A/N: Hey folks... I had a lot of trouble writing this chapter, and I'm still not really happy with it; but I posted it anyway now to get on with the story line... Hope you don't mind too much... :) And thanks again for your feedback regarding the last chapter(s)! It's very much appreciated...
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Wilson had been monitoring House's slowly but steadily rising heart rate for the past couple of minutes, but now it suddenly showed another abrupt increase, well into tachycardic regions. Which could only mean two things: Either he was in real trouble, or…
Any further rational thought escaped the oncologist, when his friend suddenly tensed, making an odd choking noise around the ventilator tube, before gripping the sheet underneath his hands hard, all the while keeping his eyes tightly shut. His posture instantly told Wilson that – just like Shaminsky had predicted – the diagnostician was in severe pain.
Coming out of his momentary shock, Wilson quickly grasped his friend's left forearm and gave it a firm but gentle squeeze, trying to help the man to orient himself. "It's okay, House. Try to relax..." He kept his voice calm and reassuring, while at the same time speaking loudly enough to hopefully get his friend's attention.
Letting go of the older man's arm again, the oncologist quickly started to prepare a syringe.
"You're in the hospital, Greg, but you're okay; you'll be fine, just… - Don't fight the tube, House! You're on a ventilator right now, but I'll take you off in just a minute. It's okay…"
House's face was contorted into a grimace of pain by now, but he had not yet opened his eyes. He also seemed to understand the oncologist, at least partly, since he made a visible effort to relax, hesitantly forcing some of the tension to leave his body.
"I'll inject you with 75 mg of diclofenac and a slight muscle-relaxant now; for the pain… Just hang in there." Wilson quickly moved his friend's gown up on one side, just enough to gain appropriate access to the other man's hip region, and expertly set the injection.
The diagnostician finally opened his eyes at that, his gaze clearly showing his confusion. But as soon as he had made out the oncologist and managed to focus on him, he seemed to relax some more, blinking tiredly a couple of times before weakly lifting one hand to touch the end of the tube that was still supporting his breathing.
Wilson smiled slightly at him, the immense relief he currently felt clearly visible on his face. "You ready for me to take that out?"
The older man slowly blinked once in response, which was confirmation enough for the oncologist. He nodded – eyes still smiling – before raising the head of his patient's bed slightly and removing the stethoscope from around his neck to briefly auscultate House's chest. He nodded again, obviously satisfied with what he heard.
"Okay then… You know the drill. Try to give me a cough; I'll pull it out now…"
House obediently did as instructed, while Wilson quickly pulled the tube out of his friend's throat. The diagnostician coughed a couple of times more, before his breathing slowly started to settle down.
After listening to his friend's chest again and giving another satisfied nod, Wilson wordlessly handed the older man a cup of water and helped him to drink a few small sips. When he was done, House closed his eyes again, obviously exhausted.
Frowning slightly at that, the oncologist reflexively checked his friend's sat rate, before glancing at the cardiac monitor to make sure he wasn't deteriorating again. When House didn't open his eyes again, he leaned forward to check the other man's pupils with his penlight. Clearly annoyed by this, the diagnostician weakly jerked his head away from Wilson's hands, before trying very hard to glare at his friend, the action somewhat missing its effect, when a sudden bout of dizziness made it hard for him to really focus on the oncologist.
Wilson noticed with some concern that his friend suddenly started to sweat.
Concentrating on not sounding too worried, he gently asked in a neutral tone: "Do you know what happened?" Slowly straightening up again, he eyed the other man intently.
House met his gaze frowning slightly, then visibly tensed up again, one hand going to his thigh. He closed his eyes. "Serotonin…?" The word sounded pressed, voice carefully controlled and still raspy from the intubation.
The oncologist nodded. "Yeah. When Chase found you, you were in a coma. – We had to stop all the medication for now; that's why you're in pain …" No response. "I'm afraid the diclofenac is the best I can do for you right now…" He almost sounded pained himself.
The older man gave a very small nod, but didn't open his eyes. "The fact that you can give me diclofenac tells me my kidneys made it through this alright?"
Of course; as a nephrologist renal failure had to be among the first things on his mind, when it came to serotonin syndrome…
Wilson nodded, reflexively glancing at the urinary bag hanging at the side of his friend's bed. "Yeah. Your output's good; urin's clean; and blood creatinine and BUN are both low."
Another minute nod. Then House suddenly tensed some more holding his breath, before finally grinding out: "I think I'm going to be sick…"
Quickly helping him to turn onto his left side, Wilson handed him an emesis basin, just in time. House retched a couple of times finally producing a small amount of bile, before he was caught up in painful dry heaves for a couple of minutes.
The oncologist stayed close to him, while wordlessly starting to prepare another syringe.
"I'll give you some diphenhydramine, okay? That should help with the nausea… Hang in there; you'll be feeling better in a minute…" Without waiting for a reply, Wilson inserted the antiemetic through House's IV cannula.
