In Trauma Yellow, Mark toils over a boy named Aaron, assisted by Dr. Kerry "With Hair This Nice, I Don't Need A" Weaver. The boy can't feel his extremities, but Weaver can't detect any sign of nerve infraction. Mark still wants Aaron to stick with the neck collar, and they want to sandwich his head with sandbags to keep it from moving in case there has been some kind of spinal-cord damage. Mark pushes on Aaron's chest. The boy doesn't feel it. He looks scared. Officer Exposition enters so that we learn Aaron fell victim to a sledding accident, most likely engineered by his drunk father, who pulled the mini-chariot behind a snowmobile. Weaver's head snaps up. "You smelled alcohol on his breath?" she gapes. Officer Expo shrugs and says he didn't, but the man just seems out of it, so perhaps it's drugs instead of booze. Aaron's eyes dart from side to side. Mark checks the clock. "Going somewhere?" Weaver asks Mark, who feigns innocence. "That's the third time you've looked at the clock," Weaver adds. Perhaps he's wondering why it reads 5:10, which makes zero sense given how light it is already, how Rachel was awake and functioning at least an hour ago, and how Mark's surreptitious glances leads one to believe his 1:30 appointment is fast approaching. Nice prop, ER. Mark ignores Weaver and the obvious space-time continuum issues, preferring to poke Aaron's arm as hard as he can, ostensibly to determine the extent of his injury, although it doesn't hurt that it could double as a stress ball. "Why can't I feel my arms?" Aaron panics woodenly.