Okay, so if I were your regular recapper, I would have known to set my TiVo to start early, but it slipped my feeble and rusty mind that NBC always starts this show a minute or two early in order to suck additional advertising dollars out of its pale, bloodless corpse. So whatever happened in the first minute or two, you will have to figure out for yourself. I'm sure it wasn't crucial. There might have been bleeding, or atmospheric snow to convey loneliness, but that's about it.
TiVo kicks in as Kerry and Carter help wheel a car-accident victim down the hallway, and Kerry asks if she has any medical problems. When the girl gives a noncommittal gurgle and horks up a few tablespoons of blood, Abby says, "That's a 'yes.'" Which sounds like a good zinger until you actually think about it for ten seconds, because obviously Weaver meant "other than the blood pouring from your head," so it's not exactly an effective burn. Nice try, though.
down the chute is Chen, riding the gurney with the victim as Haleh bags her. I swear to God, nothing about that sentence is dirty. The accompanying paramedic, meanwhile, is oozing exposition from the mouth as he explains that all these mangled adolescents were hit by a car outside their school. Run down by a classmate -- a difficult way to go.
Dark-Haired Accident Victim is thumped down on her backboard in a trauma room as Chen, Haleh, and Pratt work on her. Romano enters, and is assigned the especially unlikely and pointless remark that pedestrians who are hit by cars often emerge with injuries. Only he says it like kind of a prick, on account of the fact that he is one. He wants everybody to stop trying to save the doomed student, because her recovery is as likely as his winning a Hyundai on a game show, as he puts it. I wish I were making up the absolute lameness of the banter. Satisfied that he has uncorked the obligatory misanthropic one-liner and that the Steadicam operator is in place behind him, Romano enters the room where Weaver and Carter are working on the other victim. Carter calls her "Kayla," I believe. Man, if they're in high school, they were born in about 1987, and if she was born in 1987 and is named Kayla, she is named after a soap-opera character. Try to contain your contempt -- I know it won't be easy. SoapGirl allows Carter to suck a cup or so of blood from her mouth, and when Romano sees that she's scared, he gives her the utterly charming reassurance that he never lets anything happen to a "pretty girls like [her]." Ugly girls can go die, I suppose. And rightly so -- what good are ugly girls? I swear, if a doctor said anything that revolting to me -- even if I were sixteen -- I would spend the hour memorizing everything that happened for use in my future lawsuit, in which I would take his house, his car, and his golf clubs. Prick. They poke at SoapGirl a bit, and then Romano tells her they have to operate on her "belly." That's all the information she needs, of course. No sense confusing a pretty girl with words like "stomach" or "intestines" or "spleen." She's lucky he didn't say "tum-tum."
Anspaugh comes in and asks to speak to Romano privately. Good grief, right now? While Romano's up to his elbows in the blood of the innocent? Is that likely? I think not. Romano predictably gives him lip, so as the others who toil are preparing to ship SoapGirl upstairs to be worked on, Anspaugh goes ahead and breaks the news that Romano can't scrub in, because his privileges are being limited. Nothing personal, it's just the Bob Dole Arm. Romano looks shocked and appalled, because only he is allowed to be an ass and not care about anyone else's feelings. Anspaugh and Carter leave with SoapGirl, and Anspaugh congratulates Kerry as he goes. Kerry and Abby then stare after Romano as he steams off down the corridor, infuriated. Some editor or other earns his paycheck as they merge Romano's kick to a metal trashcan into that dramatic "POW!" that starts the theme music. That would be the theme music which, by the way, I hate intensely and always have. Even when the show didn't suck like a hundred octopus tentacles the way it does now, the theme music was dull and muddled. By the way, I actually know a guy who once got frustrated at work and kicked a metal trashcan down a long marble hallway, just like in the movies. From what I heard, it was even more dramatic than this. He got quite a lot of echo.
Commercials. Bras and underwear, stat!
Abby and Susan sit outside on the Gossip Stoop, lamenting those crazy teenaged drivers just like a couple of old ladies meeting up at the Efferdent sale. Then, the conversation turns to Carter. It's unfortunate, but you know the way you often find yourself yapping with your friends about their boring boyfriends, no matter how boring the boring boyfriends are. Anyway, Abby tells Susan that Carter is going to Belize to go scuba diving with his fraternity pals. And, presumably, to end up as a cautionary tale on the Fox reality special, When Big Fish Devour Doctors. There is some babbling about how those silly boys are always going off on their adventures, and how they're all wacky and stuff, and don't you just love them, and so forth. Susan reveals that she has a blind date, having allowed herself to be set up by "a friend of a friend." Eesh, that is way too tenuous a connection for a blind date. When you know somebody who knows somebody who knows your blind date, I would venture to say you don't have nearly enough information. When Abby teases Susan about the blind date aspect itself, Susan says that this means some people "never leave high school." Again, it's a dumb-ass effort at a witty remark, because blind dates aren't strongly associated with high school. They're strongly associated -- at least for me -- with singlehood, but not high-school singlehood. But enough about romance -- time to meet the ambulance, which is just pulling in.
