There's no "previously on" this week, which I assume has something to do with the fact that the producers reportedly shaved two minutes out of the show as a result of Boobgate 2004. Unless they finally are throwing in the towel and admitting that everything up to this point was irrelevant and boring -- a grand tradition of mediocrity that will indeed live on through this hour.
Elizabeth Corday waits on the snowy sidewalk outside County with a very grown Ella in tow, having ostensibly just finished giving the child her daily growth hormone injection, in the hope that developing her quickly into a mouthy and surly adolescent will be the storyline kiss of death she needs to exit the show. I guess it's been three years, but...I don't know, the kid just looks older than I expected. A minivan stops in front of them, and Elizabeth slides open the door, depositing Ella in an empty seat to an identically bobbed doppelganger. Presumably this is the backup Ella -- the test case. For today's purposes, though, the girl is packaged as "Ella's friend," and she belongs to the guy driving the minivan. "Happy birthday, Sydney," Elizabeth smiles. "Are you ready for the party?" Minivan Man grins that she's been ready for a month, ever since that last round of shots bounced her straight into Pull-Ups and solid foods. They are headed for an aquarium, and then a puppy party. I'm not sure how one throws a puppy party; are there dog brothels from which you can rent a pup's services for the afternoon? Or is it a like a Tupperware party -- "Pup"perware -- where a heavily Avoned woman shows up with an array of dogs, ranging from cheap to deluxe to microwave-safe, and attempts to sell you as many as your cupboards can fit? Elizabeth commends Minivan for being brave enough to take on the party by himself, and so of course he genially invites her along. Ella's all excited about this prospect. "I can't, Ella, I have to work in the hospital," Elizabeth apologizes. Then she smiles and says in her best, brightest I'm-talking-to-children voice, "I have a pancreatic ojejunostomy at nine." The kids blink blankly, as if to say, "Ojejun-ASS-tomy. Get back with me when it's a whipple." Lizzie promises to pick up Ella at 6. "They'll be well into their sugar rush by then," Minivan smiles. "Maaaaaarvelous," Elizabeth says cheerfully. Since when is she so chipper?
Carter trots into the hospital, Kem by his side. She's yammering on about wanting to talk to someone in County's infectious disease department so that she can compare her statistics with those in Chicago. Because that's useful, since they're very, very similar places with similar circumstances. They both start in C and end in O, for example, and both are peopled with dickheads (Carter). Kem also wants to check out their clinical lab to see what the up-to-date equipment looks like. Frank listens to all this while chowing down on a breakfast perogi. As Carter disappears to the lounge to find Weaver, Frank offers some to Kem. She shoots it a look of amused alarm. She should be stuffing it into her mouth. I think her shoulder blade could slice bread.
In the lounge, Weaver rehearses a speech about Romano. "His dedication to his staff and his patients would be hard to...hard to...." Prove? Carter enters to get permission for his girlfriend to hang out that day and watch. "She has her Masters in public health," he offers, as if that means it's okay for him to make matters of other people's health public to her. As they mosey outside, Carter adds that Kem also wants to talk to some public health nurses to see how they treat communicable disease. I imagine the answer involves a lot of technology she won't be able to get in the Congo, which is therefore incredibly unhelpful to her, and is also an indicator that the stale cloud of death stank hanging over Gamma's manse is getting rather stifling. Anyway, Weaver's fine with it, and hopes Kem's presence will be motivating for everyone. I'm sure she'll regret that when sixty "motivated" nurses beg off work early and get in line for liposuction.
Weaver snaps at everyone that she wants them in the lobby at 9 AM for a dedication. Frank shovels more perogi into his gaping maw. God, Frank, chew. It's like Garfield with a pan of lasagna over there.
Meanwhile, Kem has tailed Sam outside, and is asking her whether patients with STDs get routine HIV testing. "Sometimes," Sam shrugs. "It depends on the doctor." Translation: everyone does but Luka, who prefers the cheaper option of throwing the urine sample aloft, spinning three times, and chanting the time-honored adage, "If the drops blow east, HIV we will treat; if they fly west, no need for a test." Carter pops up to tell Kem that Weaver authorized her visit. Sam's all, "Are you on crack, girl? Go home and get in the hot tub." Kem's face seems to reply, "There's a portrait of Gamma hanging over it. I'd rather eat a skateboard."
An ambulance pulls up and the driver hops out, Gallant on his tail. Lucky dog. It's his ride-along day, apparently, which happens twice a year and is basically an excuse for Gallant to wear a cute knit skull-cap. Their patient is a thirty-one-year-old man who fell down the stairs and is complaining of back and stomach pain. Everyone goes inside.
Frank is hunched over the front desk, pale as the white man whose supremacy he so vehemently champions. "I think I'm having a heart attack," he croaks to Abby. "Are you kidding?" she asks. "Do I look like I'm kidding?" he snaps. She sits him down and worriedly screams for some medicine just as Frank opens his mouth and releases a blast of gas that flattens the common man in riot zones nationwide, but which Frank knows only as "a belch." He's relieved. "I bet it's just those breakfast perogis," he nods as Abby fans the toxins elsewhere.
Luka appears, and my God, the man is wearing a suit and it's setting off my apartment's smoke alarm. He can sit in my boardroom any time he likes. "Look at you, Mr. GQ," Abby grins. "Got another deportation hearing?" Frank snots. "Have another perogi, Frank," Abby mutters. Abby, by the way, is sporting some nice new bangs, although the forums are right in pointing out that she does look a bit like Trista. If she shows up in anything pink, the Sutters' lawsuit will be forthcoming.
