Shepherd checks in on Jaime of the Bad Brain. He, too, is very cute with the little girl. Or maybe the little girl is just so damn cute that she cute-ifies everyone around her. Her chubby little leg keeps shaking and Shepherd asks George if the MRI is ready. George snottily answers that Shepherd ordered a CT scan before so that's what he reserved. "Well, now I'm saying an MRI," Shepherd smoothly responds with the "you snotty, baby-faced git" insult heartily implied. Jaime's daddy asks if she's going to need surgery and Shepherd says he doesn't know. The parents are concerned about their insurance; it's pretty clear they're not the Rockefellers. The mother picks Jaime up and her leg immediately starts shaking much more. Shepherd orders a nurse to get some diazepam running for the girl as he puts a tourniquet on her upper arm and manages to put a butterfly needle into Jaime's vein without her even realizing he's just stuck her with a needle. It's the smoothest thing I've ever seen. Seconds after the diazepam hits her system, the leg stops shaking. He comments to the parents that diazepam is an amazing drug and then he chats with Jaime about spaceships and Captain O'Malley and the spaceship MRI and George kind of just watches him in awe. That's right, George. Even men who screw your imaginary girlfriend can be good guys. Remember that.
Izzie's getting ready to do her bronchoscopy. The girlfriend is royally pissed off and the boyfriend's just worried that this is going to hurt. Shoulda thought of that before you took her keys with a shot of whiskey, home boy. The girlfriend continues bitching about him as Izzie sprays the topical anesthesia into the back of his throat. I've had that stuff, by the way, and it is NOT fun. But it's not nearly as bad as a shot of Southern Comfort or something else I've had shot into the back of my throat, if you know what I mean, and I (unfortunately) think you do. The wheezing key-boy is annoying, but amusingly so, and I think Izzie finds that she's liking him despite herself. Forget about it, Izzie; the guy doesn't have a bum ticker. He's not your type.