Peter "Cottontail" Benton examines an elderly gentleman named Mr. Fulton, and observes that the circulation in his leg is poor, and that they'll need an arteriogram to check his blood flow. His son tells Benton that when Mr. Fulton first came to the hospital, the doctor couldn't feel a pulse in Mr. Fulton's foot. Benton asks when that was, and the Fultons tell him it was about a month ago. Sonny Fulton says that the doctor took the dead skin off Mr. Fulton's toe, told him to soak it, and gave him some ointment. Mr. Fulton says that his shoe didn't fit right, and had rubbed his toe raw. With no preamble, Benton declares, "Well, the toe is gangrenous now. And you have an ulceration on your leg. We will have to operate." Mr. Fulton -- broadsided, as anyone would be, by this pretty shocking news -- quavers, "How bad is it?" Benton tells him, "We'll probably have to amputate below the knee." Sonny Fulton looks down. "Amputate?" Mr. Fulton repeats. Sonny Fulton demands, "How could this happen? That first doctor gave my dad some pills and told him to take an aspirin; we never knew this could be this serious." Benton asks Sonny whether he remembers who that doctor was, and Sonny says it was "some foreign guy." "Kovac?" Benton asks. Mr. Fulton says it was he. I guess Mr. Fulton was so dazzled by Luka's beauty that he didn't pay full attention to his diagnosis.
Elizabeth, in her coat and carrying a small package of (I presume) medical supplies, tells Lydia that she's going to Mark's to stitch his hand, and that Lydia should make sure psych comes down to see Claire. Lydia wryly says that Claire isn't going anywhere: "I put her on a slow drip; she's got a couple more hours left on that bag." Elizabeth thanks her and leaves.
Lydia walks behind the desk, where Weaver, on the phone, is telling someone, "I'm still massaging the data. I'll make the presentation in June with three months' worth of figures." Carol is standing by the rack of charts and rubbing her forehead. Again, boo...no. No "hoo." That's all. As Weaver hangs up, Carol starts to walk off, and Weaver crutches after her asking where she's been. Carol says she was up in day care: "Tess has been cranky all morning." Weaver says, "I just postponed my meeting because I didn't have your report." Carol flaps a hand and says, "Aw, I didn't get to finish it." Um, hi -- "sorry"? Ever hear of it? It works well in situations like these. Weaver reminds her, "You're the paramedic liaison nurse. [Well, at least, she was when Shep was around, if you know what I'm saying, and I think you do.] You're supposed to stay on top of the stats." Carol says, "I know, I've just been incredibly busy." Weaver says that, in that case, she should have given the job to another nurse. Carol, wounded, breathes, "I can handle it!" Weaver stops her and says, very seriously and (under the circumstances) kindly, "Okay, look. I know that your babies take a lot of time, so if you need to cut back on your responsibilities --" "No, I'm fine!" Carol insists. Weaver asks, "Are you sure? Because I can't afford to have things fall through the cracks." "I can handle it," Carol promises. Where have I heard that before? Weaver crutches off. As Carol watches her go, looking (unjustifiably, in my view) pissed, Chuny and Amira walk up behind her; Amira has a huge box with a red bow on it and tells Carol a courier just dropped it off. They exhort her to open it. She sets the box down on the desk and slides off the lid of the box, stopping short before she can see much of what's inside. She freezes, and gasps, "Oh, God. It's from Doug." Chuny and Amira are even more intrigued now; Chuny asks to see what he gave her, so Carol folds back some tissue paper and sees that the box is full of little boxes of animal crackers. Aw! I don't even have to hear the rest; I already think that's cute. Amira comments, "That's a weird birthday present," and Carol explains, "No, it's this thing we used to do. Whenever he'd go to the store he'd come back with a box of animal crackers, and I'd always put one in his Christmas stocking." "Kind of like a tradition," Chuny observes, as she and Amira take off. Carol contemplates the box, and the course of her life. Okay, I don't like Carol, but...aw!