. As he swings through the doors, we switch to a slow-motion POV shot in which we see doctors huddled over a gurney, then moving aside to reveal a flailing baby Ella. "Oh, God," Mark breathes. You know, this scene would've been really effective if we hadn't already known it was Ella and not Rachel. As it stands, though, it had no impact on me because Mark's such a lackluster presence. Elizabeth weeps, "She's diaphoretic!" Which is...um, bad. As Chen and the nurses bustle around the baby, Elizabeth -- who hovers over the gurney -- blows the whistle on Rachel to an alarmed Mark. He snaps on his gloves and jumps in on the action, yelling for a glove full of ice to help cool his sweltering child. Elizabeth also has gloves on, but she's feeling woozy and someone has to pull up a stool for her to prevent a collapse. Chen shouts for a crash cart: Ella's vitals are bad and they can't get a proper line because the medics blew two veins in the ambulance. Ella cries. Elizabeth sweats. Mark putters. When Elizabeth protests the crash cart idea, Chen finally notices that two of the three doctors on the scene are parents of the patient, and firmly whispers for Abby to find Weaver immediately.
Weaver is busy with Blind Manny, who has lost Stinky. Kindly, she sits him down in the waiting room, just as a wheezy, sneezing Gallant appears with the frisky pooch. Stinky had to take a bathroom break. Gallant brown-bagged the poo, but it drops out of the packet after a particularly violent sneeze. Man, they go from a dying baby to a poo joke. Classy! Can we get some farting over here, stat? Chuny frantically grabs Weaver and alerts her to the problems unfolding in Trauma Yellow.
Kerry enters the room, swiftly assesses the situation, and calmly wiggles between Mark -- who is actively working on Ella -- and Elizabeth -- who is about to faint. "Mark, we both know how difficult it can be [when] working on a family member," Kerry says softly. "On your own child, in particular." Mark stiffly insists that he's fine and orders up a particular course of treatment. "No, you need to step aside," Kerry urges him, but gently, pointing out that the meds he wanted "can cause cardio collapse and death in kids under one." At least, I think that's the gist; words confound me sometimes. Mark sighs shakily and changes the path of treatment while Kerry turns sympathetically to Elizabeth. "You're soaking wet," she coos, wiping Lizzie's hair off her sticky brow and calmly telling Abby to set up a room for Elizabeth. As Elizabeth argues the issue, Kerry gracefully explains that she'll be more of a help to Ella if she's comfortable and conscious -- and, also, not breathing flu toxins all over the place. Someone put a mask on that woman. Although I have to give Alex Kingston a lot of credit for bravely looking like an absolute nightmare throughout the episode. "She's okay -- she's stable now," Mark tells Elizabeth. The Bleeper appears to agree, as it's making relatively reassuring noises, so Abby escorts Elizabeth door to Exam Two, from which she can still observe.
No sooner has the door shut than The Bleeper gets pissed off and ratchets up NBC's bill by another few Benjamins. Ella's pulse has plummeted and her lungs are filling with fluid. Weaver wants to intubate, but Mark swears he can get her out of this condition without it and wants to wait for the diuretics to work. "Mark, your baby's hypoxic," Weaver asserts. "I know you want to avoid unnecessary procedures, but if we don't intubate now, you're making a big mistake. Step aside." Chen backs up Weaver on this. "If this wasn't your baby, you would've intubated a long time ago," Kerry whispers. "I'm trying to save her life." Chen watches with flickers of respect in her expression. Kerry is being completely human and classy about this, too, especially because it's a situation in which she could be very annoyed and highly panicked. Mark reluctantly backs away and leans impotently against the door to Exam Two, biting his lip, wishing he'd practiced what he preached to Grace. Mark is so boring, not even he listens to himself.
At the front desk, Susan and Carter stare in the general direction of the trauma room and commiserate about feeling powerless. "There's nothing we can do," Carter says. "There's three doctors in there. We'd just be in the way." They've both heard how it happened, and stare at the floor in total "these damn kids today" depression. Suddenly, Susan squints at an approaching figure. "Is that Rachel?" she asks. ["I assume she didn't recognize her because she looks like a totally different person than the one Susan knew a few years ago." -- Wing Chun] Carter nods wordlessly, and Susan leaves to talk to the teen.
Eleanor, meanwhile, has ferreted out Carter. She bitches that Mickey has been stuck upstairs for an hour without medical attention. "Yeah, that's not uncommon," Carter replies in clipped tones, trying again to look busy. Eleanor insists it is not acceptable, so Carter offers her some coffee to at least transfer this conversation to a quieter area.
