Back to Tommy, who is agitatedly checking on the daughters, who are coughing up blood, and telling Charlie to explain to the father that he can save their lives if he just accepts the help. The father, see, distrusts Western medicine and actually made his wife stop taking the antibiotics, which he blames for killing her. Which is all totally backwards, and Tommy can't find a way to explain that without it sounding like, "Stupid motherfucker, it's your fault your wife's dead, now listen to us smart white people before you kill your kids too." At some point, Charlie refuses to translate to this poor man that Tommy thinks he's responsible for killing his wife. And Tommy gets frustrated and finally washes his hands of the whole mess, saying there's nothing more he can do.

Back to Lily and Dr. Ben, who are learning that the cables aren't made to support the weight of three people -- maybe not even two. Which means Lily's going to have to go out alone, as she's the lighter of the two. Ben heads out on a parallel line, and Lily gets less than encouraging words from the adventurist who hooks her up. She asks if it's safe, and she gets "Hold with your right, brake with your left" in response. So she heads on out on her line, and of course she can't brake properly so she ends up slamming into the patient which, despite the fact that his forearm is caught up in the roller, is somehow not a catastrophic development. She just stops. Was that supposed to be misdirection. Anyway, this poor bastard -- played by the wonderful Michael McKean -- is catatonic with shock, which is good because his arm looks like hamburger meat and his shirt is covered in blood. Ben yells over for Lily to tourniquet the arm and then cut him loose of the wheel, so they can get him back down before he bleeds out. Too bad Lily keeps trying to get him to respond, then, because once he snaps out of it, he realizes he's hanging over a death ravine with his arm torn open inside a metal contraption. So, yeah, he starts screaming.

Back at La Clinica, Mina is administering to a little old lady with a cold, and struggling to find the correct Spanish to properly convey that she should take these pills and come back if her fever returns. Isn't it kind of monstrously irresponsible to be treating these patients without being able to communicate to them? Can't they find more adorable local children to act as go-betweens? Actually, couldn't they have found three doctors out of the apparently HUNDREDS who applied who had a functional grasp of Spanish -- a not entirely obscure language, even among dumb gringos? Maybe this clinic has to make do with leeches and hoodoo powder because they're a terrible institution and nobody wants to throw good money after bad? Questions for discussion!