Carter needs a hand with the overweight guy who fell down the stairs, so Luka goes off to help them lift him. Just as Weaver's looking for Susan, the good Dr. Lewis appears, looking green and fanning herself with a manila folder. Weaver starts spouting off about the nationwide search they're conducting to find a new ER Chief, and that they'd love for Susan to step in temporarily. This smacks of one of those times when they pretend to look for someone great and expensive until the cheaper lackey's gotten so used to the job that he or she just keeps it. Susan, however, refuses both the job and the three-grand-a-month raise, all with her lips clamped as tightly together as she can muster. When Weaver stares at her quizzically, Susan smiles resignedly and says, "I'm pregnant." Then she fires up the vomit comet and spews a trail of astral joy all over the hospital floor. We smash to the credits admiring this metastatement and wondering why TPTB wrote Chuck like a schmuck if they were going to turn around and have him scramble her eggs. Can't Sherry just block her stomach until they finish shooting -- like with a really large chart, or Carter's ego? Or Frank?
The large guy who toppled down the stairs gets heaved onto a bed. He's wearing a neck brace and complaining of pain. Carter has the good grace to inform Stair Master that he's overweight, which is a nice thing to hear when you're scared and in the ER. It would be like if they tore open Boobgate 2004's shirt later on and were like, "Your heart's not working -- and, MAN, could you use a nip and tuck, because those things are sagging like Bob Newhart's cheek skin." Sam wants an x-ray of Stair Master's chest. "No, you don't," says Luka glibly. Sam's gaze snaps onto his with the intensity of a woman who just heard another woman's name come out of her ejaculating husband. Which is to say, Luka's nuts should in no way be considered inseparable from his body. Carter agrees that, based on certain criteria, they don't need the test because Stair Master is at low risk of a neck fracture. Carter then asks why Luka's hanging around in a suit. "I'm giving a lecture to med students on clinical decision-making without the use of tests," Luka says. In other words: "Leeches, Witch Doctoring, And You." Kem sweetly points out that "their" health care system requires them to diagnose with a minimum of tests and equipment. If she is referring to the Congolese health care system, then she should wipe the smug smile off her face, because it's not altruism that's governing their policy, it's the budget. If they could afford to run tests and own machinery that made helpful noises, you can bet your lead apron they'd be using that stuff for everything from CAT scans to fortune-telling ("Will we have meatless chicken for dinner tonight?" "Bleeeeeep!" "Oh, DAMMIT!"). Carter suggests that Kem sit in on Luka's lecture, which immediately makes Luka nervous, because he's a first-time teacher, and Kem isn't wearing a bra. "You're a natural," Carter shrugs, ignoring his friend's discomfort. Nice. Sam rattles off a test she's sending for Stair Master, and Luka freaks. "Dammit! All he needs is a CBC and...." and here he loses me, because my closed-captioning isn't working. The point is, Sam's ordering a test Luka thinks isn't required, but she says that nursing protocol demands that she administer it. "Save your lectures for the med students, 'cause the nurses don't want to hear it," she snaps. As she stalks out, everyone in the room basically swaps expressions confirming that Luka will need some strong-ass ointment for those burns.
Frank interrupts to order everyone to the lobby, per Weaver's instructions. So they all leave, and poor Stair Master is just sitting there in the trauma room twiddling his sizable thumbs, hoping at least one of them comes back to tell him what's wrong and how to fix it. I'm surprised Luka is standing for this -- isn't it costing somebody money to leave him in the trauma room? Maybe the waiting period is some kind of starvation-diet plan enacted by a vindictive, insult-slinging Carter.
Weaver puts on her very best I'm The Boss Of You tone and condescends to the entire staff as she stands in front of an object covered by a sheet. She delivers with a straight face the line about how Romano's generosity of spirit, so evident in his dealings with staff and patients, lives on even as he and Chopper continue their delicate mating dance in the depths of Hell. Carter smirks. Pratt arrives and stands to Kem, actually looking at her and giving her a smile dripping with possibility. Wipe it off, asshead. Weaver announces that Romano left a significant portion of his estate to the hospital for furthering its service to the community: "To that end, I'm pleased to announce the creation of...." And with that, in the most irritating and unfortunately hard-to-describe snooty, careful accent, Weaver lifts the cloth to reveal a plaque with a brass bust of Romano on it -- with the beard, which seems odd considering that it was a short-lived addition to the late doc's face -- and announces the "Robert Romano Memorial Center for Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgendered Health Care," her voice dripping with triumph, pride, revenge, amusement, and a vain attempt at innocence. Carter's jaw drops. "Oh no...." Abby bites her tongue. "Oh YES she did," Pratt snickers. I have to say, this kind of cracks me up. As annoyed as I was that no one cared when Romano died, this is a fairly amusing way to flip him the bird for all his insults, while doing nobody any actual harm. Except Kerry, when she dies and arrives in Purgatory, but that's her problem.
Weaver briskly instructs them all to return to work, and snaps at Pratt for missing his appointment with the guy from Risk Management. "I've been busy," he growls. Weaver smiles that he's got another meeting in half an hour, and Pratt pouts.