They've barely been in the lounge for thirty seconds when Eleanor produces Mickey's lab slips and orders Carter to read them. He can't believe she stole them, but she's resolute, giving him a stubborn and unblinking "I heard they were back, but no one gave us the results." She can't figure out why it's wrong that she's pushing for specialized treatment and pinching lab paperwork. She doesn't know that rich people should at least try to offer a bribe. Carter charmlessly grabs the folder, skims it, and breaks the news that Mickey's out of remission and in a state called "blast crisis," which means the leukemia is infecting his bone marrow. Eleanor still strives to involve Carter personally in Mickey's treatment; he rummages in his locker to avoid looking at his mother. "He's just a number to [the oncologist]. Maybe if you spoke to the doctors, they'd take a more personal interest," she pleads desperately. Carter slams his locker and whirls around, demanding to know why Eleanor's taking such an obsessive interest in a stranger. "I'm trying to help a sick child," she insists. "Mom, he has leukemia. He may not survive," Carter spits. "Look, if you've got some kind of twisted need to relive this, that's fine, but I'm not going to do it again. I made my peace long ago." Eleanor's bravado cracks a bit, but she stands firm.
With Ella's condition stabilized again, the chaos in Trauma Yellow has abated. Kerry figures they can extubate in the morning, provided Ella spends a calm night in the PICU. Elizabeth dazedly demands a rollaway bed so she can sleep to her baby. Charming, since she once came home from a long shift and killed time for ten minutes before so much as looking at her baby. Susan briefly intercedes to point out that Rachel is waiting outside. Weaver flashes a sad glance at Mark, who clenches his jaw and storms toward the bad seed. Elizabeth fumes. If looks were daggers, Rachel would be a knife rack.
"Where have you been?" Mark rages. "Is she okay?" Rachel murmurs. "Does she look okay?" spits Mark. Rachel meekly apologizes, which infuriates Mark; Susan tries to calm him, but suddenly Mark's all forceful and comes very close to actually shoving Susan aside. He backs Rachel down a hallway, reaming her for bringing drugs into his house and leaving them within reach of a grabby and curious baby. Mark's too controlled here, though, and sounds like this is a routine lecture. He acts bored by it all. They should just put a telephone in the shot so Anthony Edwards can more blatantly phone it in. Rachel pretends the drugs weren't hers -- Rex The Wonder Preemie has been pimping Ella for pills and giving her a healthy percentage. Mark doesn't buy it. "Stop lying!" he yells. Rachel pathetically begs for reassurance that Ella will be fine. "Are you really that stupid?" seethes Mark. "Ella is nine months old! She almost died!" Rachel crumbles. "Dad, don't..." "Don't call you a liar?" Mark continues. "Because that's what you are, Rachel. You promised me you weren't doing drugs!" He lists the side effects Ella could suffer, including disability, memory impairment, and low IQ, although the last could just be the fault of genetics. I appreciate that Mark's mad, but I wonder if it might've tortured Rachel more to let her stew for a while without any kind of confrontation or comfort. Not that parenting should be about torture, but he totally gives her a chance to play for his sympathy, and Rachel seizes it, either with genuine emotion or because she's trying to save her own behind. ["I think the latter. Who among us hasn't cried to mollify a parent and get what we want? I know I have." -- Wing Chun] Her lip trembling, Rachel throws herself at Mark and hugs him, weeping. "Dad, please, I'm sorry!" she snivels. Mark is vaguely repulsed, and waits a good ten seconds before half-heartedly embracing her. We're supposed to think he cries eventually, but Anthony Edwards is too busy to act -- he's mentally baking his own goodbye cake. This scene was almost good, if not for that and Hallee Hirsh's inability to play genuine sorrow. It's been mentioned in the forums that she's a great bitchy, evil child, but when it comes time to play scenes for sympathy, her performance rings totally hollow. That's the problem here -- her grief just comes off as soulless whining.
Elizabeth follows Ella to the PICU, where Dr. Babcock approaches to work on Ella. While he reads the chart, Elizabeth quietly demands that the nurse page another doctor, because she once shared a bad plot with this one and there are "faw bawdies in the mawgue" and Babcock's her pick for Angel of Death, 2001-02. She won't let Babcock touch Ella. Annoyed, Babcock says they need to wean Ella off the oxygen, and it's his job to handle this; he tries to brush past her, but Elizabeth bares her fangs and starts shoving him toward the door. "You do not touch my child! Do you hear me?" screeches Lizzie. Babcock's all, "Send this rabid bitch to the pound." Romano notices the commotion and forcefully boots Babcock. Go Romano!
Mark, downstairs, is about to go up to the PICU with Rachel when he spies Weaver. We establish that Ella's lungs are drying out, but that she's still got a long way to go before she's healthy again. Weaver notices that Rachel is huddled meekly against the wall. "My prayers are with you all," she says pointedly, turning to leave. "Kerry!" Mark calls out. "Thank you." Weaver smiles grimly.
Abby announces to Carter that she's fleeing while her eyes are still dry. "Is your mom still upstairs?" she asks. "Don't know," he brats. "Don't care?" she wonders. Stacy interrupts to thank Abby -- it seems the cops booked Mackenzie for a DUI and will let her post bail in a few hours. "I made an appointment at that treatment center," Stacy smiles gratefully. Carter's confused, because he heard Stacy was driving, but Abby and the girl play dumb. Abby sincerely wishes Stacy the best of luck. Carter can't believe Abby cheated the police. "She's her mother's best chance for recovery," Abby says, speaking from experience. She considers Carter for a second and adds, "I think you know that." She leaves Carter to chew on guilty feelings about whether he might be partly to blame for his fractured relationship with Eleanor. At least, that's what the anvil had written on it.