It's another victim of the carnage over at Sweet Valley High, and this one is in a bad way. She asks how her friends are, and Susan assures her that everything possible is being done. Which anyone who watches television will recognize as doctor talk for "You might want to iron that black dress and figure out whether your friends would prefer 'Wind Beneath My Wings,' 'One Sweet Day,' or 'Hero.'"
And now, it's time to pull our last victim off the ambulance. Her name is Helen, and she's the driver. Asked by Weaver where she's hurt, she says, "Everywhere, all the time." Hmm. It's off to Trauma Two with you, Helen!
Meanwhile, inside, Pratt is still trying to save the hopeless case off of which Romano was trying to pry him previously. But alas, the lass, she does not respond. Kerry comes in and basically asks them what's with the pounding on the dead girl. Pratt and Chen want to keep trying, but Kerry tells them it's enough -- time to call it. Just then, Gallant and one of the paramedics start to wheel Helen in, thinking the room is clear. They turn around to relocate, but not before Helen reads the writing on the wall and asks if the girl they're working on is dead. Nobody answers her, so of course they might as well have just said, "Yes." Chen calls the time of death on poor Lila Fowler, and the steady beep of the heart monitor gives her the twenty-one-second salute.
Out at the desk, Frank is being a big buttinsky, reading the note that's attached to the bottle of wine Kerry just received. It's from the alderman, unsurprisingly. Chen smugs that he's "trying to get her change teams." Oh, how witty. When Frank is gone, Pratt comes up behind Chen and "hey baby"s in her ear about how he could pick up some of that wine for them later, hubba hubba, and she makes a crack about the high price, and he says she can pay. I swear, that bit of banter could not have been less sexy if they had done the whole thing in binary code. "!" "!" See? Equally hot.
Carter updates everyone on some patients and then gives the room the kiss-off and says he's about to head off to Belize. He is warned about airsickness and bugs, and then, standing over at the patient tracking board -- transparent for your Inventive Camera Work pleasure -- he asks Chen about her and Pratt. She kind of blows it off and kind of doesn't, in that way that makes you wonder why the hell they even put that conversation in the episode, considering that it is not at all interesting, and tells you nothing you didn't know from the incredibly steamy Soporific Wine Dance of Seduction Or Possibly Not of a minute ago.
An exhausted-looking Abby approaches Frank asking about an OB bed, but he changes the subject by passing the unwelcome news that her mom is on the phone. Abby makes herself scarce, telling Frank to make her apologies to the Flying Mom. As she leaves, Carter joins her, and they chat about the fact that her mother has called a couple of times, but Abby's just not up to it today. They head to the lockers, and Abby tells Carter that she's just had enough of mom's cycle of making up and making trouble. She tells him that she took a split shift so that she could say goodbye to him. He points out rather dimly that his flight doesn't leave for quite a while, and she says, "I know," with her little do-I-have-to-draw-you-diagrams smile. He finally gets it. Or gets that he's about to get it. Get it?
Apparently, the police department has found a way around the child-labor laws, because an officer who looks to be about fifteen is interviewing Sasha the Surviving Social Butterfly while Susan and Gallant discuss her progress. Helen smashed into Sasha in the accident, but didn't die. Like many popular girls, she's stronger than dirt. She's not all that badly injured, so Susan gives some advice about stitches, and then they move on to the matter of Helen, the driver. She injured her ankle in the accident, and Gallant mentions that she "apparently lost control of her car." As they walk, Chuny comes up and directs Susan's attention to Patrick Fugit of Almost Famous, who is sitting in chairs in an ominous knit hat waiting to see someone about his PIC line. Susan says she needs a couple of minutes, and he nods his assent.
As they head in to see Helen, Gallant basically communicates that Helen is striking him as a trifle weird, despite the fact that she was clean of booze and drugs and her head shots looked fine. They reach her. Helen claims to remember Susan, and Gallant refreshes Susan's memory that she saw Helen the week before and diagnosed her with hepatitis. Susan asks what happened, and Helen says that she swerved to avoid a squirrel and, you know, mowed down a bunch of students. Well, that'll happen. Susan asks about the swerving, and Helen explains that squirrels are rabies carriers, and adds that she's not quite right in the head. I mean, the last part is implied more than stated, but still. As the docs leave, they make a few more remarks to the effect that Helen has that vague vibe of weirdness that they just can't put their finger on. Frank stops Susan in the hall to tell her that her blind date called to nix the restaurant she picked. And what did she pick? A steakhouse. Now maybe it's because I went to a college that was awash in eligible vegetarians, but I would never pick a steakhouse for a blind date, for exactly this reason. No wonder Susan is alone.
