An exiting nurse informs Carter that the baby's heart rate jumped up again, and ascribes it to "sinus tach." Carter enters the room to find the child fussing slightly, but not in any dangerous state of shock or ill-health. "Is she dehydrated?" he asks, concerned. Chen says the baby's making good urine, so she definitely isn't too dry, and demands that Chuny prep the hemoglobin she wanted. Carter rules out anemia, because her last hemocue was 12.2, which means...something good about blood levels. The chart looks mostly normal, and the tox screen is negative. "Maybe she's just worn out from performing all these miracles," Carter decides dryly. Chuny announces that the second hemocue is 8.2. "Aha!" Carter and I say in unison, because we both know what that means -- time for a Diet Coke. Except he dons his stethoscope and continues spewing jargon like "dilutional" and "hemolysis." They're obviously concerned about her low hemoglobin levels, which led to the child's slight pallor.
Mrs. Tanzi is suddenly standing in the doorway, staring at The Baby That Brought Mrs. Tanzi and Her Walker Together. Weaver gently asks what she's doing out of bed. "The baby was crying," Mrs. Tanzi says absently, staring at the child. Weaver hands Mrs. Tanzi off to a nurse and proceeds to circle around behind Chen, watching and listening. "I want a retic count, haptoglobin, Coombs, direct and indirect bilirubin," Chen states. "I want to transfuse two ccs per kilo per hour over the next five hours." Clearing his throat, Carter announces too loudly, "Good pick-up, Deb. I would never have thought to repeat the blood count so soon." Chen shoots him an uneasy look while Weaver distractedly peruses the child's chart. "The baby's anemic, you give blood," she yawns. "Not exactly one for the journals." She passes the chart to Carter, retracts her fangs, and leaves. Chen purses her lips. "Thanks, Carter," she says sarcastically. "That was great."
Mark meets Weaver at Mrs.Tanzi's bedside, relieved to see her back. "I was detained by Malucci, who seems to think he's out of a job," Mark says quizzically. "He is," Weaver ices. "The baby was crying," murmurs Mrs. Tanzi, as her husband marvels at her sudden consciousness and marked improvement. Mark figures that her appendix burst, and that the ebbing pressure took the pain with it -- but, temporarily. Now that Mrs. Tanzi has arisen and can fully comprehend the gravity of her condition, Mark figures it's time to scare the crap out of her and shares that within twenty-four hours, peritonitis (inflammation of abdominal tissue) will set in and cause a high fever with severe stomach pain. His bedside manner is total crap -- her abdomen is exploding, but Mark says this as though he's diagnosing a common cold and doesn't seem to care. Angelically, Mrs. Tanzi turns to her husband and breathes, "Thank you for taking care of me, Lawrence." He strokes her face adoringly. Mark decides to remind Weaver quickly that other doctors have gotten caught "performing an unauthorized physical in the hospital," but she pointedly ignores Mark because he married Elizabeth, so his judgment is clearly too impaired for consideration. Mr. Tanzi interrupts that his wife hasn't uttered his name in two years, making surgery seem increasingly appealing. But because she's perforated, the operation will take much longer to heal. "Mr. Tanzi, your wife's moment of lucidity was probably a fluke," he theorizes. "The surgeon says it's a simple operation," Mr. Tanzi says stubbornly. Weaver interjects that she'll send the surgeon down immediately to outline the options and their consequences. "She deserves to have everything done for her," Mr. Tanzi trembles. "She will," Weaver promises.