Carter turns his attention to Grace, wondering whether she does self-diagnosis. Need he ask? The girl earnestly flaunts her skills, so of course she's going to assume she's ten watts brighter than all the other doctors. "I've let myself get a little run down, and I can feel the flu coming on," she begins, babbling about her upcoming exam and how it's a bad time to be sick, so she wants Relenza or Tamiflu. Carter figures he can hook her up; maybe she should've begged for something stronger. She exposits that she's attending two colleges right now, simultaneously working toward law and medical degrees because her parents would only pay for the latter if she studied the former. Carter sympathizes.
Neecole juggles an armload of hospital supplies, which I believe are officially called "blue plastic thingamajigs." Gallant mistakes her for a nurse, but she cheerfully corrects him and they swap introductions. Luka briefly descends to check on her progress. "[It's going] okay," Neecole smiles. "Abby showed me how to bathe a homeless man!" Hee. I love the way she says that, as though it's a life skill she'll need to nurture. She's so enthusiastic about it all. I give her credit -- she never complains, which makes it tough to hate her, which in turn makes me loathe her even more. Luka gasps a bit, practically turns beet red, and quickly tells her to stick with Haleh, because Abby gets pretty busy; clearly he knows Neecole's a bit of a fool. Luka unearths David the Security Guard's test results, which show he just suffered a slight anxiety attack. Gallant gets to deliver the news while Luka disappears to answer a page. "It can get a little crazy here," Neecole pants to Gallant. He empathizes and they make small talk while heading into one of the hospital's many rooms, into which I can only assume Neecole is about to deposit her mountain of supplies. They shove open the door and hear raspy, labored breathing emanating from behind a drawn curtain. Neecole hesitates while Gallant rushes forward and throws back the curtain to reveal David, swinging from the ceiling by a noose fashioned crudely from his own belt. Neecole drops everything and does her best Macauley Culkin. As he screams for help, Gallant tries to lift David's body so that the noose will loosen, but he can't shoulder the weight; inspired, he smashes into a cabinet, grabs a shark file and climbs up to saw through the leather. The belt snaps and both men collapse onto a gurney, breathing heavily.
Carter inches toward Gamma's room, peering sadly through the blinds before mustering his courage and entering to break the news. He dallies a bit first, but Gamma calls him on it and demands the information he's trying to avoid revealing. "You have Shy-Drager Syndrome," he finally tells her. "It's a progressive condition that affects blood pressure and puts you at greater risk for heart attack and stroke." Gamma blinks, then asks very calmly whether the beast will kill her; Carter informs her that most victims die within ten years. Is that it? God, based on his hangdog expression all day, I was expecting something gorier, more degenerative, and more immediate. Basically, I wouldn't have been content with anything but Ebola. "Ten years," Gamma considers, figuring she's got it pretty good given that she's already in her seventies. "I'm not even sure I want to be around ten more years. Ten days -- now that might've put a kink in my plans." Well, prepare to get kinky, Gamma, because I saw the preview for next week and it doesn't look warm or fuzzy. Carter tries to convince her that one more night in the hospital is essential, but Gamma won't have it, which is precisely why Carter should never have been allowed to handle her case -- she just isn't taking him seriously, and he's a sucker for her independent-old-biddy schtick.