Romano is acting all supervisory with the surgical types when he is approached by Kerry, who is dressed up in a black suit over a lavender sweater. She tells him that the press conference to announce her new plum appointment, courtesy of the alderman -- perhaps it's an appointment to the STD Concealment Advisory Council -- is imminent. He bitterly promises to be there. She says she knows he wanted the spot for himself, so she wanted to be her usual sensitive, caring self and make sure he was feeling swell about it. He takes a deep breath: "How am I feeling...pretty damn grateful, actually. I've got a good heart, good soul, and unlike our newly-appointed liaison, two good legs." Have I mentioned what a complete prick he is? Good grief. I mean, I realize that Kerry has her moments when she deserves a smack, but she was being relatively decent at that particular moment, so even if hauling out the disability humor were a winning strategy at any time, it wouldn't seem like a particularly good one at that time. Kerry doesn't respond, as someone arrives just then to fetch her for the press conference. As she leaves, Romano suggests that she "ask [herself] what [she] did to deserve this." That would have been a pretty good line if he hadn't been such a jackass thirty seconds ago. She chalks it up to hard work (relaxing your ethics is taxing, you know), and he makes a comment about "what [the] alderman wants in return." "He doesn't want anything," Kerry spits. "Not everyone is an opportunistic asshole like you." First of all, "asshole"? On a network? I have to admit, that's a new one on me. I guess that's what passes for "groundbreaking" in the halls of NBC these days. Second of all, she certainly is feeling full of herself, considering that the prick is, in this case, right.
Carter and Abby loll about in post-coital bliss. Or...you know, post-coital lolling, anyway. He asks her if it's really okay for him to go to Belize, and she says it is, and then he asks her what she's thinking. My, this certainly is some lively conversation. Never have two people so clearly demonstrated that nudity is no antidote to boredom. He asks if she's thinking about work. No. Her mom? No. What is she thinking about? Well, an overlong buildup leads to the revelation that she is thinking about the song "Afternoon Delight." Because the only '70s song that anyone in television or movies knows to use as a punch line anymore is "Afternoon Delight." It was substantially funnier both in Good Will Hunting and on Sports Night, so it might be a good idea to find another song the time someone really needs one. This scene is supposed to be...I don't know, sexy? Affectionate generally? Whatever. They look awkward and goofy, and not the least bit couple-ish. She has just always seemed so obviously not into him that I just can't buy them together. Apart, I've never found either of them any more annoying than the rest of the cast, but together? Meh. They unplug the phone, the better to continue all the unsatisfying sex without interruptions.
Press conference. Alderman Mick (I think Hill Street Blues whenever I see Bruce Weitz, and I always will) announces Kerry's new position as county liaison to the blah blah blah commission on something something something. Snore. She thanks the hospital for its support. She acknowledges the great responsibility of it all. She thanks Parker Stevenson for giving her the big one. Oh, no, that's something else. Anyway, she defends herself as eminently qualified, despite her lack of experience in public policy, and then she fields a ridiculous question about balancing work and her home life. It's a question that would never actually be asked, but it gives Alderman Mick an opportunity to make a remark about Kerry being single and him being single, and ho-ho-ho, that means neither of them has any life to be interfered with. Because you know about the single people and the polyester pods they crawl into whenever they leave work. Romano seethes. And then he seethes some more. He's the big seether. He's all seethey. He's seethe-tastic.
Commercials. Jon Bon Jovi, stat!
Gallant approaches Susan, who is standing at the vending machine while talking on her cell phone to her blind date about the fact that he doesn't eat chicken, but does eat fried tofu. She gets off the phone and tells Gallant that her date is "a vegan, whatever the hell that means." You know, it's not as if I expect great realism from this silly show anymore, but just for the record, the notion of a doctor of Susan's vintage not knowing what "vegan" means is asinine. And it's not like her bewilderment is necessary -- she could just have said what I always say, which is, "Vegans are not to be trusted." (Just kidding, vegans!) (Confidential to non-vegans: Totally not kidding.) Anyway, Fugit -- conveniently nearby -- answers her by saying, "Nothing with a face. No eggs, no meat, no dairy." Uh, cute line, Fugit, but eggs don't have a face, and neither does cottage cheese. In my experience, the "nothing with a face" rule is used by people who DON'T eat meat, fish, or chicken, but DO eat milk, cheese, and eggs. Your mileage (when speeding up to run over vegans) may, of course, vary. The whole point of a vegan is that they don't eat animal products at all, face or no face. So thanks for the sloppy writing, writers. Susan thanks Fugit for giving her this bullshit answer to something she would undoubtedly know anyway. Fugit introduces himself to her as Sean, and then she gives him whatever she just got out of the machine, because she has to go work on what's coming down the hallway, which is a very old woman with very low blood pressure. The patient is accompanied by her daughter.
Chen is counting out drugs when Pratt comes up behind her and asks for some. They have a little chat where he claims that he doesn't want to start gossip any more than she does, and then he gets sent off to see a patient. Chuny gives Chen some crap about Pratt, and then leaves. I'm sorry, what was the point of that scene? Good grief, there certainly is some raggedy-ass writing going on.
