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?
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.