On the other side of the doors, Carter is arguing with the renal specialist over the state of Adam's kidneys. The specialist -- who looks a bit like Squeak from BASEketball (yeah, I've seen BASEketball -- what of it?) -- tells Carter that in cases of Benadryl overdose, there's no indication for dialysis, adding, "Look it up," which, in medical circles, is equivalent to saying, "Whip it out." Carter says he read a case in the Annals of Emergency Medicine in which a patient was treated using "hemoprofusion." The specialist says it won't work. Carter says they should try it. The specialist says he's not going to put Adam "at risk for hemolysis and charcoal embolism for an unproven procedure [Carter] read about in an emergency journal." Carter pouts, and shifts on his crutches. The specialist's pager goes off, and he excuses himself, but not before asserting, "This is not a renal case." Carter looks defeated, and says, "Like hell, it isn't." Carol offers to "push more bicarb," but Carter says it won't help. A machine beeps, apparently indicating a "run of seven." Carter says he doesn't intend to stand by and watch the patient arrest: "I'll write the dialysis orders!" Carol, holding the chart, condescendingly tells him, "A nephrologist has to do that." Carter cockily says that the article he read explained exactly what to do. Yeah, well, I read a magazine article about a plane once, but that doesn't make me a pilot, Carter. Maybe you should finish your physiotherapy before you start moonlighting as an internist. Carol reluctantly offers that Weaver once did hemoperfusion on an OD patient, and Carter seizes on this information: "Then we should do it. I know this'll work." Carol, having had her resolve broken down by years of working with Doug Ross, hands over the chart and says she knows a dialysis nurse who won't question the order. Carter takes the chart, looking grateful.
Mark charges out in the hall, closely followed by Lisa. He asks her if she wants to "run this," and she takes a breath and replies, "If you'll back me up." Out by the desk, a man on a gurney has his gown pulled off his bare chest; that orange goo you always see on hospital shows is all smeared in with his chest hair (and there goes lunch), and Chen, assisted by Haleh, is getting ready to use the paddles. Mark and Lisa watch as Chen charges the paddles, yells, "Clear!" and...sets the man's chest on fire. Well, I'll admit that I didn't see that coming. Haleh apparently didn't either, because she kind of shrieks. Chen yelps and hands the now smoking paddles back to her. Mark yells that someone should turn off the oxygen, and smothers the fire with a small sheet. The patient is still in v-tach, so Mark tells Chen to start compressions. At this point, Frank comes around the corner and complains, "Oh, it smells!" Ooh, yeah, it would -- burning hair and burning human flesh and hospital. I don't even want to entertain the notion. Mark calls for two prep razors and, as Chen continues doing compressions, Frank offers to shave the patient's left side while Mark does the right. They get to shaving, Lisa goes for the paddles, and Mark calls Frank "Rambo" and asks him why he isn't in the ICU. Chen admits, "He's my patient," and then says she thought his name was Frank. He explains that Rambo was his nickname from Desert Storm. Chen's professionalism comes back in from the ambulance bay to relieve Chen of her panties. Lisa makes with the paddles, shocks the patient, and gets him back to normal sinus rhythm. Lisa looks positively shocked at this result, and glances around as if to say, "Huh? Who da man?"