On her way out, Abby passes Manny and notices he's dead. Stinky whines.
Elizabeth has fallen asleep watching Ella. Mark wakes her and says, "Rachel's here." Elizabeth glares at her stepchild through the PICU door, not one bit charmed by the wet eyes and doleful expression. "Did you call the police?" hisses Elizabeth. Mark's balls shrivel to microscopic proportions; he coughs and avoids answering. "She wants to talk to you," he offers. Elizabeth regards Rachel once more through her red-rimmed eyes and feverish blur, hates her even more and silently prays she'll be banished to hell -- that is, to Reba. "I can't," she chokes. Mark looks disappointed that this family reunion will take a bit of actual work. He's all, "It was just Ecstasy -- at least Ella was totally happy while she was dying." Elizabeth watches emptily as Mark escorts Rachel away to the cafeteria. I completely agree with Sars, who pointed out that this scene might mean something if we'd ever before seen Elizabeth enjoying motherhood. But she's been such a shrill Gorgon all season with regard to the rigors of parenting, I'm just sick and tired of dealing with her. The storyline itself isn't awful, but because Mark's a washed-up vessel and Elizabeth's been poorly written, the whole plot is wasted because it revolves around a couple about which there's no more shit left to give. I have zero sympathy for anyone in this storyline, except for baby Ella, who got all cuted up before her overdose scene and who really did cry herself blue.
Susan wants to visit Ella, but knows deep down that Elizabeth and Mark probably need to be left alone right now. Romano casually suggests ordering dinner for them and bringing it upstairs so they don't have to leave their daughter. "That'd be nice," beams Susan. Weaver passes on her way out. "Good night," Susan says respectfully. Way to smooch booty, there, Sue. Weaver is startled but reciprocates, then crosses paths with Chen. "Good night, Dr. Weaver," Chen says, swallowing her distaste in a tacit acknowledgment of Kerry's deft handling of Mark and Elizabeth. Kerry offers an awkward farewell and heads out into the night.
Stinky barks and trots up to Weaver, followed shortly by a panting and still-allergic Gallant, who's stuck looking after the mutt until Animal Control arrives. Kerry tiredly orders Gallant inside to take an antihistamine, then stares at Stinky. Stinky stares back. "I don't like dogs," Little Orphan Kerry insists. "And I don't like your name." Stinky woofs and offers her a paw. "Give me a break," groans Kerry. But the lonely woman can't resist, and walks home with Stinky. "You'd better be housebroken, because if you're not, you're going right back to the pound," she cautions. And off they go, two lost souls united, waiting for Daddy Warbucks to show up with adoption papers and a spanking new locket.
Joyce bangs on Abby's apartment door. "It's me, let me in," she whispers, terrified. Abby opens the door, and Joyce bolts inside, locking the door and turning off all the lights. "What's going on?" Abby demands, confused. Well, since she's your neighbor with the violent husband, she's probably seeking sanctuary from the robot snakes that chased her home from work. Dolt. Sure enough, Brian starts banging angrily on the door, which probably pleases the entire building to no end. Abby groans and moves to answer the door, but Joyce pleads for her to stop. "He's just looking any place he can think of," she whimpers. Brian screams, "Open up, dammit!" Abby wants to call the police, but Joyce just wants to wait for Brian to calm down. With one final, frustrated thud, Brian apparently leaves. Joyce, trembling, wants to take refuge at Abby's a bit longer, and sobs quietly, huddled in the corner. Abby exhales tensely and stares at her door.
Carter creeps into Mickey's room, where Eleanor is sleeping in a chair by the bed. She's so clearly not sleeping, though -- there's no way. Her entire body's rigid and she's making an obvious effort to keep her head from lolling to one side. Mickey smiles. "She's pretty tired," he whispers. Carter perches on the bed and gingerly asks how Mickey is feeling, and whether he's aware what's happening. "I know it's back," he whispers. "But...I don't think it'll be as bad this time. I was by myself before." The piano music kicks in to inform us we're in the presence of Mr. September in the 2002 Courage Calendar. Carter gazes in awe and bewilderment at his mother.
Rachel cries alone in the hospital hallway. Upstairs, an emotionally drained Elizabeth watches over Ella. Mark sidles up behind her and touches her shoulder gently. "She looks asleep," Elizabeth cries gently. "But she's not." Mark avers that Ella will pull through, but his attempt at desperate confidence comes off more like constipation. Elizabeth is full-on sobbing now, aware Ella might never again open her eyes. "I don't understand why this is happening," she sniffles. Mark rocks her lightly. "It'll be okay," he lies. "You don't know that, do you?" Elizabeth prods him. Mark screws up his face so we can't tell no tears are falling. "No," he faux-weeps. "I don't."