In Chicago, Dan comes out of the CT-scan thing and complains of claustrophobia. Lisa, in DanCam, says it happens to a lot of people, and that while his scan looked good, a radiologist still has to look at it. She helps him to sit up, and tells him that his wife is on her way. Dan wryly expresses the hope that his wife won't get in an accident rushing to get to the hospital (yes, that would be contrived and ironic, so I'm surprised that it doesn't happen), and asks whether he may see CuteDean before the latter's surgery. The business end of his chest tube, by the way, is all bloody and gross. Lisa says that their seeing CuteDean depends on when the orthopedic surgeon can schedule the operation. "Well, it's just his leg, right?" says Dan. "No, he had a head trauma," Lisa announces. He -- wha? Which is pretty much Dan's reaction. Lisa explains that CuteDean hurt his pretty little head, just like Dan did (except for the "pretty" part. And the "little" part, frankly), and that CuteDean is stable now, but that they observe head traumas very carefully. "You mean he could be unstable?" Dan demands. Lisa says that she's sure CuteDean will be fine -- which, again, isn't much of an answer so much as it is a polite way of saying, "shut up, ignorant patient" (see, I get it) -- and Dan exhales, "Oh, she's going to think it's my fault again." Lisa checks Dan's pulse and totally doesn't ask a follow-up question (well, she says, "what," but she doesn't mean it), and Dan reveals that his and Debra's first son died of SIDS, when Dan was home and Debra was not, and that while she never said so, Dan always felt that she blamed him for CuteDean's big brother's death. Lisa, by rote, tells him, "There's no way you could have known." She doesn't really sell it, though. Because she doesn't care, any more than I do. Which is, not at all. They couldn't have focused this episode on CuteDean? Damn, people!
Mark and the big watch batteries all over his melon undergo a brief neurological examination by Dr. Sarandon, who reviews, "So, you know the procedure, you've had your meds -- anything on your mind?" "That's why I'm here," Mark cracks. Oh, I'm sorry, that wasn't Mark cracking -- it was the tiles on the floor, when Mark dropped that brick. Anyway, Dr. Burke tells Mark that he won't see Dr. Burke in the OR, but that he'll be there, behind Mark, talking to him. Mark wishes Dr. Burke good luck, and Dr. Burke bellows, "YOU SHOULD NOT SAY SUCH THINGS!" Just kidding. He cockily says that they don't need it, but thanks him anyway. He books, leaving Mark alone in his stupid white tights. I know he's wearing them so that he doesn't get blood clots in his legs -- I actually learned that from watching Chicago Hope back in the day -- but all they remind me of is Center Stage, and Mark is no Cooper Nielson. He's not even Connie Nielsen. He's not even a Nielsen brand candy bar. He is certainly not a Nielsen Family member on our forums. Anyway, he strikes up a conversation with the blue-lipped kid bunking next to him. Blue Lips Should Move to Kapuskasing is having heart surgery. Blue Lips doesn't know the name of his ailment, but Mark correctly identifies it. Blue Lips asks how he knew, and Mark tells him he's a doctor. "Yeah, right," says the kid, because he's thinking that Mark looks very little like a doctor, and very much like a damn fool, but Mark condescendingly informs him, "Doctors get sick, too, you know." Mark tells him about his brain surgery, like the kid cares, and explains it thus: "I have something growing on my brain." I can't help yelling, "Ch-ch-ch-Chia!" Blue Lips asks if the operation will hurt, and Mark tells him that he'll be asleep the whole time, and that if he hurts when he wakes up, they'll give him "medicine." Or, as Carter likes to call it, "sweet, sweet candy." Blue Lips opines that "this sucks." Mark attempts, "It'll be over before you know it." "It still sucks," pouts Blue Lips, turning back to his Game Boy, like, who plays with Game Boys anymore? As if. Mark agrees that it sucks. Word.