Elizabeth still has the baby strapped to her chest, and the child is still screaming. Yeah, I wouldn't want to be there, either. Bouncing her daughter, Elizabeth is tersely speaking to the mother of one of her patients -- homeless Joe, from last week. "The surgery caused the infection?" MamaJoe asks, dumbfounded. Elizabeth evasively suggests that it might've contributed to it. In your face, fool! Last week she and Mark battled over this, and she ended up surreptitiously sneaking Homeless Joe into surgery without her husband's direct consent. Her arrogance has stuck Elizabeth with a patient who might not otherwise be dying right now. Because of his "compromised state," as in his alcoholism and possible cirrhosis, Homeless Joe can't fight the infection even with the help of antibiotics. "I told him not to drink so much," weeps his mother, who goes to see her son just as Mark staggers over to his shrew. By way of apology, he says, "[The patient] started seizing, so we had to get him Dilantin and get him to C3." But Elizabeth is having none of his smooth words and sweet nothings. She shouts again that this is the last time they will ever accept weekend shifts scheduled even remotely near each other, because she no longer wants to counsel a grieving mother while her baby yelps in the background. Mark, to his credit, has this discussion in a loving voice in order to try to soothe his daughter; Elizabeth doesn't even look at the kid. Mark asks what patient of hers is about to die, and she points to Homeless Joe. "He has a mother?" Mark marvels. Lizzie fumes, "Apparently we all have a mother!" and stalks away. "She's a little cranky," Mark coos to his child, delivering a grand and delusional understatement.