After a few minutes, the diagnostician slowly started to calm down, though he was still holding himself tensely. He made no move to turn onto his back again.
After a long moment of silence, Wilson started to get slightly anxious. "House…? – You okay?", he inquired gently.
The older man didn't meet his gaze. "Don't feel so hot..." He was starting to sweat more profusely now, one hand on his bad thigh, the other holding his abdomen.
The oncologist nodded, sitting down on a visitor's chair in House's line of sight. "We had to stop the SSRI abruptly, which is causing a discontinuation syndrome right now. And…" He took a deep breath. "We… gave you some naloxone, to be on the safe side…"
That garnered a reaction. House abruptly met his gaze, staring at him incredulously, a very surprised expression on his face. Then he gave a pained half-laugh. "What… You thought I had overdosed on narcotics?!"
Wilson evaded his intense gaze, awkwardly glancing at the upper part of the wall. "We… just… didn't want to take any chances!" He shrugged, but clearly sounded defensive.
The older man wearily closed his eyes again, voice sarcastic. "Brilliant. Now I not only have to deal with crappy medication for God knows how long, but you also knocked out every little piece of endorphin I had in my system…" After a brief moment of silence, he sardonically continued: "I'm surprised you didn't also kill me with some NAC while you were at it… Guess I should be happy you're all such crappy doctors after all…"
The oncologist grimaced at that. "Actually…"
House instantly opened his eyes again, raising both eyebrows.
"…we didn't kill you, obviously; but we made you seize. – Foreman will give you a quick neuro check now; if you feel up to it …" Wilson glanced towards the door for the first time at that, smiling minutely at the three younger medics, who had entered the room some time ago but were still hovering around the entrance, apparently unsure whether or not they were wanted here right now. "If he ever decides to come in that is…"
The diagnostician rolled his eyes at that, apparently not at all surprised that his staff was there, even though he couldn't see them from his current position on his left side. "My brain's fine." Was all he said regarding the impending examination by the neurologist.
Foreman rolled his eyes as well, completely entering the room now. "Apparently…" He muttered while approaching his boss's bed. "Well, it's good to have you back…" He didn't even try to conceal the undertone of sarcasm.
Cameron and Chase remained by the door, somehow sensing that this wouldn't go too well.
"Can you turn onto your back for me…?" Foreman concentrated on keeping his tone professional now, intent on treating his boss like he would any other patient.
Which was clearly not what House had in mind, when he replied tonelessly without meeting his employee's gaze. "No."
The neurologist rolled his eyes impatiently at that, before throwing Wilson a slightly questioning glance.
The oncologist held his gaze for a moment, then eyed his best friend again, tone placating. "House… We need to make sure – "
The older man immediately interrupted him. "Cut the crap, Wilson. – My brain's fine! Get out of here now – all of you…! I need to get some rest…"
He had started to shiver slightly be now, hugging himself around the abdomen more tightly.
Contemplating his options for a few moments, Wilson finally nodded at Foreman, before throwing the other two young doctors a meaningful glance. The three of them wordlessly left the room again after a brief moment of hesitation. Cameron turned around once more in the doorway, throwing her boss a last compassionate glance. She opened her mouth, apparently planning to say something, but then just closed it again, smiling minutely. The door quietly closed behind her.
As soon as they had all left, Wilson took in his friend's posture again. He was clearly in considerable discomfort, sweating profusely by now and looking as if he might be sick again any minute. He didn't open his eyes, but finally spoke in a strained voice: "I said all of you…"
Wilson just smiled sadly in response, predictably not moving. "I'm not leaving, House."
The diagnostician made a half-choked sound at that, which seemed to be wavering somewhere between laughing and crying. Then, in a tone Wilson couldn't really interpret: "Seems like you never are…"
When House started to curl into himself even more tightly over the next couple of minutes, the younger man gently addressed him again. "Wanna try a heat-pad for the abdomen?"
A minute shake of his friend's head was his only response.
After a few minutes of tense silence, the diagnostician tiredly spoke again: "How long…?"
Wilson went with one hand through his hair, exhaling audibly. "About 24 hours; at least since Chase found you. - I think you nearly gave him a heart-attack…"
House nodded, his lips quirking up slightly at the image, but still keeping his eyes closed. "How did you figure it out…?"
This time, the oncologist smiled slightly. "Shaminsky suggested it. – He told us about your attempt to reduce the dosage of the paroxetine a couple of weeks ago... – Glad to hear there was a grain of truth in your story by the way..." He tried to lighten his tone as much as possible, intent on distracting his friend from his discomfort.
The older man only snorted in response, eyes still tightly shut, holding himself very still.
Then, stifling a low moan: "What the hell did you do to my leg?"
Wilson instantly frowned in surprised concern, his voice betraying his alarm: "What… - Nothing! What do you mean?!"
