Abby leaves a message for Eric, pleading as casually as possible for him to call her. She slams down the phone and pouts. Susan notices all the signs of a lousy day, and commiserates. "At least you haven't killed anyone," Susan notes. "I'm 0 for 2. All these patients could be my next victim." Who was her second patient ? Old Man Spittle? He ain't dead yet, missy. She rifles uncomfortably through all the charts, then yanks out the most benign-looking one: "'I have the crabs and it itches bad.'" Abby smirks that she could take the chest-pain in Exam Four. "Not if he wants to live," Susan self-pities. Abby offers her the swollen scrotum in exam two. That's an offer that's tough to refuse, but Susan does so on the grounds that he's a three-hundred-pound man. "Big scrotum," Abby observes. Susan laughs, but frets that he's a heart attack waiting to happen. When Carter approaches to ask about Eric, Susan sighs, "Screw it, give me the swollen scrotum," and leaves in a fit.

Carter tries to offer up excuses for Eric's disappearance, but Erin keeps interrupting because she needs him to reassess her allergic-reaction patient. She's relentless, that one. She follows him and constantly breaks into their conversation. Nothing she's tried works, and his sats are dropping. "Why didn't you come get me?" Carter suddenly blurts, running off and leaving Abby. "I just did," Erin sighs.

Abby uses this alone time to sit in the lounge and frown at the phone. She might not be trying to frown; it might just be that by this point in the show, her frown lines have etched permanent trenches on her face and are building small communities there where they breed 2.5 baby frown lines per family and buy station wagons. Yanking the phone toward her, Abby rifles through her pocket and finds the number for Eric's Air Force base. She's connected to the medical facility and lies that County General is treating Eric and needs faxed copies of his records. Clearly, the person on the other end wants to know who's treating him. "I don't have the chart in front of me," she hedges. "Does it matter?" Apparently, it does. Abby pretends to go find the chart, holding the phone away from her face and taking a deep breath. "Um, the physician's name is Dr. John Carter," she winces. We fade to black thinking she's bloody lucky she managed to remember his first name this time.