Carter, Kem, and Abby stare confusedly at the plaque. "Is it me, or do the eyes seem to follow you?" Abby asks uncomfortably. Carter jokes that Romano's Utah Arm is going to come back to exact painful revenge. I can see it now, cradling Rex the Wonder Preemie in its palm as it trots through the hospital to wreak havoc on the lives of the righteous and bring hellish vengeance upon the heads of the, um, Weavers. Kem astutely questions whether Romano was a big supporter of gay rights. "Uh, no," Carter says. Is that strictly true, or is it just that he gave Kerry a notoriously hard time? I don't recall Romano being actively anti-gay so much as anti-Kerry, in which the lesbianism just served as another target for his sniper rifle. At any rate, they all stifle laughter -- badly -- as Elizabeth bounds off the elevator. "Did I miss the dedication?" she asks, chagrined. "More like post-mortem payback," Carter chuckles. Elizabeth glances at the plaque, then does a huge double-take. "Oh my GOD," she gasps. Hee. Yes, there, I said it: Hee.
Pratt checks out an x-ray with a hot nurse who invites him to dinner. "Do you like Moroccan?" she asks. "I'll eat just about anything," Pratt leers. Oh, my God. He might as well just wear a t-shirt that says, "I Was A Counselor At Camp G-Spot." He's interrupted in his wooing by the arrival of a twenty-year-old man who was tied to a toboggan by his friends and sent hurtling down a hill. He hit a tree, and he's frozen stiff. "He may have a spinal injury," says Sam. Pratt balks. "Maybe we should get Carter on this," he says. "What's wrong with you?" Sam asks. Rolling his eyes, Pratt follows her into Trauma Green and asks for a bunch of warming saline to heat up the Kidsicle.
Gallant and his medics show up at the site of a domestic-abuse call, and the door's locked, but they can hear all kinds of agony and aggression coming from behind it. Gallant wants to charge in there, because chivalry and heroism are built into his name, but the medics basically inform him that the Round Table only comes out for poker nights these days. They have to wait for the cops. "An EMT got shot last year going in without backup," one of them says. Gallant is incredibly frustrated, especially because he can hear a woman getting beaten.
Kem has nosed around and found an admission form, and she asks Frank a ton of questions about why they need two pages of demographic data, and where it all goes. Frank impolitely points out that she's asking the wrong person, because unless it goes in his stomach, he doesn't give a perogi. Kem wants to know how many people leave without being treated, and a listening Weaver rescues Frank by answering, "About 5%." Kem, by the way, looks like she's wearing what she slept in -- basically, a long-sleeved gray t-shirt and no bra. The girls are jiggling like twin Jell-O shots, and they are spiked, if you know what I mean. And by her standards of pregnancy, I am about seven months further along than she is. Carter's happy to see her, and they hug easily. Promising that her lab tour will happen soon, he sends Kem up to Luka's lecture, ignoring the fact that even Kem picked up on Luka's reluctance to have her there.
Elizabeth trots up to Weaver and disbelievingly asks how in hell Romano left money for the creation of a gay and lesbian treatment center. Weaver innocently smiles that it was a general donation, the use of which was left to the board's discretion. "This is one area where we felt County was truly lacking," Weaver says airily. Frank stares at her with respect and awe and intones, "Revenge is a dish best served cold," as Weaver cocks her head and flips her hair nonchalantly, as if nothing is odd here. Laura Innes rules.
The cops arrive at Gallant's domestic-abuse call and break down the door. They pull apart the man and woman; she's bleeding from the head as he pretends she got drunk and tripped. "You're the drunk," she snarls. The husband cleverly defends his innocence by threatening to kill her. I'm sure he meant that to come out more like an offer. The cops arrest him.
Luka asks a listless-looking class how to diagnose peripheral vertigo or somesuch without using a test or the blood of a righteous pig. No one is listening, and as he busts a dozing student, Kem enters perkily and waves. Luka bites his lip and tries to smile, but the fog of futility around him is too thick.
Kidsicle tells Pratt that he became a human luge as part of his hockey initiation. He also points out, for those who are keeping score but can't tell that his skin is blue and his hair is frozen, that he is cold. Sam wants to put in a chest tube, but Pratt argues against it just as Carter enters and asks for the bullet on Kidsicle. They think he has broken feet and a compression fracture of the L-5 vertebrae. Kidsicle can't wiggle his toes. Pratt orders an MRI, but Carter waves it off, insisting that such fractures rarely result in paralysis. Cheerfully, he orders them to try warm-water immersion on the feet, and hold off on the MRI. That sounds suspiciously like a foot spa. Yes, please. "I can't feel my feet," Kidsicle whines, lifting up his face mask to talk. "I can't feel anything." Pratt explains to him exactly what he just explained to Carter, because apparently Kidsicle hears through his mouth and therefore couldn't have known. Kidsicle freaks and starts whining about whether he's paralyzed, and how scared he is; Pratt's knee jerks up high enough to smack himself in the chin, and he orders the MRI. Sam protests. "Just do it," Pratt snaps, praying that his Nike sponsorship comes through in time to deliver him from this life before Carter makes him pay for the MRI himself.
Pratt, of course, comes upon the Risk Management guy, who must appreciate the deliciousness of his title and the fact that Pratt basically blindly bumped into him. He wants Pratt to write up his recollections about Martin -- the kid with ankylosing spondylitis whose neck Pratt snapped -- but Pratt resists getting into details. He bitterly hisses that the disease turned Martin's neck into a breadstick, and it broke in Pratt's hands. Risk Management guilts him into providing on paper a full and ideally attitude-free recounting of events, so that they can avoid paying out multi-millions. Not sure how that's going to help. Pratt broke the kid's neck. Couching it in elegant language and confusing jargon won't change that. Man, if that worked, I'd script a letter in the purplest prose imaginable to my bank, explaining that a clerical error has deprived me of the ten million dollars I should rightfully have in there.
