Jack thankgodfully interrupts his nonsense: "Uh-huh. And the numbers?" Hurley's all, whuh? Jack reminds Hurley that he was yelling, "The numbers are bad!" when Jack tackled him. Hurley calls it a long story, and Jack responds that he's got time. Yeah, we probably have another season or two before we get to the bottom of it. So Hurley reluctantly launches into the numbers saga, starting with, "A while ago? I was in this kinda psych ward…" and you can read all about it here. Jack looks mildly surprised when Hurley gets to the part about winning $114 million. Hurley wraps it up with, "And that's why I tried to stop it. Because that thing is cursed, man." Jack ponders the whole thing, before saying, "You were in a psych ward?" He sounds part curious and, weirdly, kinda disappointed. Hurley frowns. "I'm not crazy," he says, and Jack's all, "I didn't say you were…" and it's probably a good thing that he didn't finish that with "…but my reaction indicates that I clearly don't think your story has any credibility." Instead, he just says, "What do you want me to say?" Hurley spits out that believing him would be nice, and Jack's opinion is that they're just numbers. Hurley stares at him. "What's that thing, where doctors make you feel better, just by talking to you?" he says. "Bedside manner," says Jack. "Yours sucks, dude," says Hurley, and stomps off. Jack watches him leave, and something tells me we're going to get a flashjack illustrating just that.
Dr. Muskrat Jack is checking Sarah's chart at the foot of her hospital bed. She wakes up and wants to know what happened to the other driver. Jack won't tell her, just tells her to try to relax. "The other driver was older," she says, and Jack brusquely informs her that Rutherford died in the ER. A tear rolls down Sarah's cheek. Wow, that was quick. She says she can't feel anything. Hey, neither can Jack! Only he doesn't have a car accident for an excuse. "I know," is all he says, and she actually has to prod him for information on what happened to her. "You have a fractured dislocation of your thoracic lumbar spine, with multiple crushed vertebrae," he says. For his tone of voice, imagine someone ordering a Big Mac meal in the drive-thru. Someone who's a bit annoyed or in a hurry, even. Jack sums all that up as a broken back, just on the off chance Sarah that the medical jargon just made her condition sound worse than it actually is. She just stares at him, horrified, but he goes on, obliviously: "Your spleen is ruptured and leaking into your abdomen, and that has to be stopped." Through the window, in an adjoining room, we see Jack's daddy look up and listen in as Muskrat Jack says he'll operate and repair the damage as best he can, but blah blah blah and "even the most optimistic" and blah blah blah and "retaining mobility" and "extremely unlikely" and blah blah blah and he does everything short of pointing her to the nearest razor blades and/or plugged-in toaster and full bathtub. Sarah can barely muster up an "oh." But before Muskrat Jack can really ruin her day, Jack Daddy interrupts and asks for a word.
Out in the hall, Jack wants to know what he did wrong, and he knows it's something, because Jack Daddy is frowning. Jack Daddy is all Ringo Starr, "My face is always this way," but Muskrat Jack tells him to spit it out. Jack Daddy says his son should try holding out a little hope once in a while, because even if it's ninety-nine percent certain that a person is screwed, he'll cling to that one percent chance that he's not. "Her spine's crushed," says Jack, adding that if he tells Sarah everything's going to be okay, that's false hope. Seems to me there might be some middle ground between being all gloom and doom and saying "everything's going to be okay," but I'm not a doctor. "Maybe, maybe," says Jack Daddy. "But it's still hope." Jack makes some kind of exasperated noise, and the two Sheppards go their separate ways. Two stashes of liquor in the hospital?