Pratt meets up with his new patient, who takes the form of Joey Tribbiani's father. It seems he's been taking shots of B12 for about fifteen years, ever since his doctor diagnosed him with pernicious anemia. His doctor recently died, so he hasn't had his B12 shot, and he's in for a fix. When Pratt balks, Mr. Tribbiani assures him that there's nothing to worry about, because he knows what he's talking about. He hands Pratt a business card that identifies Mr. Tribbiani as the president of Victims of Pernicious Anemia.
The old lady's daughter follows Susan down the corridor as Susan explains that Mama has a kidney infection, along with some other problems. Daughter wants to know if it's serious, and Susan points out that Mama is ninety-four years old, and at ninety-four, it's all serious.
And now, it's time for a few more of the denizens of the high school to show up and investigate the happenings. Mary Cherry and Nicole come stomping down the hall looking for their friends who were in the accident. Susan intercepts them and says she can't give information out, so they should go back to school and wait to hear. They spot Helen through a window, however, and dash into her room, demanding to know what happened. When Helen hesitates, Mary Cherry declares Helen a "freak," grabs Nicole, and gets gone, vowing to get the information through her mom, who's "friends with the principal." When they're gone, Helen explains to Susan that those are the popular girls. Or, you know, Popular girls.
Alderman Mick is congratulating Kerry as they step off an elevator together. He's sucking up to her about how great she is, and then he mentions that he still has some pain from his injury. Kerry -- being helpful and a little corrupt -- offers him another wad of Vicodin without even being asked. Well, sure! Why not? Susan looks on a little dubiously at this, but says nothing. Once Alderman Mick is gone, Susan congratulates Kerry and asks her for a needed signature, which Kerry provides. Susan thinks Kerry should use the plum position to get some more nurses for County. Wow, nothing creates drama like the internal budget. Really. Come on! More about the cost of paper towels! My appetite is whetted!
Kerry checks with Chuny that there's no word from the absent Luka. She picks up the phone and calls him. His machine picks up, so she leaves a message that says, "Luka, this is Kerry Weaver. I'm down two Attendings and up forty patients. If you don't get in here and start working your scheduled shifts, I'm gonna call the INS, tell them your green card's a fake, and have your ass deported." Heh. Oh, come on, she wasn't serious! She's not really going to have him deported. She's just annoyed -- and rightly so. Way to brood on somebody else's dime, Captain Tall and Lovely. You could at least leave word.
From outside Helen's room, Gallant is eyeing her nervously through the door. Kerry approaches and encourages him to go inside the room in order to examine the patient. She then rushes off to the lounge.
Abby shows up at the desk, looking surprisingly non-perky for a girl who just got lucky in the middle of the afternoon. Or...you know, luckier than if she'd been treating sucking wounds, one would hope, even if the sex was rather unsatisfying, as I think we all secretly suspect. How can she be this glum all the time? Frank tells her there are more messages from the Flying Mom. The Flying Mom apparently says it's urgent. Of course, the Flying Mom says that a lot, so Abby's not buying. "Carter get off okay?" Susan asks. "Yes, he did," Abby says flatly. Oh, look at that. Such a lame, easy joke, and yet the best thing in the episode. Sad, really. Susan encourages Abby to come out with her and her blind date later, but Abby (for good reason) isn't in a fifth-wheel mood. There is some razzing of Susan about the date, and she assures everyone that she's had his record checked for arrests. Just then, a cab driver runs in and says he's got a lady who won't get out of his cab, and needs a doctor. Chen, Susan, and Abby stand there while Pratt runs out to see what's up.
In the cab, Pratt finds a woman who is clearly in a bad way. The driver doesn't know who she is, but she's wearing a purple fur jacket, and if you've ever seen a television show before, you know that means one thing: she has just killed a very rare Venetian Tinted Sheep. No, not really. What it means is, "Hooker." Chen and Abby join in, and as they check her over, they see that her abdomen has been slashed. They rush her inside, while the cab driver laments the fact that he's not been paid.
Inside, Chen, Abby, and Pratt work on Purple Fur. As they try to find out what happened, she mumbles weakly that somebody needs to pick up her kids from school. Pratt tells her that they can bring her kids, but she has to tell them her name. She tells them it's Monica. Monica wants to get up and go for her kids, but Chen assures her that a belly with a flapping slash through it isn't a useful accessory for a woman on the go. Meanwhile, the cab driver returns and storms into the room (unimpeded, I suppose, by security of any kind) for the sole reason of demanding his money, which in turn happens for the sole reason of allowing him to tell the doctors to look in Monica's bra for money, because she's -- shocker of shockers -- a hooker! My stars! Whatever. Pratt throws the guy out of the room.
Romano enters the Monica Treatment Room with three medical students he's supervising. See, he's been busted down to teaching, on account of the Bob Dole Arm. He butts in a little, helps out a little, and gives a few orders, and then he herds the students back out again. Just as he goes, Abby wonders to Chen who should sign Monica's chart on the surgical consult. Romano angrily insists that he's perfectly within his authority to sign it, so he does. There is totally nothing more fascinating than a really aggressive prick.