The cops lead away Angry Husband, who gently bids his bleeding wife farewell with a tender "See you, bitch." Gallant can be forgiven for momentarily feeling like he walked in on the morning-after end of a Pratt Night Out. As the wife, Amy, gets wheeled away, Gallant hears sobbing in the closet. He goes to open it, and a gunshot cracks through the air, sending a bullet through the door mere inches from Gallant's noggin and his decidedly non-bulletproof knit cap. At least he has the presence of mind to open the door before shitting a brick. A little boy is huddled on the floor of the closet, clutching the gun clumsily. "I thought you were my dad," he gulps. Gallant's knees buckle a little as he sits down and heaves a shaky sigh. We fade to black wondering how thick that closet door is, if the kid couldn't hear the authorities enter and his father get arrested. Also, in the Dad vs Gun race against the laws of physics, gun is going to win, so the kid could've at least waited until the door opened to squeeze the trigger.
In class, Luka explains that if you avoid ordering a needless CT, it saves the patient $2000. "We do ten unnecessary scans a day," Luka insists. Kem sticks up her hand and notes that the costs to get and maintain a scanner are fixed, so if it only performs half the scans, the patients will get charged double just to cover those costs. What? Do they pay a monthly rent on that thing? "Wouldn't the real solution be to have several hospitals share one scanner?" she asks. I get her first point, but this? In what universe? Where would they put it -- a centrally located warehouse? Have a shuttlebus take the patients and their test results back and forth? Luka looks like he'd really enjoy committing her hypothesis to paper, lighting it on fire, mixing it with ground-up glass, and watching her snort it with a rolled-up photo of Carter while he eats prime rib off a hooker's belly.
Sam talks to Carter about a patient we don't care about, so that Carter can find a pause in the conversation and insert a question about Alex. "He hasn't given himself a thoracotomy yet," she says wryly. "He'll probably end up a brain surgeon," Carter offers. "Or a grave robber," Sam laughs. She then peels off so that Luka can come around the corner and stop, frustrated, in front of Carter, who asks how the class is going. "Ask Kem," he sighs. "She's doing most of the talking." Carter coughs that she's inquisitive. Luka's like, "No shit, Miss Marple. Now take your calcium pills so your bones won't snap while you're dragging her the hell out of my classroom." Carter agrees to talk to her.
Kem's taken to badgering Neela , apparently as quizzical as Carter believes, but also oblivious to the fact that it's an emergency room and a teaching hospital, so if she's going to harangue the staff, she should probably have paid some tuition. Right now, she's wondering why all these patients crowding triage haven't gone to their primary care physicians. Neela answers that it's a three-month wait at the clinic. Kem shakes her head, all disapproving. Kem? They're not there for routine physicals. It's an EMERGENCY room. It's where people go when they need EMERGENCY medicine. If I've got an axe sticking out of my head or a cough that threatens to eject my lungs onto my very comfortable and clean couch, then I'm fucked if I'm going to wait for my doctor to check his pager during his kid's little league game. I'm going to the ER. Kem overhears Neela struggling to communicate with a French-speaking woman who's brought in her two kids and has a hacking cough. Kem wanders over with a warm smile and addresses the woman in perfect French. "She's from Haiti," says Kem. Neela smiles at her. Neela is gracious. Kem listens to the cough, and worry clouds her face. "I think it's pertussis," she tells Neela, who's startled. Carter shows up long enough to confirm that they've gotten the odd whooping cough case before, so it's not out of the realm. Carter guides her away and asks how Luka's lecture is gong. "Interesting! Luka's an excellent teacher," she over-praises. "I should get back, but I think Neela needs a translator." Carter instead sends her up to talk to Dr. Ferina up in the infectious-diseases ward. Neela agrees to escort her upstairs, because apparently poor Kem, Kem, Kem of the Jungle can't be expected to both press a lift button and follow signs to her destination. She's lucky she can get around without a swinging vine. "Check out that woman," Kem calls to Carter as she disappears with Neela.
Amy, the domestic-violence victim, is wheeled in with her son Rudy. "Almost shot Gallant's head off," one of the medics says. Gallant is oddly fine with it. I'd be a shaking mess. We can add that to the long list of reasons why I'm neither a doctor nor a law-enforcement professional.
In the elevator, Neela and Kem share a quiet and slightly awkward fishes-out-of-water conversation. Kem gives a noncommittal "It's nice," when asked what she thinks of Chicago, and Neela shares that she's been in America for seven years, and Chicago for the past three. "I still feel like I'm getting settled," she admits. "It's quite pleasant, for a big city. It's not quite London, though." Kem agrees, "Or Paris." No shit. I love Chicago, but that's a bit like saying pizza isn't quite steak. They agree that the people are friendly, and Kem giggles that they're all larger than she figured they'd be. Apparently she hasn't paid attention to anyone besides Frank. Neela grins that Americans are rather fond of their huge portions, and Kem marvels at the woman she saw drinking a bucket of coffee. "Actually, that's quite common," Neela says. And...scene. Whatever.
