Yes, I'm adding to the meager collection of Foreman's fics.
Happy Mother's Day!
A Muddled Mind
This is based on my life…and is dedicated to my Grandma.
"What's wrong?" One look is all it takes for my mother to recognize something is wrong. She's the only person who can see through my impassive mask. I look away briefly, considering how to answer. I then turn my eyes to meet hers.
"I did something bad, Mom. I hurt somebody." I confess. My voice is steady, yet within, my emotions are raging.
I never let myself care more than my job requires, but I can't hold it in…not with my mother here. She's always been there to make things better. Whenever I had doubts or fears as a child, she would comfort me and assure me everything would be okay. I knew she had no proof of that, but it always soothed me. Moms just have that magical ability to make everything seem all right when the whole world is falling apart.
"It wasn't your fault." She speaks softly.
"It was." I answer calmly. I killed her…not even mom can change that.
"Then I forgive you, I forgive you." She moves forward and embraces me and I can't help but relax in her arms. The hug is brief as she steps back to look me in the eyes. Her hands drift up to my face where she holds me, safe and secure. "I can see from your face, you'd never hurt anybody on purpose." Her tone is quiet, but loving. I know she means every word and for a brief moment everything seems okay. I clasp her hands, hold them, and kiss them gently. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes as I keep her hands pressed to my face. I stare back into her dark eyes…and suddenly see a distance between us. Confusion flickers in her eyes and I notice something is missing…something is wrong. I frown with realization. I want to ignore it and just enjoy the moment, but I have to ask. I have to know.
"Do you know who I am, Mom?" I ask hesitantly, fearing her answer. My eyes dart back and forth, watching for any sign of recognition, but she remains withdrawn. She acts as if she doesn't understand me. "It's Eric." I clarify, clinging to all the hope I have left. She has to know me…she can't-can't forget her son.
My panic is quelled as she nods her head and smiles faintly. "Of course." She finally answers. I then feel her arms wrap around me again, her grey hair brushing against my cheek. I close my eyes and smile at the comfort only my mother can give. Her hand pats my back tenderly and I finally feel safe…I finally feel at home.
But in one moment, everything shatters into a million little pieces. "My little boy's name is Eric," she says, not realizing the significance of the statement. My eyes open slowly as I fight back the anguish within. I lower my face into her shoulder as she continues to hold me, blissfully unaware that she's driving her only son to tears.
A few months later...
Mother's Day is here… I think to myself. I've been dreading it… my parents are coming to town this weekend.
I step into the lobby to find it decorated with hearts and soft, warm colors. In addition, there is a series of flowers lined up along the counter. Why the hospital has to look like a Hallmark card is beyond me. My boss and my boss' boss draw my attention away from the excessive décor.
"You have a patient." Cuddy argues in her usual authoritative tone.
"Oh no I don't." House declares. He's leaning against the counter of the nurse's center, his eyes focused on the magazine in his hands.
"He's a patron of the hospital." Cuddy clarifies forcefully.
"You have too many of those." House points out, still refusing to look at her. "Maybe you should button up your blouse for once and-"
"-Just see him briefly, diagnose him, and send him on his way." Cuddy interrupts whilst tearing the magazine from his hands.
"Wait…is it April Fools Day already or did you just ask me to write off a patient? More importantly, a rich patient." He says loudly, grabbing the magazine back. "Now I've lost the page. It's a Paris Hilton exclusive!" He whines. Cuddy rolls her eyes, annoyed.
"April Fools was last month, or is old age already getting to you?" She replies harshly. "He's been diagnosed with dementia." She adds more seriously.
"First, you're not that much younger than me. Second, I have the memory of a chimpanzee. Did you know they have better memory than an elephant? And finally, last time I checked I was head of diagnostics. Telling annoying patients what they want to hear is your job." He continues to search for the article.
"Annoying is an understatement." She says. Her face is contorted in frustration that, for once, is not directed at House. "His five sons and daughters insist on getting an expert's opinion, thus…here I am. Tell them he has dementia."
"Send Cameron. She'll shut them up with her sympathetic puppy-dog eyes." He says carelessly.
"They want you." Cuddy argues, seeing this whole conversation as a waste of time.
"Tell them I'm busy."
"No. How bout you do your job for once and diagnose him." She counters with no hint of giving in.
"Moooom, do I have to?" He demeans her openly and some of the nurses still take the time to watch.
"Yes or I'll-" She begins to threaten, but he interrupts.
"Two hours off clinic duty."
"No."
"Then no deal." He shrugs indifferently.
"1 hour." She hopes to compromise.
"2."
"I'll invalidate your parking." She threatens quickly.
"You wouldn't. I can get any handicap spot."
"Not the one closest to the door."
"That's your best argument? In that case don't be surprised to find a huge dent in your door." House replies, finally turning to face her.