Gallant and Kerry are looking over Helen, who is protesting that she doesn't like to be touched. When Kerry gets around to getting up close and personal with Helen's eyeballs, she notices something, and tells Gallant to get Susan. When he's gone, she quizzes Helen about whether she has rigid or jerky muscles, and Helen allows as how she can be a "spaz." Man, me too. When Susan breezes in with Gallant, Kerry points out that Helen has gold-colored deposits in her eyes, which, as the doctors discuss, are a sign of Wilson's disease, in which the body has trouble excreting copper, so it builds up in places like your liver (which is why Susan thought Helen had hepatitis) and your brain (which is why she's weird, maybe). As Susan and Kerry leave Helen's room, Kerry gives Susan some crap about how she saw this girl a week ago and missed it. Hassling ensues.
Just as Susan finishes getting chewed out by Weaver, Chuny calls her in to check on Mama, who's having some trouble breathing. In her room, Daughter is fretting over what all the trouble is about. Susan points out, not to put too fine a point on it, that Mama is ninety-four, and pretty much dying of old age, so it might be a good time to consider easing up and letting her go. Daughter: "I need her!" Susan: "[sympathetically] Of course you need her." Daughter: "No, I need her Social Security checks." And if you didn't know Daughter was going to say that from the minute she said "I need her," you have never watched this show, because I certainly knew that was what she was going to say. At any rate, Susan looks shocked, because she apparently hasn't ever seen the show.
Chen is stitching up some incidental injuries on a now-coherent Purple Fur/Monica. Monica tells them that the guy who slashed her was a regular who just went nuts. Chen says, "May be time for a new profession," because after all, being the morality police is what she went to medical school for. Monica says that she does it to feed her kids. Abby asks how old the kids are, and Monica says they're seven and twelve. Chen asks if they know what she does, and Monica says no. She says she's with them in the mornings, and she's with them in the evenings, and she only leaves after they're asleep. Chen asks, shocked, whether Monica goes out after her children are in bed. Beginning to feel the pressure of Chen's judgmental gaze, Monica points out that she has no drug habit and no pimp -- she does this only to support her kids. "But they're home by themselves," Chen says in an entirely inappropriately sing-song tone of judgment, because she's quite an authority on how to live one's life. Just then, a cop knocks on the door. Monica says she doesn't want to talk to him, but of course, Chen implies that she has to. I would point out that unless she's under arrest, I don't think she has to explain her situation to the police if she doesn't want to. Shut up, Chen. Abby goes to the door to tell the cop that Monica doesn't want to say anything, but to her surprise, the cop is there to see Abby, not Monica. He tells Abby that Eric's plane has gone missing over Lake Superior, which is what her mom has been trying and trying to call her about. The cop tells Abby she'll have to call the FAA for the details. Abby stands there looking shocked.
Commercials. Willie Nelson, stat!
When we return, Abby is sitting in the lounge on the phone just as Susan enters. Susan tries to half-eavesdrop on Abby's efforts to get the person on the phone to tell her how it's possible for a plane to disappear from radar. The person on the other end of the phone is obviously telling her that they don't want to jump to conclusions, but they think the plane probably went down. She muddles around looking for other options for why this might have happened, but since they got no communications from Eric before the plane disappeared, there's very little they can tell her except that first the plane was on the radar, and then it wasn't. Eventually, Abby hangs up. Susan comes over to Abby and says, confused, that she thought Eric was an air traffic controller. Abby confirms that he was, but that he'd also been interested in flying, and just recently got his license. She says she tried to reach Carter before his plane left Miami, but she was too late. Susan asks whether the Flying Mom knows anything else about Eric's situation, but Abby says, with obvious guilt masquerading as bravado, that she hasn't called the Flying Mom yet. She's finding Eric's disappearing act to be enough to deal with without taking on her mother's histrionics. Although it sounds sort of cold, I really can't blame her. Her whole life with her mother has been caretaking, and there does come a point where you have to reserve enough to take care of yourself. She'll feel better when she's talked to the Flying Mom, but I'm not surprised she hasn't been able to take it on yet. As Abby leaves, she asks Susan whether people know about Eric. Susan says, "Some." Abby says she'd rather it didn't get around any more than necessary. Susan encourages her to go home, but Abby doesn't really want to go stare at the walls, so she decides to hang around.
Out at the desk, Chuny points out Monica's kids to Abby -- they're sitting in chairs. Abby goes over to talk to them. They want to know if their mom will be all right, and she assures them that Mom will be fine. She takes them to Monica's room, where it appears that a frustrated cop is just leaving. Chen lets them in to see Monica, who greets them with obvious love and warmth. Chen and Abby stand outside and watch through the door, and Chen tut-tuts that Monica told the cop she fell through a window, and will likely tell the kids the same thing. Abby points out that telling them the truth wouldn't exactly do anyone any good.