Amy wants to go home. Her face is purple from the bruising. Carter checks on Rudy, who's behind the curtain door. He's physically fine, but a little emotionally scarred. Gallant quietly affirms that he called DCFS. , Carter bounces over to Kidsicle, who's feeling much better as he gets wheeled around. "Where's he coming from?" Carter asks Sam. "MRI," she says. "It's not my job to make sure your residents listen to you." Yeah, but if the residents have to defer to an Attending, wouldn't nurses be obligated to do so as well? Wouldn't she therefore be expected to check with Carter when there's a discrepancy in her instructions? Shut up, Sam. Go teach your son how to perform a lobotomy so that he can practice on you.
Sam flounces back to Reception, where she encounters Chuny and Abby. "I'm getting pretty tired of doctors thinking we work for them," Sam spits. But...seriously, don't they, sort of? I'm not implying they're subordinate, or trying to be rude, but I've seen them carry out doctors' orders a hundred times on this show, and that sort of gives off the vibe that the doctors are perhaps a little bit in charge. Forgive me for being dense. I just still don't get why Sam listened to Pratt and not Carter. Abby laughs that she's staying well out of this one. "And what is with Kovac and his holier-than-thou healing-hands routine? I'm getting pretty sick of that," Sam brats. Chuny grins that Luka's healing hands have their good points. "Right, Abby?" Chuny prods. Sam gapes at Abby, dumbfounded that she dated Luka. "Briefly," Abby shrugs. Yeah, and he asked you to move in with him, so way to downplay it. Sam's somehow shocked that Abby dated both Carter and Luka. "Abby's the ER slut," Chuny giggles. Hey, Chuny? We can see you inside your glass house. Put down the rock and take up gardening. Abby indignantly points out that she dated two doctors in five long years. Just then, Lester sneaks over and says in a low voice "Are we still on for tonight?" I like to think Lester heard this exchange and used his "sultry" tone in the hope of getting the ER slut to shine his apples. Abby nods at him. Sam and Chuny snort. "We're studying!" Abby protests, laughing. "And you shouldn't talk, Chuny." Sam whirls her head around, amazed. "Luka gets around," Chuny shrugs. She's mighty blithe considering she charged him with harassment once he dumped her sad ass. Abby winces at the callousness of this conversation and escapes as Sam digests all this, a bit thrown.
Kem and Dr. Ferina walk through the halls as he explains that his goal is to get his patients to the point where they have an undetectable viral load. She wants to see the AIDS ward, and he explains that they used to have one, but don't any longer. I'm surprised Kem doesn't march downstairs and publicly flog Weaver for not spending Romano's grant money on that. Kem shakes her head, amazed at how different it is here than in Africa, which...yes, Kem, yes it is. Was it the snow that tipped you off? Ferina offers to let her observe in the outpatient clinic, and when she enters, she's stunned to see a small and healthy-looking contingent of AIDS patients. Kem can't believe it. Apparently Carter's chronic disbelief is contagious.
Pratt and Neela treat a guy who's having trouble breathing. Carter enters and bitingly asks if Pratt sent Kidsicle for an MRI. Pratt argues that Kidsicle started whining and freaking about being paralyzed, as one might, and he was just trying to be thorough. Carter rather pleasantly encourages him to come confer before going over his head, and then asks Neela for the bullet on this dude. His name's Mr. Morgan, he's sixty-four, and his respiratory tract is inflamed. "Hurts like hell," says Morgan. Carter wants Pratt to perform a thoracentesis, whatever that is, and Pratt says he's deferred that procedure to the hospital's lung experts. "That's good, as long as [Morgan] doesn't mind gasping for air until sometime tomorrow," Carter says lightly. "Tomorrow?" freaks Morgan. "I could be dead by then!" Carter watches this, apparently enjoying the patient-intimidation method of getting his doctors to toe the line. Pratt yanks Carter aside and growls that the same procedure last year put down Morgan's lung. "He'll be better off upstairs," he insists. "He will, or you will?" Carter asks, guessing that Pratt's behavior stems from being gun-shy since he snapped Martin's neck. Pratt tries to pretend that's not it, but his excuses and denials are as thin as the Pleasure Mesh Trojan he'll use on that hot nurse tonight. Carter goads him into doing it with a little reverse psychology, and Pratt falls for it, but looks totally miserable even as he preps for the procedure.
Carter exits and watches Pratt through the window, hand tapping at his hairy chin, as if asking The Beard in Morse code for advice. Kem bounds around the corner, breastlets bouncing, nipples standing tall, needing no clunky metal adornment to announce themselves. Hey, Kem? It's called a brassiere. You speak French -- you should know the word. She slips comfortably under Carter's arm as he asks how Ferina was. "He was very generous with his time," she says. "But I'm still ten years away from the results he's getting." Yes. Because your study is new. His is not. There are dots. Children can connect them.
Pratt's switched his flirtation to another nurse -- a pretty brunette who invites him out with a bunch of other nurses. He waves it off, insisting that he'd be bad company, but she wheedles that nurses make people feel better all the time. Ew. Across the ocean, Chen must've gotten the exact same vibe, because she telephones at just the right moment to interrupt the nauseating foreplay. Pratt scampers to the phone and speaks; then he looks crestfallen. "I'm sorry," he says sincerely. Elizabeth shows up and starts prattling at him about where her patient disappeared to, and Pratt tries to juggle the grieving Chen with the impatient Corday, whose patient got taken by the new radiologist, Dr. Lawson. Elizabeth is affronted that someone else took the patient without calling her, and she yammers about it; someone else starts shouting for Pratt, so he frustratedly throws the receiver at Elizabeth and tells her to talk to Chen. "Her mother just died," he says. Elizabeth is startled. She celebrated the last death in her family, so she's not sure what advice to give.
