As Bob Marley's "Jammin'" plays in the lobby, Ed finds out that his head CT came back clear and he looks fine. Pratt explains that he's arranged for Ed to se a shrink about the problem, which causes Ed to flip out because his wife's asking for a divorce and he figures that any mental health questions will make it completely easy for her. Pratt doesn't really care, and Weaver yells at him to take three more patients without dumping them onto Malarkey, so Pratt flags down his old nemesis Foreign Nurse and says, "Give Ed here two milligrams of Obecalp." She blinks. "You know what Obecalp is," he says firmly, pointedly. "Yes, doctor," she glares. Pratt holsters his mental six-shooter and prepares to burst back out through the saloon doors to find another problem he can solve.
Neela stops at the room they found for Winnie and sees that sad, lonely Frizzy is with her. "What does DNR mean?" Frizzy mopes. Neela graciously and gently explains that it means Winnie doesn't want to be kept alive by a machine, and tries to take Frizzy out of the room. "She says she sleeps better with me," Frizzy says sadly. Neela takes pity on her and tucks the girl up into the hospital bed with her dying, pancake-breasted grandmother. She pauses to watch this with tender gloom, until Pratt interrupts. "Glad you have time for a Kodak moment. I know I sure as hell don't," he snaps.
Obediently, Neela leaves and apologizes, but explains that Frizzy's here alone. "It's hard, isn't it? Learning where your time is best spent, with the patient or the family," she observes. Pratt brushes Neela off, because he's never really given much of a shit about anything unless it somehow earns him adulation, and a prepubescent girl isn't high on his list. As Pratt stalks away in a fit of self-righteous indignation, Neela sags a bit. Lester leans in and whispers, "Hey -- he's tough, but he's got the goods, you know?" Oh, be quiet, Lester. Don't encourage this. Trying to be subtle, Lester asks Neela if she knows what Obecalp is. A listening Weaver knows it's "placebo" spelled backwards, and tersely demands to know who prescribed it. "Dr. Pratt," Lester answers, befuddled. Weaver spits a nail into his leg and roars off in a fit of pique. A nervous Lester contemplates shaving, piercing his nose, changing his accent, and trying again tomorrow under a fake name.
Weaver lays into Pratt for prescribing a fake drug. Pratt tries to justify himself by pointing out that the guy's faking it and freaking out at any mention of psychiatry, so he figured it wouldn't hurt anyone to make the patient think he was getting real drugs. Weaver reads Pratt the riot act. "Not only have you breached every principle of medical ethics, but you've also opened us up to a lawsuit if he finds out what you did," Weaver says. This is where Pratt would point out that Weaver is not one to throw stones when her glass house has three broken walls already, but because the alderman story got dropped faster than Susan's pants near a handicapped placard, he of course knows nothing of this irony.