A/N: I am so proud of myself. I have NEVER gotten this far on a story. And I'm ready to write more! I might actually finish this one (knock on wood!). Please review. I've posted 7 chapters and only one reader, Laniki whom I am a huge fan of, has actually reviewed. I appreciate being added to the Story Alert lists but that doesn't help me write this thing.
Disclaimer: Rita lives in my brain. House only lives in my television. Clearly I only own one of the two.
"She's his medical proxy, Rita. There isn't anything you or I can do. I think she's making the right decision here. You know House; he's going to dispute anything we decide. " I was sitting in the waiting room with Lisa Cuddy. Every now and then I glanced into Greg's room and watched Stacy with wary eyes.
"You're right. I do know him, better than most of you, possibly better than Stacy. I know that sometimes, he just knows. If he wants to do it this way, we should try it. Believe me, I know the risks but I know the good that could come out of it too. If he loses that leg…" I trailed off and glanced into the room for the hundredth time. Sighing, I looked at the floor. I knew that this argument wouldn't stand up with Stacy. A hunch was a hunch.
"You're trying to convince the wrong person, Rita. Stacy is the one you need to be talking to. He's set up to go in at three. You have two hours." Lisa stood up and looked down at me, "She's making the right choice, Rita. He can be wrong, you know." She walked away and left me feeling sour and nauseous.
I think I sat in that chair for a full hour before remembering where I was and what I was doing there. I looked back into Greg's room and noticed that Stacy wasn't there anymore. He was sleeping peacefully in his chemically induced coma and I decided to take advantage of the time alone with him and check in.
I walked into his room and glanced at the monitor. His heart rate was slightly elevated but otherwise all was normal. He'd been through a lot in the last few days and this was the most at peace that he had looked in a long time. I sat down in the chair next to his bed and put my hand on his. His fingers were slightly chilly and I squeezed gently. I wondered if coma patients were really aware of their surroundings like many people claimed they were.
"Greg," I paused and glanced around my shoulder, stage whispering just in case Stacy were to intrude, "whatever happens after this minute, I just want you to know that I'll always be on your side. I can't control what happens to you now, that's Stacy's job, but I can tell you that I'll always be here for you. I never stopped loving you not even after you left me."
I jumped out of my seat when I heard Stacy clear her throat behind me. I jumped up and let go of Greg, turning to face her. She had a look on her face which I never forgot. I'd never imagined Stacy to be the jealous type but at that moment she looked like she was ready to strangle me.
I took a tiny step back and looked at her defiantly, "I'm sorry. I didn't see you there. Don't you know it's rude to interrupt two friends?"
"They're ready to take him into surgery." Her flat monotone made me shiver inadvertently.
I sidestepped out of the room and back into the waiting room. I was ready to flee the scene now that I'd just poured my heart out to a comatose man. I grabbed my back and looked back at the room. Two men were wheeling his bed out of the room and Stacy followed behind. She gave me a look in passing which said, 'you better not be here when I get back'. I took her advice and high tailed it to the cafeteria, content to wait the 5 hours or so there.
I woke up in a cold sweat and glanced at the hotel room clock. It was three A.M. and I'd barely slept all night. I couldn't believe I was letting this get to me. Honestly, I thought I was over all of this long ago. I leaned over and grabbed my plastic cup of water off the bedside table, taking a big gulp and setting it back down. I kicked the comforter off myself and lay on my back, staring at the ceiling.
Eight o'clock came sooner than I thought it would. I got about two more hours of sleep before my alarm went off. The Who's Baba O'Reilly came through the speakers of the clock radio and I almost threw a pillow at it before remembering I was in a hotel and would have to pay for any damages. I rolled out of bed and went through my average morning routine.
I arrived at the hospital at nine-thirty and was ready to start a day of tests and diagnoses. I had ordered an enzyme-linked immunosorbent serologic assay from our patient and was excited to take a look at the results today. They would tell me if it was indeed hemorrhagic or not. My best guess as to which fever it could be had to be Lassa. The arenavirus, Lassa, was one that affected West Africa. The man said he had been to Nigeria on a mission trip. Apparently he was very active in his church and often left the country to help those in need. I thought it was admirable, Greg thought it was idiotic. The man, his name was Vince, was progressing at an average rate for Lassa fever and I was nearly convinced that Greg was right.
I walked into Greg's office to find his three fellows running in circles. They were panicked and it was an almost laughable scene. Cameron, the only girl and the one who I understood least, was pacing and biting her nails. Chase and Foreman were both sitting at the table, one tapping his fingers in an annoying manner and the other tapping his foot.
"Hello there. What's going on?" I dropped my bag on a chair and gave them all separate looks of confusion.
Cameron was the first to answer, "Dr. Wilson caught it."
