In the OR, the Marimba of Incompetence pulses on the soundtrack as Elizabeth continues murdering her patient. There's just all kinds of blood everywhere and she's clearly losing it, as her strangled and breathless voice indicates. She begs for Romano, and the nurse said she paged him three times. Elizabeth asks whether the nurse checked his office, and she says she also checked the lounge and called his cell phone. In desperation, Elizabeth tells the nurse to page the resident on call. "The resident?" the nurse repeats incredulously. "Yes! Just get him!" Dr. Babcock says that the patient's blood pressure is dropping. Elizabeth -- in an impatiently patient tone -- tells him to hang two more units. "This is all I've got," Dr. Babcock reminds her, and in the same tone of voice she says, "So call the blood bank!" He reminds her, "They're out of A-positive -- I told you!" "Then get O-negative!" she screams, and hurls a bloody swab at the glass door. Cut to a window to what may be the scrub room, where Romano's been hovering like Yoda at the end of Jedi, watching the whole procedure. Elizabeth shrieks, "For God's sake, just keep transfusing him! Don't you understand I need more time?!" Dr. Babcock hisses, "You've got to cross-clamp him now." The nurse asks whether Elizabeth wants the Zanger or the Crawford. It sounds like they've brought in some extra machines just to beep and rattle her. A few moments pass as Elizabeth breathes heavily and considers. Romano, behind the glass, doesn't take his eyes off her. Elizabeth finally says, "The Crawford. Crawford. We'll establish proximal control." Long story short, she regains control and stabilizes the patient, seemingly remembering all at once how to be a surgeon. She calls out a bunch of orders and then says, "I'm okay. I'm okay." Maybe so, but if I were a nurse, or Dr. Babcock, I'd make sure I was never alone in an OR with Whiny von Screamington again.
Carter enters the lounge, where Benton is flipping through his pile of med-school applications. Carter asks why they're in two piles, and Benton says that one pile is the applicants who'll get interviews, and the other pile is those who won't. Carter asks whether Benton has some kind of "special secret formula" to determine which applicants go where, and Benton drones, "GPA times competitive factor plus MCAT scores. Over twenty-five, you get an interview." "You don't read the letters of recommendation?" Carter asks. "After the interview," says Benton. Carter comments, "Poor kids. I don't know if I would have made it in if I'd had to interview with you. How'd you get on the committee?" Benton quietly replies, "I'm busy, Carter." Carter asks if Benton talked to Weaver, and Benton says he did. Carter, deeply ashamed, stammers, "It was nothing. It was...a slip -- not even a slip, you know? I threw them up!" He walks out. Benton says nothing. Okay, now I feel bad for Carter, because Benton's disapproval has to be a very heavy burden. Plus, Lisa's congratulation of his honesty must seem a lot warmer and sweeter by comparison.