As Romano gets wheeled into the operating room, he does that whole crazy "Heyyyy, I'm a patient now" thing where his eyes flicker around and he hears voices as distant echoes. If the show gives him glasses and a spine-ectomy, his transformation into Mark will be nearly complete. Shirley's face appears over the gurney to ask how he's doing. "Never better," Romano says through his teeth. They scoot him onto the operating table, and when they do it, his gown rides up a little. A thousand fanfics are born. He asks who's scrubbing in to assist, and is displeased to hear it's a third-year resident, because all students are jackasses. Romano shivers and is startled to hear that the table is freezing cold. God, if he sprouts anything warm and/or fuzzy on his heart as a result of this experience, I'm going to need some anti-trite medication. "Where's Corday?" he asks impatiently. "I thought she was scrubbing in." Shirley offers to page her in the ER, where she was spied covering a patient, but Romano would rather not act like a ten-year-old with a crush, so he says no. He's got a clip on the finger of his dead arm; I think it's the apparatus they use to take your pulse ox, but I could be wrong; either way, it should be on the arm that's not getting lopped off, and Romano tensely points this out. Shirley's like, Oops, hee, whoops, and Romano's like, If this goddamn arm worked, my middle finger would be romancing your nostrils with a quickness. Then he counts back from ten and succumbs to the anesthesia.

Pratt squeezes some eye drops onto the camera. Aw, it's so nice the way he helps out on the set. Then we cut away, and he's been treating my crazy damaged-toe man. He's got a burned face, and Pratt diagnoses him with a traumatic glaucoma. This doesn't have any bearing on anything at all; I'm just proud that I got all that down.

Abby wheels out Mia, who is Torn Womb Girl. As Pratt tells her that she needs to go into surgery to save her uterus, Mia grabs the chart and scrawls, "Baby?" Pratt gulps that they don't know, and Mia registers that she's upset by wrinkling her brow and meowing. I don't know. She just does.

Carter is with Mr. Dressler, whose chest pain is intensifying. With all the fancy hoo-ha and doo-dads around the hospital, plus the fact that this guy's overweight, clammy, short of breath, and clutching at his chest, Carter has deduced that this is, indeed, a ragingly sprained ankle. No, wait, sorry -- heart attack. Carter smiles that they're going to take him up to the cath lab and unblock his arteries. He offers to call Mrs. Dressler, but apparently she took the kiddies to Lincoln Park to watch the eclipse. But Mr. Dressler left her a message when all this went down, so everything's peachy.