Coones catches up to Pangborn in a hallway that's crawling with trick-or-treaters and Halloween decorations, to remind her that he's taking the rest of the day off as half a personal day. She asks why. He snips, "That's why it's called 'personal.'"
Cut to Doc Angela flagging Joyner for a "quick consult." She gives her the lowdown on a patient of hers: eight months pregnant, complaining of chest pains, and very nervous -- although not nearly as nervous as the husband is. Joyner pops into the woman's room for a little look-see. She makes with the friendly chitchat, asking if it's the woman's first baby. The woman proudly rubs her enormous belly and crows that it's "a big boy!" Joyner says that's "wonderful" with about as much enthusiasm as someone who's just been handed a dollar-off coupon for an oil change. She takes the woman's pulse and asks Doc Angela a couple of questions, then asks her to get the nurse. The pregnant woman asks if it's something bad. Of course it is. There's a baby involved. Doesn't anyone on this show own a television set? Joyner lies that they just have to check out a few things. She spots Doc Angela on her way back to the room with the nurse, and meets them in the hallway to outline the tests the patient needs. She concludes by telling the nurse to "have the desk page Kellerman." The nurse toddles off, and Joyner breaks the news to Doc Angela: It looks like the woman is in aortic dissection. A quick Google search, plus the look on Doc Angela's face, reveals that an aortic dissection is some pretty serious business. They peer in at the pregnant woman, who's mugging and clutching at her chest like a Tums commercial gone horribly awry. The doctors exposit that if it's a type-A dissection, the patient will need surgery. "But what could that mean?" you ask. Doc Angela intuits your need to know, and mutters gravely, "The baby." "Not the baby!" I cry. Okay, I don't.
Cut to Yang, who's just returned to the nursing station to retrieve the paper she'd been reading earlier. Kellerman's got the paper now, reading something on the back page and considerately holding it up so that Yang and the rest of us can spot the article on the front. "Pretty wild, huh?" Yang asks. Even though he's not reading the article, Kellerman knows exactly what she's talking about. "So what happened? Some wacko snuck [sic] in dressed as a doctor?" Yang asks. Kellerman gets up and passes the paper to her, expositing, "Yep. Killed three patients fifty years ago tonight." Another doctor walks by, adding that the killer left a pair of dice in each victim's bed. Yang acts like she didn't already read the subheading of the article. She asks if they ever caught the guy, because the photo of him being led away in handcuffs by police isn't a definitive enough clue. Posner walks by and snatches the paper out of Yang's hands. He says, "It says here they gassed him at San Quentin." He adds that he's going to "the can," and I offer a silent thank you to whoever it was that introduced the writers to a thesaurus with the suggestion that there are other words for "toilet" besides "crapper." Before he disappears around the corner, Posner asks again for the "Chem-7 on Bed Nine." In her head, Yang curses out him and his Chem-7.