Pratt is trying to listen to the heartbeat of an older guy whose hearing aid is causing interference. Believe it or not, there's an actual hearing-aid joke that ends with the guy going, "What?" Yeah, I know. Welcome to the bottom of the comedy barrel. Haleh comes in with the test results on Mr. Tribbiani, and Pratt takes them and immediately goes to see him. He doesn't tell the hearing-aid guy what's going on, but hey, it's not like he'd hear him anyway. Rimshot! When Pratt gets to Mr. Tribbiani, he passes along the interesting news that Mr. Tribbiani does not, in fact, have pernicious anemia, as he has believed for many years. He has never had it. Mr. Tribbiani looks stunned.
Monica's very cute little son offers to stay home and help her get well as Abby swabs a cut on her forehead. Monica moms that there's no way he's missing school. There is some brother-sister bickering, and then Monica's daughter tells Abby just to ignore her annoying little brother. Abby barely notices, but finally looks up and says, "Are you talking to me?" Proudly, Monica says, "They're good kids. I do the best I can, you know." Abby doesn't react.
Kerry is on the phone with Sandy, breaking the news that she'll be late. She has to break off the conversation to go talk to Helen's father. "Do you want me to tell him?" Susan says. "Absolutely not," Kerry says, either being randomly cold or, more likely, still dishing out punishment for Susan's missing the diagnosis a week ago. Susan makes a funny face behind Kerry's back, which is always good for a chuckle. It might be time to pack it in, I would point out, when funny faces and "get off" jokes are the highlights of your episodes. Kerry meets up with Helen's dad, and tells him about Wilson's disease, which can cause "both psychiatric and motor disorders." Hint, hint. Kerry theorizes that the Wilson's is why Helen hit the gas instead of the brakes. Dad wants to know if it can be cured, and Kerry tells him that it can be managed.
Frank, Chuny, and Haleh are huddled around the computer at the desk, discussing various people named "Rick Kelly." When Susan walks up and asks them what they're doing, Frank says, "Googling your blind date." Now that is just about the only thing they've said in this entire episode that rings true, because Googling your blind date is exactly what your co-workers would be doing in this situation, provided you had been foolish enough to offer up the name of your blind date. Susan is horrified that they're Googling him, until she notices that they've found a picture, which looks pretty good to her. She says she might be able to live with the fact that he's a vegan after all. After all, what's a little TVP in the pasta sauce if he looks good enough? They all have a good chuckle, until Abby approaches, and they all fall silent. Chuny says she's sorry to hear about Eric, and Haleh says she hopes they'll find him safe and sound. Its mood killed by the whole missing-relative dynamic, the little gathering breaks up, and Abby walks away, ignoring Susan's advice to go home.
Abby comes across Chen talking to a guy from Social Services, who is telling her that he can interview Monica's kids, to which Chen adds that if she has customers going home with her, "there could be endangerment as well." Not that Monica ever said anything, ever, that suggested that was the case. Chen chatters with the guy about "removal," and Abby finally asks the obvious question: "Why are you doing this?" Chen snots that leaving your kids alone at night is neglect, and Abby points out that they've seen much worse than that at County. Chen, instead of answering the question, condescendingly says that they're required by law to report it. Abby tells Chen that she still thinks it's wrong. Rather than engage the issue, Chen falls back on what she does best, and coldly declares, "You're a nurse, Abby. You don't have the power to make this kind of decision." Realizing that Chen isn't interested in discussing it, Abby leaves, tossing over her shoulder, "I think this sucks."
Two things about that scene. First of all, it isn't really whether Chen does or doesn't call Social Services that bothers me, even though I certainly believe that if the lady had been leaving her kids alone at night to work as a convenience-store clerk because she was broke, that call would have been a lot less likely. What grates is the satisfaction Chen seems to get out of it, and the fact that she doesn't seem at all interested in doing anything to help the family. She seems to be taking the attitude that the lady deserves to lose her children as punishment for being a prostitute, and that's just not the way you make anyone's situation any better. In that sense, she doesn't seem to care one whit about the kids; it's all about sitting in judgment. Second of all, "you're a nurse"? Please. Doctors aren't mandated reporters any more than nurses are, and any time you answer a question about something you've decided to do with an answer about whether the person asking has the right to ask you, you should assume that in all likelihood, you're full of crap.
Susan and Haleh stand over the old lady, who's struggling to remain alive with the help of aggressive intervention, it appears. With Daughter conveniently in the bathroom, Susan gently tries to inquire into whether the lady might be interested in a Do Not Resuscitate order. Unfortunately, all she can do in response is babble about plums, so she's not in a position to intervene on her own behalf.