Kem has gleaned that Pertussis Mom has another kid at home with her sick mother, but Granny Tussis won't come into the hospital because she doesn't trust American doctors. "What if we go there?" she asks. Carter shrugs, "This is America. We don't make house calls." He sounds like a complete and utter asshole when he says it -- all condescending and amused, as if Gamma didn't have a doctor on speed dial who leapt to her aid at the manse, for fear of being killed by the force of her withering, frosty patrician glare. Kem drops her eyes, and then stares pointedly at Carter, a hint of a smile on her face, a trace of a pout, and a faint hue of disappointment. She holds it long enough to drive Carter crazy, and he tells Gallant to make a run to the woman's house. Is he allowed to do that? For someone who can't seem to stop gushing about the insane resources this country, Kem's suddenly awfully comfortable abusing them.
Carter gets called to Morgan's bedside; his lung collapsed. Pratt frantically tries to get a chest tube tray prepared. "I knew this was gonna happen," he snipes. The guy starts to regain consciousness. Oh, people, come on, knock him out! Ack! Aren't they cutting into him? This is why I would hate being in the hospital. I don't want to wake up until I've been home for a WEEK. Pratt frustratedly hands off the suturing to Neela, and storms away over Carter's protests. "This guy's good and I've got other patients," he hisses.
Outside the exam room, Pratt bangs his fists against the wall and then touches his forehead to it, defeated. We fade to black craving a Pop-Tart. What? Aren't you?
As a puzzled Carter seeks out Kem, the rig pulls up in the ambulance bay, and a pissed-off paramedic gets out. Kem follows, cradling a squalling infant wrapped in a thick blanket. "The paramedics needed a translator," she insists. Carter can't believe what he's seeing. "You took her?" he sputters. He glares at Kem as they hurry Granny Tussis inside.
Trauma Green. Carter's still royally pissed that Kem left. Kem reports that almost the entire building is sick, which just makes Carter angrier that she exposed herself to all those toxins. Kem looks ashamed for a second -- hey, if I looked that bony, I'd forget I was pregnant, too -- and then defiantly reminds him that pertussis isn't a risk to her pregnancy. Carter points out that any other germs could've been floating around, including TB, and he's generally just irritated with her for going. Kem points out that she's been living and working in the Congo, and that the germs there aren't exactly benign. As Kem flounces out, per Carter's orders, to go talk to Pertussis Mom, Chuny cracks, "You sure you two aren't married?" Granny Tussis is septic and isn't doing too well, by the way, but nobody cares because we're not going to see her nipples.
Carter bellows for Pratt, who of course pokes his head around the door and is like, "Hey, that's scary, but I have some stitching to do over here," because he's gone from slick stud to Dr. Dud. Carter won't have it. "Get a med student to do it," he snaps.
Sam deals with Louie, one of the regular triage crackpots, who scoops her up and holds her timidly aloft when she tries to give him a shot. Abby recognizes him, rescues Sam, and feeds Louie a piece of gum so that he'll accept his shot. Then she and Sam leave so that Abby can privately tell her that she shouldn't get the wrong idea about Luka. "He's a good guy," she insists. She meant "lay," right? I think she meant "lay." Sam swears she isn't looking for anything right now. "Okay. I just thought you should know," Abby smiles. Sam thanks her, but insists that singledom works for her. "Although I wouldn't mind regular sex," she admits. "No kidding. I'd settle for irregular sex," Abby cracks.
A woman enters, screaming for aid for her husband. Apparently, she shot him in the leg. He's mildly vexed about it.
Sam explains to Gallant that Amy's sleeping off the events of the day; Gallant wants to keep Rudy there with her. "DCFS won't let us do that," Sam cautions him. "They'll want to place him." Since they only need one night, Gallant begs her to admit him, and starts talking about how dehydrated Rudy probably is, and how he's complaining of abdominal pain. Sam is suspicious until Gallant finally levels with her: "If this was your kid...." Sam relents, and agrees to work up a chart so that Rudy can stay with Amy. Gallant enters the room and promises Rudy that he'll be able to stay at the hospital. Rudy looks depressed. "They took my gun," he frowns. "How am I going to protect my mom?" Gallant assures him that his father will go to prison for this. "He'll get out," says Rudy sadly. "He always does. He turns out the light so I can't see him hitting my mom, or find the phone, but I can always hear him." Gallant is wigged, and gets called away before he needs to supply a response. He limply promises that everything will be okay, and hightails it out of there.
Here, my notes read, "Lester does compressions on Granny Tussis." Then, two sentences later: "Oh, it's CARTER, not Lester. HA HA HA, nutslab." If that case of mistaken identity doesn't prompt Carter to romance the business end of a razor, I don't know what will. Pertussis Mom is in the background watching all this; Carter stops the compressions as Granny goes into v-tach. Here, as the camera pans around, it dips down low enough to catch a glimpse of the giant, fuzzy white blob that exists where her nude breasts would be. Well, that's why she's dying! She's made of cotton! Granny flatlines, and Pratt calls the time of death. "You ran a good code," Carter insists. "Didn't help her any," Pratt pouts, exiting. Kem translates the bad news to Pertussis Mom, who commences the requisite wailing.
