Elizabeth wheels her patient, Mrs. Wilson, out of the OR and shouts that her surgery went brilliantly. "You're on your way to Recovery," she booms. "I need your address," Mrs. Wilson mutters groggily. "Gotta send you a thank-you note." Uh, you might want to hold onto that, because it seems it takes a few days to fully survive Elizabeth. A pretty young woman in a lab coat jogs up behind Elizabeth and introduces herself as Carmen from Infection Control. Again, no one seems worried that she's pursuing Elizabeth in front of a patient. Carmen at least has the good grace to ask for a private moment, so Elizabeth reluctantly lists some instructions for Mrs. Wilson's care and lets the nurses depart with the gurney.
And now, the "private moment" begins, right in the middle of the hallway. Carmen explains that the death of Elizabeth's patient that day triggered an investigation. "You need to be cultured," Carmen says. Elizabeth whips out her Les Miserables CD and beats Carmen over the head, screaming, "Culture this!" But apparently, Carmen just means that Dr. Corday should be tested to ensure that she's not carrying an insidious bacterium that's being transmitted to her surgical patients. Affronted, but more than a little startled, Elizabeth tries to blow off Carmen, claiming that she simply can't spare the time. Carmen politely points out that Elizabeth's surgical privileges could be revoked if she fails to cooperate, to which Elizabeth icily replies, "If you have concerns, talk to my chairmen." But Carmen already has, and got full support from Drs. Anspaugh and Romano. Elizabeth looks primed to spit nails into Romano's eye sockets, although sometimes in the Corday/Greene household, that look passes for loving concern.
Susan bends Mark's ear about Amal's situation, explaining that the girl fears deportation if her parents discover proof of sexual activity. Mark suggests that Susan lie and say they're operating to remove an ovarian cyst. "And falsify a consent form?" Susan flinches. Mark looks at her, certain she's forgotten about the paragraph in the Hippocratic Oath that covers the use of little white lies. Susan would prefer to invoke the "What They Don't Know Won't Hurt Them" rule. After all, pregnancy can be treated as confidential, even if the patient is a minor. Of course, Amal looked twenty-four, but if they want her to be under eighteen, that's fine with me. Let's make Mark twelve, too. Mark asks whether Susan trusts Amal to return, and the good doc claims she does, but isn't terribly convincing. Mark is called to the phone so that he can speak to Elizabeth, who couldn't figure out a way to talk to him in person, given that they're in the same building and all. Weaver uses this opportunity to waylay Susan. Sympathetically, she says she heard about Susan's dead patient and knows how tough cases like that can be, then segues right into her real point. "I've been meaning to talk to you about the nursing shortage," Weaver says gingerly. Frank interrupts to tell Weaver that Dizzy's BAL test came back; she blew a 0.092, just over the legal limit. Weaver waves him off, saying she'll alert the cop herself. Weaver oversimplifies that if Susan would just pitch in a bit, everyone will be happy. "The nurses are complaining?" Susan asks, pretty certain she knows which nurse that might be. "Yeah, I told them you're used to better staffing," Weaver explains, which does sound pretty diplomatic to me. She then says something rude to the effect that the nurses will willingly cut her some slack until she's "up to speed." Susan watches Weaver leave, feeling two feet tall. You know, if it's revealed that Abby did bitch to Weaver, why don't we get to see it? I'd love to see Abby and Weaver have a meaty scene together. It gets old when Abby has a choice of talking to Carter, Luka, or Susan, and no one else. She can have conversations that don't include her romantic entanglements. It's true! I read about it somewhere. It's called "good writing."