Abby is on the roof, smoking, when Gallant walks up. After a minimum of small talk, he offers his help and support if there's anything he can do, but before he can even finish his sentence, Abby asks him if he believes it's possible to die instantly. He looks flummoxed. What follows is some babbling from Abby about how, in some cases, there's a lingering moment of impending death, but she's thinking that if you go nose-first into a lake at two hundred miles an hour, it would actually be instant death. At least Abby hopes so. Again, Gallant is flummoxed, but he finally asks her why she thinks Eric went nose-first. She pauses, says she doesn't know, and walks off. Apparently, Abby suspects suicide, or so it says on this anvil that just fell through my ceiling.
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Frank is on the phone at the desk when we return. "You're sick, you're broke, you're unemployed and uninsured. Yeah, sure, come on over," he is saying. I wonder if people who can't pay present a problem for the modern health care system -- I wish they'd get into that someday, or comment on it, because the five or six thousand times they've used lines like that haven't really driven it home to me yet. Behind Frank, Pratt walks up to Gallant and does a final check-in before heading out. Gallant says he's staying to study, because he missed a diagnosis -- presumably Helen's. Pratt tells him not to sweat it, pats him on the shoulder, and takes off. Before he goes, though, Gallant shows him a postcard from Leon, who's apparently enjoying life in Baltimore. Aw. As Pratt finally gets out of Dodge, Abby gets a phone call from Carter, which she says she'll take in the lounge. On his way out, Pratt runs into Mr. Tribbiani, who is still in chairs. Mr. Tribbiani sadly explains that he's built a life around the people he knows who have this chronic disease, and now it's all gone. Because he can't be friends with them if he doesn't have it, and he can't spend time advocating for people who have it if he doesn't have it, I guess. That's fairly stupid, if you think about it, and you'd think Pratt might say so, instead of telling Mr. Tribbiani just to start having fun now that he doesn't have to hang around with sick people, which is basically what he does.
Abby is in the lounge talking to Carter on the phone. We hear only her side of the conversation. There is some small talk, and then she drops the bomb about Eric's plane. Carter wants to come home to be with her, but she tells him not to. She just wants to wait it out. They hang up, and Abby seems to be thinking about heading out for the night. Just as she's trying to go, Daughter comes and says with distress that Old Mama is having a heart attack.
Susan wheels a random guy into the second bed in Helen's room, somewhat surprised to see that Helen is still there. Helen wants to know what happened to the other girls in the accident. She already knows one of them died -- the one whose last rites she practically interrupted -- but she wants to know what happened to the rest. Susan says they'll make it. "So just Terri died?" Helen says. "Yeah," Susan responds. "Not Sasha?" Helen says, giving "Sasha" that hostile delivery you reserve for people in whose food you'd be inclined to spit. Susan shakes her head, beginning to get a bad vibe. "No," she says. Helen expresses surprise over this outcome, pointing out that "Sasha was meaner." Ew. Helen says again that the girls in the accident -- or, you know, "accident" -- weren't ever very nice to her. A creeped-out Susan is distracted by screams, and goes out to see what's happening.
In the hallway, Chen's Family Assistance Plan is going swimmingly as Monica's children are ripped from her side, hysterical. Well, yeah, this will be much better. Chen and Abby look on. "She left them alone at night," Chen says, with so much ice in her veins I'm surprised they don't serve shrimp cocktail off her back. "Yeah," Abby says dubiously, allowing Chen to stew in the juices of what she has just wrought. You know, as much as I understand the need to milk every drop of dramatic potential from a story like this, I would be remiss not to point out that social service agencies don't just come and sweep away your kids any time anyone provides reason for concern -- especially for something like leaving them alone at night. In fact, if the people at Social Services found out that all your kids were dealing with was your absence, and that they were well, and fed, and happy, and loved by you, I think it's safe to say the odds of their yanking your kids on the first report are just about zero. This is particularly true given that her kids are seven and twelve -- she's not leaving infants sleeping in cribs alone. Lots of people let twelve-year-old kids babysit seven-year-olds, and I just don't believe it falls into the category of something that would cause a state agency to flip its lid and throw your kids into foster care. I'm not endorsing Monica's decision-making; certainly, she needs another way to make money, and she needs to find a way not to leave her kids alone at night. But I don't think this is at all the way it would be handled if it were reported. It doesn't ring true. Also, for her utter failure to even find this sad, Chen sucks.
Back in Mama's room, she has been intubated and put on life support, so she's apparently in for the duration, thanks to her faithless Daughter. Susan tells Kerry they need to talk about Helen, so they leave. In the corridor, Susan lets on that she's not sure that it was entirely an accident that Helen went all Revenge of the Nerds on the popular girls. Kerry argues that it could easily be the disease, but Susan isn't so sure. "She seems disappointed that more of them didn't die," she says simply. Kerry looks alarmed, but then is called away when Yosh tells her that somebody is looking for her. Yosh then continues down the corridor with Susan, telling her that her blind date called and said he'd meet her there at the hospital. He also adds that he himself has a brother who's single. Susan's like, "Yeah, great."