So, Boobgate 2004 is over. I'm not sure if the breasts were supposed to appear anywhere else, but if this was it, I think it was so ridiculous. The show claims it's because people in real life don't cardiovert or treat through a bra, so they were just being real and true to the situation. Except that the show's spent ten years showing their female patients wearing bras in this situation, so their argument for this holds little to no water. Plus, if that was the only shot of nude boobs...it wasn't even worth throwing in there for any reason other than to create a stir. It lasted a second, tops. Silly show. And poor Noah Wyle, having to go around stumping for ER on all the talk shows.
Carter gets called into Trauma Yellow by Abby, who's working on the gunshot victim. She's perplexed: there's no apparent exit wound, but the bullet's not hanging out in the pelvis or feet. The wife is fretting that she didn't want a gun in the house and never did, and the husband's like, "I can't BELIEVE you shot me." They seem kind of amused. Carter starts examining the guy, and notices something awry in his heart. "Oooh," he suddenly realizes. "The bullet's in the right ventricle." Abby's stunned. Carter gapes that the bullet apparently wandered up the femoral vein and, looking for a rest and a tall mug of mead, took refuge in the heart. They roll him over immediately to prevent it from picking up its journey and visiting the lungs. The guy's totally flipping out, and his wife is totally dumbfounded. "You put a bullet in my heart?" the man gasps. "I shot you in the leg!" she retorts. "And it was an accident!"
Carter goes outside and finds Pratt pouting in the ambulance bay. Suddenly, Carter is holding a basketball. God, this feels like a total retread, even if it isn't. Carter and The Beard act all wise, bestowing their knowledge, frankincense, gold, and myrrh upon The Anointed One, who accepts it and briefly wonders how much it would be worth in trade at a brothel. The Gospel According to John The Bee Gee goes as such: medicine is hard, people die, but if you stop bumming out about that, it means you've lost your humanity, so suck it up and act like a man and don't wallow, and take the basketball and fucking run with it. Pratt cradles the basketball, the symbol of his newfound faith after this inspiring chat with a deity, and feels this story has as much life as the ball itself -- which he promptly tries to bounce, but it's deflated and just splats against the ground. We fade to black absolutely overloaded with the many things that symbolizes.
Kem heads into Trauma Green, where a tired Carter is recovering from blowing his wisdom wad all over Pratt's lab coat. "How's the daughter?" he asks. "Better than I would be if I'd just seen my mother die," Kem answers. "Are you angry with me?" she asks him. Carter lies that he isn't, but adds that he didn't expect her to ride in the rigs, either. "Did you even eat lunch?" he asks. Kem shrugs guiltily. Oh, that's just dumb. She's supposed to be smart and sassy, not an empty-headed braless waif with the all the sense of Frank at a perogi convention. Sam bursts in just as Carter's scolding Kem, and orders them to come check out what's happening in the lobby.
The hall is crowded with coughing people. Kem lightly shrugs that she suggested to all the neighbors of the Swiss Family Tussis that they come in and get checked and inoculated. "Now you're angry," Kem observes. Carter exhales. "I'm not angry," he lies. He tells Sam to round the patients up into triage and get together as much vaccine as she can. "Can I help?" Kem asks innocently. "Yeah," Sam duhs. "I love you!" Kem shouts at Carter, who grunts.
Elizabeth comes down to find The Traveling Bullet, and learns that, once again, Dr. Lawson snagged one of her patients without notifying her. Apparently she stuck around to see him, making her late to pick up Ella. Carter starts to mutter that Lawson was trying to help, but he gives up and walks away.
Elizabeth musters up a cloud of bitchery and snit to carry her up to Lawson's den. She storms right into Radiology while Lawson is working on her patient. "You must be Dr. Corday," he says, not looking up. The screens he's using look shockingly like an Atari game. Looks like The Traveling Bullet is little more than a nasty case of asteroids. Elizabeth seethes that Lawson's stolen two patients from her today, rather than doing the smart thing and presenting the two courses of treatment for the patient to consider. He glibly flips the bullet back into the femoral vein and smiles that Elizabeth can take back her patient to cut out the bullet. He pulls down his mask to reveal that he's smoking hot, in addition to being British. "It was nice to meet you. I look forward to working together again soon," he purrs. Elizabeth looks completely taken aback by his cool attitude and his scorching bod, and she stands there in stunned, sputtering silence as he glides out of the room and into the line outside my apartment that starts with Luka.
As Pratt meanders through the hospital, Kidsicle flags him down and thanks him for all the life-saving. Pratt demurs that he didn't do anything. "I came in here with a broken back and now I'm going home," Kidsicle says. Pratt points out that his vertebrae is still fractured, but Kidsicle doesn't want his parade rained upon by so rancid a golden shower. He thanks Pratt quite insistently, and Pratt shrugs and accepts it with nothing approaching grace.
Instead, Pratt wanders into Amy's room, for no apparent reason other than divine guidance. Rudy's hovering over the bed, depressed and scared and blaming himself for his mother's injuries. "I couldn't protect her," he sniffles. "That's not your job," Pratt points out. "Yes, it is. She doesn't have anybody else to do it," Rudy frowns. Pratt smiles and spouts something lovely about how good a job Rudy does taking care of her, and that he shouldn't flog himself because bad things often inexplicably and unfairly happen to good people, "even when we do our best." Rudy is about to thank Pratt for the chat when a script-shaped anvil drops from the sky and crushes Amy's skull. Oh well. As Rudy blubbers about how clumsy and obvious writing killed his mother, Pratt leaves to go find some ribbon with which to tie the bow that wraps up this little crisis of confidence into a nifty package.
