Gallant treats a Russian woman and her screaming baby. He tells Luka that he's waiting for a translator. It's not immediately apparent why the woman is there, except to give Gallant an excuse to be adorable and blow up a rubber glove to amuse the child, and sure enough, the baby is delighted with this floating latex udder. Does he do parties? Gallant cheerfully asks Luka for a letter of recommendation for his school files. Luka refuses and leaves, Gallant gaping after him.

Weaver is at the tail end of a rant into the phone at Alderman Bright's assistant. She screams that he needs to call her, then slams down the phone and more sedately upbraids Luka for skipping out on his mandatory therapy. "We had an agreement," she wheedles. "I never agreed to anything," he insists. "Well, you came back here, didn't you? I told you it was mandatory, didn't I?" She's desperate, almost pleading. Luka barks that he doesn't need to see a shrink, and disappears into Trauma Yellow, which is oddly apropos given what a coward he's being about psychotherapy.

Keith is freaking out about some intense stomach pain. "Belly's rigid," Susan says to an entering Kerry. "Free air under the diaphragm." Weaver examines his chest film and concludes that there's a perforation of the stomach near his intestine. "From the penicillin?" he breathes, terrified. "No," Weaver says. Then he passes out, and Weaver frantically taps his cheek to try and bring him around. Susan watches this with interest. "How hard were you bagging him?" Weaver yells to Abby. Susan says that the cords were swollen shut. "Which is why you don't hyperventilate," seethes Weaver. Abby blinks, hurt. "Don't blame this on her!" Susan snaps. Weaver screams for Corday.

Abby bursts into Trauma Green to get Elizabeth's attention. Crazy Toe Girl is wailing that she can't see. Luka says it's because a retrobulbar hematoma is compressing the optic nerve in her toe. They need to drain the pooling blood. In her toe. They're going to cut. Her toe. Right now.

In the living room, curled up on a large three-seater couch, a relaxed and innocent Heathen is watching television. Suddenly, she bolts upright, screams, and falls over in the other direction, very nearly spilling sacrificial drops of Diet Coke all over the carpet. Curling into a fetal position, she lies there, shuddering, squeezing her toelids shut and singing softly, "If You're Happy And You Know It, Kick Your Feet."

Heathen: Oh my god, I can't watch this.
Lauren: Don't watch. EW, don't watch. Okay, it's over...
H: Oh, thank you Jebus...AAAAH!
L: Noooo, sorry, don't look!
H: I am in HELL. I want to die.
L: Oh, that's just...oh.
H: I might have to turn this recap over to you. All I can do is whimper. I want my mother.
L:Why do you recap a medical show, again?
[phone rings]
H: Hello?
Jessica: Oh my GOD.
H: WHY DO I RECAP A MEDICAL SHOW?
J: I'm so, so sorry. That was so awful. I was sitting here watching that and freaking out on your behalf.
H: I can't see. I can't see out of my left eye. Wait, that's because I can't open my left eye.
J: Do you need me to recap that scene for you?
H: I HAVE LOST MOTOR CONTROL OF MY EYE. I want to die.
J: Well, if you need me...
H: I don't know if I can knowingly put anyone through this. This isn't television. This is hell. This is Satan's napkin at a banquet of brussel sprouts and sautéed evil.
J: Right...Look, it's not a problem. I mean, if there's ever anything on Dawson's Creek about chicken feet or cotton balls, I know I can come to you for help....Hey, do you think this is a shout-out? It's got to be a shout-out!
H: But that's not fair! I'm the one shouting! That's not right. I think it's the opposite of a shout-out.
J:It's a fuck-you.
H: Well. They can take their middle fingers and shove 'em in their...
J: ...Toes.