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.
Next, Carter ducks into a supply closet and rips off his charcoal-stained lab coat. A small red dot is visible on his right shoulder blade; he's bleeding through his shirt. His father is on the phone; Carter picks it up and starts to find out that he's being ditched. Weaver throws open the door and bleats at him, "What the hell happened?" Carter ignores her and tries to listen to his father, but Weaver won't have it, and wants to know where Turner got hold of a scalpel. Oh, please, like instruments are locked down in that place. Her crutch wasn't even safe, and that's never more than a foot from her hand. "Too many patients, not enough staff, not enough medicine," Carter hisses before continuing his conversation. Weaver then decides to rant about why Carter didn't give the cyanide kit to the mother, who had a fatal arrhythmia, and what with the cancellation of his Rio trip and all the death and the giant stain on his snazzy white coat, Carter snaps. "I'm on the phone, Kerry!" he screams. She swallows hard. Carter returns to his father and pleasantly makes plans to reschedule the trip before hanging up. He tersely informs Weaver that when you chug cyanide, your heart goes wonky. She accuses him of undertreating the mother. Carter yanks on some scrubs and spits that the daughter could have died, too, and that she didn't even have a choice about ingesting the poison in the first place. Weaver sighs that she'll take the lead for the rest of the day. Carter's like, Good, finally, nyah-nyah, I win. On her way out, Weaver notices that Carter is bleeding; he groans mildly and exits, quietly asking Malik to run HIV and hepatitis tests on The Blue Banger, whose blood may have mixed with his own. God, we've done this story already. Let it pass, TPTB. You can't revive the glory by reliving the glory days. Just ask Axl Rose.