I raised my eyebrows and frowned, not understanding, "Caught what? Dr. Wilson, wasn't he the one who first saw our supposed Lassa patient?"
Foreman answered this time, in a much calmer manner, "The patient threw up on Wilson the day before yesterday. He didn't think much of it at the time but now he's showing symptoms."
Cameron sat down roughly and I looked back to her. She was visibly worried and I wondered why she always had to get her panties tied in knots over everything.
I looked back to Foreman, "Alright, is he in an isolation room too?"
"Yeah, House is with him now. We were told to wait for you." Chase answered this time and stood up as he did, "Now that you're here I guess we can do something."
I took a minute to process the information. House was here in the morning? I was told that he almost never showed up before ten. I took my jacket off and hung it over the back of the chair my bag was in.
Nodding I motioned to the rest of them, "I need to get to the lab and look at the tests from yesterday. I'll be able to tell if it's Lassa now and we'll be able to come up with some sort of idea of how to handle this."
Cameron stood up and walked over to me, "If you don't mind, I'm going to go down to isolation and check on Wilson. Just to make sure everything is set up."
I shrugged, "Sure, do what you need to do to make yourself feel better. Let me know when you decide to do something productive."
She gaped at me and I smirked. Frowning, she stormed out of the room. Foreman and Chase just laughed and, with a small flourish, Chase opened the door and led me to the lab with Foreman in tow.
After fifteen minutes of prep and analyzing I had decided upon my diagnosis. It was, indeed, Lassa fever, "I need you guys to start him on a Ribavirin for the fever. Better start Dr. Wilson on it too. I'm worried that Vince is too far along to be treated so we'll need to at least keep his fluids up and make sure he's comfortable. If he is, indeed, too far along, it's going to get messy, fast. Wilson, on the other hand, should be just fine. I'm going to go check on them and let them know."
I handed the printout to Foreman and walked out, firm in my diagnosis. Lassa was messy but it wasn't generally fatal. Ebola or Marburg would have been much worse. Lassa only killed 15 of its victims. I took the stairs down to the isolation ward and walked toward Cameron and Greg, smiling.
Greg was the first to bite, "You look awfully happy. Maybe you should turn around; this is where the sick people live. Happy doesn't happen here."
"Happy happens when the sick people aren't going to be sick for much longer." I stopped in front of Wilson's room and saw him standing in a hospital gown and scrub pants. This was the first time I'd seen him.
"Hi there, I'm Rita Johnson. I'm sure you've heard all about me." A threw him a small smile and wave, noting his flushed look and the way he was standing, he was in pain, "Want to tell me what hurts?"
Dr. Wilson, who was clearly used to Greg and therefore used to the way he talked, didn't even flinch, "I have a 101 degree fever, my back hurts, and it hurts to breathe. Also, I'm vomiting blood every so often."
I raised my eyebrows and gave him a slightly shocked look, "That's interesting. The vomiting usually doesn't come until later. Guess you must be an oddball."
He shrugged and I smiled again, "You have, what us virologists, epidemiologists, and infectologists, like to call the Lassa virus. You should be able to recover. Your counterpart, on the other hand, is in the orange zone. His fate is up to the virus."
I smiled at Wilson again and he threw me a pained smile, "You should lie down or something. At least get comfortable. It's going to take a couple of days for you to feel any better. In fact, you might get worse before you feel better. You and I are going to be good friends by the time this is over."
I walked over to the next room, looking in the window and frowning. Vince was asleep and he looked pretty bad. I decided I needed to suit up and go in to check on him. Wondering where the boys were with that Ribavirin, I began to suit up to enter the level four room.
Vince was bleeding internally and, unfortunately, there wasn't much we could do to help him. The Lassa had already started to destroy his organ systems and at this rate, the Ribavirin wasn't going to help much. As I was palpitating Vince's abdomen, Chase knocked on the window and passed a bag of, what I could assume was a form of Ribavirin, through to me.
I walked over to get it and he frowned at me, "That's Rebetol. How's he doing?"
I shook my head and gave him a somber look, "Not good. I need someone to give him more saline and he probably needs round the clock surveillance. He'll bleed out in the next day or so."
Chase nodded and I turned to set Vince up with the Rebetol. After getting everything squared away and checking Vince one more time, I unsuited and left the room, heading for the hallway where Greg still stood.
"Prognosis?" He didn't look at me, choosing to stare at Vince instead.
"Not good. He won't make it." I looked over at Wilson's room at noticed that he was at least lying down now, "Your friend on the other hand, should be fine."
Greg gave me a look at limped away. I watched him go and wanted to chase after him. I wanted to slap him and tell him to stop trying to save everyone. I wanted to scream at him. He wasn't Superman.
I turned back to Vince and sighed, "Good luck."
