Swiftly, we switch to the room in which Elizabeth has cracked open young Kevin. His pulse is steady, but blood pressure is dropping; the mood in the room is placid, though, as Dr. "Big Brother" Romano waltzes in to observe. "I heard you've got bleeders popping up like prairie dogs in here," he chirps. Elizabeth steadily informs him that she's working on a pediatric pancreatic transsection in which the splenic vessels won't separate. I hate when that happens. Romano wonders whether she's removing the spleen. "Not unless I have to," Elizabeth replies, surreptitiously kicking her special "Saving Spleens, Saving Lives" duffel bag into a hiding place under the operating table. A nurse reveals the child has lost more than a liter of blood. "Back in at 140," someone else shouts. "Must've torn the splenic vein," Elizabeth sighs, as though it's the vein's fault. "Side biting clamp!" I think her mouth needs one of those, too. Actually, I'm not sure what I meant by that, but whatever. At least I'm more pleasant than she is. And, because this recap isn't about me, I'll move along. The nurse quietly says, "Dr. Corday?" Elizabeth barks, "WHAT?" Clearing her throat, the nurse whispers, "You're leaking." And sure enough, a wet spot has appeared in the vicinity of her right nipple. "%@#!%^$%^!$#&(*@!!!" Elizabeth wants to scream at her accursed mammaries. Breast milk is unsterile, so Romano puffs up and insists that she scrub out, having contaminated herself. Elizabeth howls for a fresh gown and new gloves, but Romano correctly notes that it will leak again, so she storms out to pump out the milk -- and, with it, the last vestiges of her goodwill -- from her chest.
Carter and Chuny elbow their way through adoring masses huddled outside the fallen guitar player's room. "Thought this guy wasn't famous yet," Carter remarks flippantly, causing a groupie to scream, "It's not about fame, jerkoff!" Carter groans and yells for Jim the Buff Security Guard to clear the area immediately. He then sends Chuny off to find an available bed for the guy, who must move in order to make room for new patients. Jim wrestles the groupie past. Groupie: "Fascist." Carter: "Freak." Groupie: "Geek." Carter: "Goof." Groupie: "What?"
Officiously sweeping into Toe Boy's room, Carter seats himself at the wounded toe and prepares to resume treatment. Toe Boy isn't impressed that he's waited so long for toe treatment, and Carter explains that all the stoned hooligans are complicating ER patient flow that particular night. "It's not my fault!" protests Toe Boy. "Are you saying it's mine?" Carter counters. Toe Boy ponders this. "I'm just saying you guys need more doctors," he pouts. Carter stares at him with a wry grin and looks about to play the "You Don't Know Shit About My Day" game, but Malik interrupts. He's got Vincent Newberry's mother. "Who?" Carter asks. Apparently, she birthed Metalhead. "You don't even know his name?" sputters Toe Boy. "He almost died!" Carter: "I saved him." Toe Boy: "Do you even know my name? What kind of doctor are you?" Carter guides Mrs. Metalhead to a more remote corner and reassures her that her son is intubated and not comatose. "It's that liquid G junk, isn't it?" she says, wringing her hands. "I told him to stay away from the stuff!" Suddenly, her nose starts bleeding, which she ascribes to tension. Carter calmly sits her down, chalks up one more patient on his mental roster, and helps her stem the ride.