The ambulance pulls in and Carter makes like Geddy Lee rushing over to it. "Dr." Dave Malucci is close on his heels, and confirms that Carter is "with [him] on this one." Doris gives them the bullet: it's a fifty-year-old man found in a park, in full arrest. Dr. Dave comments, "That's one well-fed bum." I guess he's supposed to be fat, but it's hard to tell because of the angle from which they're shooting him, and because he's completely covered -- except his feet -- by one of those red insulated blankets. Lisa wonders how they managed to get ParkBum into the rig, and Doris replies, "Paid a bunch of his buddies five bucks." Heh. Lisa and Dr. Dave look dismayed, but Carter claps his hands and leaps into the rig, anxious to start the healing. And showboating. They go hand in hand, really.
ParkBum's bed rolls into the ER as Doris continues: "Large lac to the occipital scalp; not sure if he was rolled or fell out of his tree." Dr. Dave wants to know what he was doing in a tree, and Lisa suggests, "Maybe he lived in it." Yeah! Maybe it was a political act! Aw, right here in Chicago -- their very own ParkBum Butterfly Hill. Dr. Dave does compressions on ParkBum's chest (they've folded down the top of his blanket) as Carter notes that ParkBum's in asystole. He asks Doris why they didn't intubate ParkBum, and she replies, "His neck is as thick as a power pole! We couldn't find the cords." Carter comments that it was forty degrees out last night, and that ParkBum is hypothermic, but they still might get him back. Dr. Dave mutters, "Oh, yeah? With what? A blowtorch?" No, Carter's thinking of active core re-warming.
In a trauma room, Carter, ParkBum, blah blah blah resuscitationcakes. As he continues doing compressions, Dr. Dave asks Carter whether he knows anyone who plays hockey; Carter doesn't. Dr. Dave explains, "I need an extra guy for a game tonight." What was that? A spiky-haired, socially retarded Chicago doctor who plays hockey in his spare time? Dr. Dave, I knew Billy Kronk. Billy Kronk was a friend of mine. And you, sir, are no Billy Kronk. ["Plus, Billy Kronk was kind of hot. And you, Dr. Dave, are not." -- Sars] Carter says he's busy that night, and Dr. Dave's all, I was asking if you knew anyone. Oh, burn! ParkBum's in v-fib. Lisa says that ParkBum's core temperature is eighty-six degrees. Carter calls for someone to charge the paddles, and Dr. Dave snorts, "Why? He's a frozen dinner!" Carter orders someone to put in two chest tubes on the right and run warm saline through the rapid infuser: "He's not dead until he's warm and dead." Lisa offers to prep for the chest tube, and Carter shocks ParkBum with the paddles. Suddenly, a bird flies past Carter's head, followed by at least ten others; Lisa guesses that they were in ParkBum's coat. Carter tries to continue with the task at hand, but the birds are kind of interfering, despite his best intentions. Carter has to yell at a cringing Dr. Dave to get over to the bed and perform CPR; Dr. Dave replies that ParkBum is brain dead, and Carter's all, "Not until I say so." Carter, dude, I know this is your first trauma since getting back in the saddle, but drop the chalupa.