The lady downstairs, bugging her daughter's therapist about the hair-pulling and its severity, who is still not getting the information she requires, which is how many secrets does Grace know and how many of them is she spilling and are any of them a reason Jackie can put a hand on and say, "My daughter is destroying herself inch by inch and this is the diagnosis and now we can help her, because I am not the problem. This other thing is the problem."
Jackie gets off the phone and shit gets horrible. A lady comes up screaming because her epileptic boyfriend's having the first seizure she's ever been around for, and don't Jackie's scrubs mean she can help him, and Jackie kneels down and props the guy's head up, and the woman is not doing so well, to be honest, and so she sends the lady outside to wait for the EMTs to come, and then more urgently sending the lady outside when she sees that his jacket pockets are stuffed with baggies of bright blue pills, Roxicodones, and while praying she scoops them all out of his jacket -- "Holy shit, are you a dealer? You a fuckin' doctor, what?" -- and into her purse, and the whole time his body is convulsing, his eyes are rolled back, she's begging God's forgiveness but she's not stopping, telling the guy again and again that he's going to be okay while the seizure rips through his brain and she robs him blind.
I don't know where I go. Because I don't want to leave. But I do, and I don't know why...
Meanwhile, Eleanor has figured some shit out, namely that Jackie Peyton has not been to see Ortho, or has not given them her name, and that whatever MRIs she was looking at, when she offered to be Jackie's drug dealer, were not created under the name Jackie Peyton. She apologizes several times for her mistake, staring at the wall, trying to think of every explanation.
I have a beautiful wife, a beautiful life. It's slipping off my plate. Every day, a little more...
When the EMTs come Jackie directs them to Bellevue, rather than All Saints; she's wearing scrubs and she kept him alive, so they believe her. The woman says to do whatever Jackie says, and thanks her vociferously, in tears. She's grateful and terrified and Jackie is a saint tonight. She's an angel, to this lady. "You don't have to thank me," Jackie says, "It's what I do." They drive off toward Bellevue, and she walks away into the night.
You break your arm, you're still you.
Nothing's really broken.