Chuny, Abby, and Sam all grab coffees from a collection sitting on the front desk. Neela walks up and gratefully snags one. "That's Lily's," someone says. Neela is confused. "I thought it was pot luck," she says. Abby tells her it's a coffee club -- they pay into it each month. That sounds like a really convoluted way to go on coffee runs. Neela asks how much it costs to join. "It's a nurses' coffee club," Sam shrugs with a superior expression. Shut up, Sam. Neela looks crushed.
Susan comes down the hall with Coop and Lester. "Time to stamp out disease," she smiles. She hands out an arm laceration to Coop, an asthma patient to Neela, "bugs are crawling under my skin" to Lester, and vaginal bleeding for Abby. "Lovely," Abby grins. Susan orders Pratt to take an incoming with her; Pratt just wants Frank to turn off the parade and turn on the game. Frank won't, because his brother-in-law is marching in it. Pratt makes a crack under his breath about his marching on behalf of the Klan. God, when one of your least likable characters is calling one of the other least likable characters a racist, you ought to know your show has problems. Pratt notices Malarkey rifling through charts and choosing select ones. "You skipped over bloody diarrhea for eye pain," accuses Pratt. God, he is the dumbest man alive. That one's a no-brainer for me. Before Pratt can pound him, Frank takes a photo with a bright flash. Evidently, he found a camera lying around from a previous year. "What do you think is on there?" Frank asks curiously. "Maybe a couple of shots of Romano and Weaver in a compromising position," Pratt snorts. Oh, the poor unsuspecting photo-lab technician. Frank, naturally, wants doubles.
Abby calculates how long Amy Pietz has been pregnant. The answer: six and a half weeks. Amy looks rough. I can't tell if it's age or lack of work or that her character is pregnant and bleeding from the genitals, but she's definitely looked fresher. Abby tells her they'll check an ultrasound to make sure everything's okay with the baby. Amy exposits that she's on prenatal vitamins and the triple cocktail -- she's been HIV-positive for ten years. "Just a loser ex-boyfriend," she sighs. "[But] my fiancé's driving up from Iowa City. This guy's the real deal." She's glowing. Well, underneath the pallor and the cold sweat and the thick, thick paste that's been applied to her face by the crack ER Vaginal Difficulties Makeup Specialists.