Okay, came to me while washing dishes. Just thinking about how House connects with some of his patients and, for lack of better word, seems to care. Anyway sort of thought of this.

Disclaimer: I'm broke and don't own House. I can dream though...

Cards

You come home and find the expected overstuffed mailbox with stray letters and cards floating to the tiled floor.

It's the beginning of Christmas season.

It's how you mark it. The appalling amount of Christmas décor isn't enough, apparently all of your former patients have to let you know too.

You already know what's written down in the cards, assorted 'Merry Christmas's and 'Thank you's. They don't matter is the point of it all; you've heard it before.

Patient becomes ill, no answer as to why. Brilliant doctor steps in and takes case, patients celebrate; and many tests, complaints, and some brow-beating later, the patient is cured. (Or dead, but then he wouldn't be getting all these cards.)

Most, you put in the garbage and continue on with your life. You don't care if they think you're great or not, but they think that you do. Both they and you know that you're great; unfortunately they feel the need to advertise your good deeds and greatness. They know that you know that you saved their lives; they think you need to know how thankful you are.

Maybe it's why people hate you. Yes, you do illegal things to find out answers. Yes, some things you do cause patients pain. Yes, you feel the need to know everyone's business. But you don't care if people see that you do those things.

And yes, you put your career on the line for a patient's safety. Yes, you sometimes connect with patients and break down some aged barriers and actually talk with them. Yes, you save lives. But you don't care if people know those things either.

So people think you're cruel, you can deal with that. Others can't, can't see past the fact that beneath it all you're a good guy. You're never intentionally malicious except when you're in pain. And they hate to see others dig into you, especially when they don't know the real you.

Wilson can see you underneath you're aged mind and body, so can those patients.

So sometimes you read the damn cards.

The first time you ever read a card from a patient was way before you had your own department, or apartment, or clothes that didn't have to be worn inside out because you lacked a washing machine.

You still have it actually, and you try to rationalize keeping it.

It never works; you fail to mention it anywhere but your mind.

It was a simple card, just with a large and colorful boarder typical of a baby shower. The neat hand-writing inside tells you "Thank You" and "Jon Gregory Mercer; Born March 8th, 1982; 2 lbs 9 ozs; 27 inches." (1)

Your first delivery, a preemie that almost died when a much younger you made a quick-thinking decision that saved him. The child's mother took your name and her son's middle name became Gregory. She sent you Christmas cards with his picture each year for 21 years; they stopped when the same boy was killed by a drunk driver.

You toss about the cards glancing quickly at the names.

Rebecca Adler(2)

Lucille Palmeiro(3)

John Henry Giles (4)

Carly (5)

Ian Alston (6)

Adam (7)

Among others, whose names you barely glance at.

You've seen almost none of these people since, but still they send their cards. Christmas cards, weddings invitations, baby shower invitations, bar mitzvah invitations.

They've all grown and changed and pursued dreams.

You're still here, healing the sick. Ever-unchanging, alone.

You're thankful you're remembered. When you die, they may not mourn, but they'll remember.

And that's good enough for you.

Getting cards isn't so bad anymore.

Ech.. Not estatic about the ending...
(1) It's the baby's height and weight and stuff...I don't know much about preemies so if its not their average weight, my bad.
(2) Sick Teacher 'Pilot'
(3) Schitzophrenic mom 'The Socratic Method'
(4) ALS Jazz Musician 'DNR'
(5) Bulimic Businesswoman 'Control'
(6) Cute Little Boy who has similar symtoms to House's former patient 'All In'
(7) Autistic Boy House connects with 'Lines in the Sand'

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