The reply was more mumbled than spoken. "Feels like a cement pillar right now…"
The younger man's anxiety was about to turn into a bout of full-fledged fear, when he tried to come up with a reason why House was voluntarily bringing this up…
"Do you mean… - Does it feel heavy?!"
The diagnostician opened his eyes again now, glancing at his friend impatiently. "That was what the metaphor was supposed to imply, yeah…"
Wilson looked half-panicked. "Do you think… - Does it feel numb in any way?!"
House rolled his eyes at that. "I would have said that then, wouldn't I... – It just feels heavy; and stiff." Then, mumbled again: "And hurts like a bitch…"
The oncologist pushed himself out of his chair. "Turn onto your back."
His friend glanced up at him unhappily. "No."
This time Wilson rolled his eyes. "House; come on! You can't bring up something like that, and then expect me to just let it go. – Turn around; just for a minute…"
Gritting his teeth and averting his friend's gaze, House moved a trembling hand to the back of his right leg, supporting it manually while slowly rolling onto his back. He couldn't help but hiss in pain when the majority of his muscles protested the movement. He could feel himself breaking out in a cold sweat.
When a brief clenching of his thigh muscles immediately made him feel ready to throw up again, he didn't bother suppressing a low moan.
He needed to get himself to relax somehow, or he knew the pain would soon be spiraling out of control. Panicking would only make it worse.
Taking a deep breath, House made a conscious effort to block out his discomfort as best as he could and focus on the fact that this was only a temporary situation. He would be on adequate pain medication again in no time; as soon as his organism would be able to tolerate it again.
This was his own damned fault! He had allowed everything to get out of hand like this…
This time, nobody wanted him to suffer; they just couldn't give him anything stronger if they didn't want to seriously endanger his health. He knew that.
It was only temporary; and he was not alone… He just had to suck it up for a while; he had managed to do so for much longer in the past than he would have to this time… In a couple of days, they would try out a new combination of meds, and he would most probably be on some sort of narcotic again.
Deep breath.
Nobody wanted to harm him.
Nobody wanted to force him to do anything against his will. ---
Unless of course, they decided that now was a good time to test another non-narcotic pain management strategy. Now that he was 'artificially' detoxed through the naloxone anyway.
A sudden bout of panic made his breathing involuntarily speed up.
Maybe they –
"House…?" Wilson's concerned voice. He had completely forgotten about the other man's presence for a minute.
"You alright?" The oncologist carefully inquired.
House forced himself to let out the breath he had been unconsciously holding, nodding wearily. "Yeah; go ahead…"
Nodding slowly, Wilson moved the blanket back to reveal his friend's right leg. Then he carefully pushed the other man's hospital gown up far enough to uncover the damaged thigh. He couldn't help but inhale sharply at the sight of the severely bruised and swollen leg.
"Okay… - There's a lot of swelling, House. That's probably why it feels so heavy." Without waiting for a response, he used one hand to gently feel the temperature of his friend's lower leg, then went to the end of the bed, lightly resting both hands on his friend's foot.
He waited a moment to give House the chance to get used to his touch, then gently started to feel for the pulses at the inner side of his friend's ankle and on the instep of his foot. He exhaled audibly in relief. "Pulses are good, House. Circulation's intact…"
The older man had closed his eyes again by now, clenching his jaw. "Hadn't thought it wasn't…" His voice was strained again.
Wilson rolled his eyes at that. Of course he hadn't…
Coming to stand at the side of his friend's bed again, the oncologist very gently started to probe the older man's knee that was markedly swollen as well by now, causing House to flinch and then stiffen up some more. He didn't touch the thigh, even though that was where most of the swelling was located.
"House…" Wilson waited for his friend to reluctantly meet his gaze. "You need an MRI." His tone didn't leave much room for protest. "I'll arrange it for tomorrow, when we can give you some diazepam for the trembling and to help you relax…" The diagnostician was in no shape to be put through an MRI scanning procedure right now; but it was also not the time to slow down his central nervous system by administering a benzodiazepine. He had just woken up from an about 36-hour coma after all…
When the older man didn't reply anything, Wilson gently touched his shoulder. "Wanna stay on your back for a bit?"
Just a minute nod.
"Okay…" The oncologist grabbed a couple of extra pillows from one of the room's closets. "Let's elevate the leg a bit then…"
House wordlessly allowed him to push one pillow under his lower thigh, one under his knee, and another one under his lower leg.
"I'll send a nurse in with a couple of cool pads."
No response.
Wilson quietly sighed, wondering whether his friend's apparent lethargy was due to exhaustion, frustration, pain, or side-effects from the opiate withdrawal or the SSRI discontinuation syndrome… The tight set of House's facial muscles told him pain was at least part of it.
"I'll be back soon. Try to get some rest… - We can give you some more diclofenac in a couple of hours…"
Surprisingly, the diagnostician forced himself to open his eyes and briefly meet his friend's gaze before he was about to leave the room. "'Kay. Thanks…"