"1 hour." She reiterates.
"Fine, but don't expect me to be nice." House gives in and snatches the patient's file from her hands.
"They've been warned." She counters.
"Seriously?" House asks, genuinely surprised that's he that much of a liability.
"Room 303." Cuddy says as she turns to leave. As soon as she's out of earshot House calls me… which isn't altogether unexpected. Obviously he saw me staring.
"Foreman!" I roll my eyes and walk over to him. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his nametag without looking up from the magazine. "Go talk to the patient." I take the tag indifferently.
"You do know Cuddy will find out about this." I point out, knowing he won't change his mind.
"Eh…it's fun to see her mad." He shrugs with a brief smirk.
"Then you can keep the nametag." I state. I give it back to him before I turn around and walk to the elevator.
"Excuse me, Mr. Dyke?" I enter his room to find Mr. Dyke sitting up in the bed. He's definitely an older man with wrinkles and grey hair and he's talking to a younger woman (most likely in her twenties) with bright blue eyes that are an exact replica of his. The blond haired woman looks worried and jumps when I enter the room.
I also notice two men talking in the corner. One is short with long brown hair while the other is taller with shorter hair. Both have brown eyes.
I'm finally greeted by, what seems to me, the youngest in the group, perhaps twenty years old at most. His skin is darker than the others, his hair is a dark brown (almost black), his eyes are an odd, dark green, and he looks of Indian decent. He doesn't seem to share any resemblance with the others, but he appears equally worried. "Hello, I'm Anil Dyke." He says politely.
"Dr. Foreman." I state simply. "What seems to be the problem?" The woman behind him frowns.
"We asked for Dr. House."
"I work for him and I'm a neurologist, so he thought it best to send me to diagnose your father." I explain logically. She seems eager to reject me, but the shorter man in the corner breaks in.
"I'm sure you're qualified." He smiles lightly. "But we specifically asked for Dr. House."
"Let me assess Mr. Dyke and if I think that he needs to be admitted then I'll make sure he is Dr. House's top priority." God these people are annoying as hell. I can see why Cuddy wanted to dump this on House. The shorter man nods, walks over to me, and extends his hand.
"I'm Steve Dyke. Feel free to call me Stevie." Why would I call you Stevie? "This is Aiden," he points to the taller man, "this is Isabel," he gestures to the only woman in the room, "and Tory went out to get some coffee." He turns back to me with a smile.
"I'm Dr. Foreman." I reiterate. "Can you tell me his symptoms?" I ask, maintaining my professional air. His smile falters as he walks over to the man and sits on the bed. The man stares at him vacantly. I recognize the look immediately.
"Dad… this is Dr. Foreman." He feigns a casual tone. The man looks at me and back to his son.
"I know that." The older man declares avidly. "I don't need to see a doctor, I'm fine. Just bumped my head in the shower." He argues. Anil, who's behind me, speaks up.
"That happened a year ago. He doesn't seem to know why he's here." This evidence isn't exactly overwhelming, but I somehow know that they're telling the truth. I turn back to the elderly man.
"Mr. Dyke, do you know my name?" The man stares back at me, confusion flickers in his eyes.
"How would I? I've never met you before in my life." He frowns as if he's being tricked. "My kids are just worrying too much. I'm fine."
"I'm Dr. Foreman. Do you know what day it is?"
"Monday." He states without hesitation. Isabel rests a hand on her father's shoulder.
"It's Friday, Dad, and we've told you this a million times today." She's almost in tears and I can't help but feel sorry for her.
"Do you know who I am?" I ask again, testing his short-term memory. He shakes his head.
"How would I?"
"Because he's said it three times, Dad." Aiden says impatiently.
"Do you know who he is?" I gesture to Steve, who's still sitting on the bed. Mr. Dyke turns to him and his vacant stare returns.
"Of course." He says confidently.
"What's his name?"
"Devin, my nephew." Steve shakes his head solemnly.
"It's Steve…your son." Steve tells him. He reaches out for his hand and grips it tightly. He then turns to me. "I know what you're thinking. The last doctor diagnosed it as dementia and Dr. Cuddy agreed, but I looked it up. Dementia takes time to develop… and he was fine only two days ago!" He exclaims.
"You have to believe us." Anil breaks in. I look back at the man and watch as he stares down at his hands.
"I do." I say sincerely; although, I know that it's a false hope. There's no cure for dementia…, but I don't want to accept that someone can forget everything meaningful in his or her life. I just can't accept it.
A father should never forget his son… and then I finally realize why I've been dreading mother's day.
I can't bare to hear her voice and wonder if she knows who she's talking to and I can't bare to look her in the eyes and see an unspoken distance between us.
This shouldn't happen. This should never happen.
A mother should never forget her son.