And then at last, Susan gets her peaceful moment with Fugit, who is sitting in chairs. He tells her that waiting so long gave him time to "people-watch," so he doesn't mind. As she sits him down on a bed, she asks why he's got a PIC line. "Stage III-C testicular cancer," he says simply, and then gives a little nod. Why, how tragic. Who knew he'd have something terminal? Oh, yeah -- everyone and everything, including plants. And complex bacteria. And not-so-complex bacteria.
Romano drops in on the "pretty girl" from the opening, and she's pleased to see him. "I remember you -- Rocket!" she says perkily. "How'd I do?" she says. "Very, very well," he says. "'Cause you promised you'd take care of me, right?" she says. "Get some rest," he answers. Well, that's a relief. He's only 99% prick.
Apparently inspired by this exchange, Romano heads in to talk to Anspaugh and once again beg for his surgical career back. Anspaugh is having none of it. Romano just wants to supervise fifth-year residents, but gets a no. Wants to be kept on the schedule "in name only," but gets a no. Anspaugh reiterates that right at the moment, his place is in teaching. Romano pouts miserably, a little thundercloud very nearly visible above his tiny, pointed head. He's such a jackass, but at least he's interesting, which is more than I can say for the rest of these saps.
Kerry comes into Helen's room, where her father is with her. As gently as she can, Kerry says that she'd like to get a psychiatric consult before she sends Helen up. Standing right over the bed of a fully conscious Helen, Kerry explains -- again, as gently as possible, given that Helen is sitting right there -- that they're not entirely sure the accident was an accident. Helen protests that she'd never leave tire tracks on a cheerleader on purpose, but Kerry goes to fetch the detective. On her way out, Kerry's stopped by Helen's father. "It was her?" he asks Kerry. "I don't know," she says. "She could've done this?" he asks. "I don't know," she repeats. Dude, friends don't let friends drive unpopular.
Susan comes up to the now-hatless and smooth-domed Fugit and tells him that she's fixing the clog in his PIC line, which is a good thing, because he's very low on white blood cells. He points out that he's only ten days removed from his last chemo, and she in turn points out that when your immune system is in a weakened state like that, the emergency room with its mysterious bugs and people coughing is hardly where you want to be. She sternly tells him to get himself home, monitor his temperature, and come back if it goes up. Behind her, Abby approaches long enough to say good night and confirm that she's had no word on Eric. She also mentions that Carter isn't coming home, which leads Susan to remind her that she doesn't need to rattle around alone if she doesn't want to. Abby says she'll be fine, and takes off. This way makes for a much better closing sequence, Susan, so stop trying to be helpful.
Over by the desk, Susan's date has apparently arrived and is waiting for her. He's all right, in a sort of pretty-boy way, but he's nothing special. I think that for plot purposes, we're supposed to think he's hot, so if you're in a cooperative mood, you might pretend it's the case. She goes over to greet him, and breaks the news that she can't go out for bean curd, because she needs to stick around with Fugit. He protests that he drove all the way there, but she shrugs him off. He offers to reschedule, but she says no, because he's a vegan and she won't give up steak. Please. Again, it's no wonder she doesn't have a boyfriend if she's doing things this ridiculous. Staying with Fugit is fine, but refusing to reschedule? That's just foolish. Susan does a hideously cutesy gosh-I'm-sorry routine, with the shrugging and the giggling, and then she scampers off. Thanks for doing the sisterhood proud, there, Susan. When her date is gone, she comes back over to Fugit and starts working their storyline as hard as she can. After all, a blind date is a blind date, but February sweeps are not to be trifled with.
Pratt and Chen are experiencing the Joy of Just After Sex on his couch, and they proceed to have a conversation about his furniture. Because we really, really care. They touch on the topic of Leon and the fact that Pratt misses him, and then Chen talks about how much she loves her "alone time" -- and considering what a fundamentally cold heart she has, it's probably best that she have as much of it as possible, if you ask me. They move on to a discussion of kids, and he asks her if she wants any. She says that she had a kid once. He's stunned, but she goes on to tell him that she gave it up for adoption. He asks why, and she just says it was "complicated," and she wasn't ready. Yeah, she might not want to get too deeply into that story. She seems to expect trouble, but he's like, "Cool. I'm taking a shower," and he leaves. That scene was seriously so anticlimactic that I'm convinced it went back and robbed them of the orgasms they had previously enjoyed.
Abby gets home, accompanied by the Desolate Piano of Misery. Her answering machine is blinking seventeen messages, which of course she ignores, because they're presumably from her mother. Of course, one could potentially be from Eric, saying that he crawled to shore and is now buried in a snowdrift eating his shoe with only enough battery power on his cell phone for one call, but she ignores the messages anyway. She sits. She ponders. She smokes. The piano rumbles. Finally, she calls the Flying Mom and leaves a message apologizing for not calling earlier and saying she does want to talk. Last but not least, we see her at the store, picking up three-in-the-morning tequila. Which means that even if it's not a convenience store generally, it certainly was this time.