The line of patients in the hall eerily resembles the scene in the Congo when Luka and Carter administered vaccines to the villagers. Kem helpfully translates everything Sam is saying about the injection, and Carter corrals Luka into helping. "Why not?" Luka sighs. "This, at least I'm good at." Carter swears that Kem enjoyed the lecture, and Luka forlornly sniffs that she's the only one: "I don't think I got through to the others. Maybe it's the accent." You mean the one that lulls us into a lusty trance? Could be. Weaver wanders into the hall and is appalled to find it teeming with hacking humanity. Kem explains what she did, and Kerry wonders why she didn't tell them to go to their primary care physicians. "From what I've seen, you are their primary care physicians," Kem lips. Then she tries to claw her way back by insisting that they won't get treatment anywhere else, which will result in an epidemic. Carter's a bit mortified and tries to gloss things over with Weaver. "She doesn't need you interpreting for her. She's making herself perfectly clear," Weaver sighs. She permits the vaccinations, tells them to hurry, and shuffles off. "From now on, NOBODY ELSE is going to Africa," she growls. Hee. Nice line. Kem turns back to Carter. "Did I say something wrong?" she asks. "Not at all," Carter lies. Okay, again...God, you know, I feel like it's all been said. Beard? Check. Absence of Kem's brains? Check. Bite a fat dildo, TPTB? Check. Well, maybe not that last one...so consider it said now.
Pratt takes another patient and gets all into doing a tricky nasal procedure. "Pratt..." Carter calls out to him. "It's okay, Kovac showed me how to do it," says Pratt. Carter smiles proudly at his successful pep-talk product, and while the rest of us vomit into our orange juice, he compliments Luka on apparently finding one other person who's listening to him.
Elizabeth rushes into Minivan's apartment and apologizes for being late. He's fine with it, and offers her pizza and a glass of wine while Ella and Backup Ella finish a movie. She gratefully accepts. "How was your pancake juju thing?" he asks. She's confused until she realizes he's fumbling the name of the pancreatic surgery she had to do that morning. "You made that up," he decides. "Nope," she grins. "Admit it, you have the perfect job for getting out of things," he counters, implying that no one would object or know the difference if she made up an operation name. She counters that an ojejunostomy is a replumbing of the upper intestines. "Can you get that from working out?" he asks. "My shoulder's been hurting." She cracks, "I think that's called old age." They grin at each other, and at the quality of the banter, and clink their paper cups. Go, Elizabeth! As hot as Lawson is, we've already been down Cocky Surgeon Street. It's time to get ridden by Minivan instead of in one.
Gallant returns, bringing Rudy some dinner and a flashlight. "So you don't have to worry about the lights going out," he smiles. Rudy's face glows, and Gallant bends down to pick up dinner, and oh my, I think I see muscles rippling against his long-sleeved t-shirt. That's just spectacular.
Luka hops onto the crowded El train, Sam not far behind him. She's carried on board by the sea of people and bumps around uncomfortably. "Busy," Luka says, spying her. "No kidding," she replies. Gingerly, Luka tries to apologize for that morning. "I can be overzealous," he says. "Is that the word?" Sam's lips twitch. "I don't know," she replies. "Is that Croatian for 'jerk'?" Luka awkwardly tries to apologize again as she gets thrown against him by the movement of the train, and the act of being pressed to his torso and forced to inhale his sweet man-scent mesmerizes her, and her eyes turn glassy. As he talks, she reaches up and impulsively presses her lips to his. They break apart for a second, still less than a breath apart from one another, and as she strokes his cheek, they renew the kiss as the train zooms away. I have no idea what supposedly led her to change her mind, and honestly, all I can point to is: (a) he's hot, and (b) she heard he was easy. And you know what? I don't blame her one bit. You go, Sam. Get yours. At least she has good taste.
Carter -- en route to Ike Ryan's to meet Kem for dinner -- runs into her on the sidewalk. She's gleefully chowing on a Twinkie, and holding a bag full of other Hostess treats. He's stunned and disgusted and charmed all at once. "I couldn't decide, there's too much to choose from!" she trills. Carter grabs the bag and throws it out. Were I his pregnant girlfriend with cravings, I'd club him for that. And shave him. "All I can think about is chocolate," Kem says. "And sex." Carter chuckles and hugs her to him. "I'm so happy! Are you happy?" she bubbles. Then she goes on about how watching him work is a total turn-on, and she's lost me. Totally lost me. Carter the Love Stud he is not. "No more sugar for you," Carter chortles. Dude, she just told you she thinks you're the sexiest thing since Luka danced in my bedroom in a loincloth. What is your problem? Go home and tap that! Sheesh. Kem wants to come back the day to watch him work, but Carter tells her she can't. "Weaver said she'd fire me if you did," he says. "She didn't," Kem says. "She did, yeah," Carter beams. Kem pauses. "I'll have to talk to her," she reasons. Carter throws up his hands, and Kem acts like an airhead all the way to Ike's, prattling about whether she asks too many questions, and...yeah, the actors have a nice, comfortable, easy vibe to them, but Carter still acts like such a damn stick in the mud, and now that they've made Kem a total ditz, well, they might just lose me. Just for the (broken) record.