He notices everything. So it was no shock to her that after her latest episode that she looked at him, and saw his eyes, active with the new puzzle, on her. He noticed how she tried to stop the myoclonus, and he noticed how when she walked to the end of the corridor she let all of the tensions take her over. She had three more violent jerks as she rounds the corner.
He allows her symptom wash over him, as he consulted his memory to see if there were others. He remembers her grimace after this latest episode and concluded there was pain. He remembers this must not be the first time for her symptoms, and knows he needs more information. He grabs his cane and goes out and searches for her, and more importantly, answers.
After 10 minutes, he's at a loss. He's searched every in the hospital he can think of. He would have paged her, but since it's her second day at the hospital, he doesn't even know her number. He knew Cuddy would have the number, but that would involve giving more information that he wants at this time. He decides to walk to the nurses' station to have her paged over the PA. Walking by a storage closet, he hears a suspicious, if not familiar, noise. He waits outside for the noise and hears it again.
Agony. Pain. Things that he's very familiar with. A few cuss words in French, if he wasn't mistaken. Who knew she had such a potty mouth? After another minute of her insulting her pain, and her pain's parents, he barges in.
"Playing hooky from work, I see. Sorry, myoclonus has been overused. You'll have to think up another excuse--"
"Ow, FUCK!" she yelped as another spasm hit her. English this time. Pain must be getting worse. "Believe me, I'd rather work than—SHIT!" She just elbowed herself in the ribs. House actually slightly winced as he heard the limb impact her ribs, and the ensuing crack. Her breathing is already quite elevated, and he actually is starting to get somewhat concerned. But not so much with her… after all, she is just a patient. And one of his underlings to beat it all. He was more interested and concerned with her symptoms, and their increasing intensity.
"Come one. You've got an MRI with your name on it. And I'm charging by the hour."
"I-I don't know if I can walk," she says, blushing as she finds a spot on the floor infinitely interesting. He feels her embarrassment, and actually decides not to say anything about it for once.
"Be right back. Going to find some hired help, and a wheelchair," he said, limping out of the storage closet. She nodded slightly. Leaning her head back against the wall, she closed her eyes. A violent spasm ripped through her, and she ended up banging her head against the wall, hard. She screamed as pain coursed through her head first, and then down her whole body.
"I'm back!" he said, in a very happy and annoying tone. Another spasm hit her and her head cracked against the wall again. "Keep that up, and I'll have to treat you for a scull fracture," he said, as the nurse he came with dropped down to her, and gently lifted her up in the wheelchair.
"I'm not sure what you're going to accomplish. Been to 3 different neurologists. One thought I was crazy, psychocongenital myoclonus. One thought jerk abnormal readings from T 3 sensor. Other thinks jerk it could be symptom of another disease. I'm going with number 3." She jerks again in the elevator. "IV lorazepam right now, or this is off," she said, her eyes pleading for relief.
House nods and says nothing until after the elevator opens, and he passes by the first open nurses' station he finds. He finds the drug box, and after a moment of rustling, he finds a syringe and the lorazepam, and draws out 2 milligrams from the vial. Looking around again, he finds a tourniquet, alcohol prep and a bandage. Limping back towards her, he administers the shot with a practiced ease. After a moment, her jerks subside a bit. After a moment more, she is still.
He can tell by her breathing and the look on her face that she is in quite a bit of pain. He sees that she is trying desperately to not cry. After a moment, she starts mumbling to herself. French again. He would definitely have to ask about that.
"Myoclonus. How long?" he asks.
"A little over a year. Intermittent. Sometimes I'll have these episodes," she said, motioning to herself. "This is the first one in about two months."
"Anything that helps?"
"Yeah, symptoms only, though. Any benzos will stop episodes like this. Antiepileptics barely touch it. I was already on topiramate at the time I first experienced symptoms. Also, lam.. la, um Lamictal." She shook her head, as if to clear cobwebs from her head. "Where am I?" she asked, obviously confused. She started babbling incoherently, emphasizing every few words.
"New symptom," he mused to himself. He picked up on the fact that she was favoring her right side as well. He quickly paged Foreman. A few minutes later, House saw his first sign of Foreman.
"What's up?" he asked before glancing at the patient. A small gasp escaped his lips as he saw House's new fellow in the wheelchair. He didn't have a chance to say anything as House barked out a few orders.
"Myoclonus onset over a year ago. Confusion and aphasia onset," he looked down at his watch "6 minutes ago." Foreman looked at him stupidly for a second. He shook his head, and wheeled the patient towards imaging.