Abby is on the phone trying to scout information about Kathy's daughter. She figures out that the paramedics took two victims to Northwestern and two to Mercy, because one hospital usually can't handle the whole load. "There were ten victims total. We could only handle four," Malarkey says. Kathy correctly counts only eight people in that total. "There were two fatalities at the scene," Malarkey says calmly. Fucking IDIOT. God, he's not even a funny buffoon, or a watchable one, or one that divides the audience. He's just an oaf everybody loathes. Why do they keep him around? With all respect to Scott Grimes, Malarkey needs to take a long walk with a pissed-off helicopter. Kathy completely flips her shit and goes careening through the trauma rooms, first spying her husband Paul and then her blood-soaked son, who's getting pins put in his skull through the tongs. Kathy uncorks a whopper of a scream as Luka finally remembers that she's frail and wee and he's strong and hot, and drags her out of there. Kathy shrieks and shrieks until Luka picks all the scenery out of her teeth. Then she calms down almost immediately and becomes emotionally fragile, yet resigned and sturdy. It's like they filmed the scenes a week apart and forgot to put in the "Kathy dials it down ten notches" portion of dialogue. Luka quietly explains that Kathy's husband has two collapsed lungs and some internal bleeding, with a side helping of chest wounds. Kathy sees Sam and begs her to tell her what's up with Ethan. Sam bites her lip, and then gently admits Ethan's neck is broken, and that the bizarre Dr. Emmett Brown-chic headgear is an attempt to stave off paralysis. Luka chips in that Ethan's probably brain-damaged. Kathy blinks, her eyes wet, and emptily asks, "They're dying, aren't they?" Luka pretends this isn't a foregone conclusion. "Where should I go now?" Kathy asks brokenly. They're confused. "Who's going to die first?" she elucidates. Apparently, the answer is Sam, because we fade to black on a shot of her face.
I'd like to point out that my roommate spent eight hours in the ER, and not one person projectile or otherwise vomited on any public surface. In addition, no two employees discussed their personal problems or engaged in lovers' quarrels while they treated her, and no foreign-born doctors escorted me to a supply closet and took me roughly while I awaited word of her condition. The latter count was our only disappointment.
Kem noshes on an ice-cream cone that hasn't melted in two hours. The fact that she took two hours to eat an ice-cream cone offsets the flagrant "Look! She's eating CRAP!" aspect of this scene. No human nurses ice cream that long. It's not possible. Carter takes her to the hotel where his parents and grandparents get married, and of course he's checked them in and they're going upstairs for lunch in bed. Apparently, The Chicago Experience includes showing Kem how a local high-class hooker gets treated.