Chapter 12
As soon as the ambulance screeched to a halt the doors flew open. A team of Doctors and nurses waited on the other side. Ignoring Cuddy and Wilson, two nurses reached in, unlocked the brakes and pulled the gurney out into the chilly, damp air. The paramedic followed close behind, expertly running down the list of injuries. The two Doctors in the ambulance paused momentarily, stunned by the flurry of movement, then gathered their things and followed, trying to ignore the pooled blood and soaked dressings on the floor.
Cuddy ran next to the gurney as her unconscious and bloodied boyfriend was wheeled to aid, struggling to keep up with the pace. Her eyes were glued to his face; House looked awful. He was deathly pale, almost grey; a thin sheen of sweat covered his dirtied face. Dried blood caked his hands and chin and covered his clothes. But when she tried to enter the treatment room with Wilson in tow her way was barred. She was directed to a sign on the wall which read 'No family allowed'. "Wait!" Cuddy called as the door began to swing closed, "He has a previous severe injury to his right thigh, he had most of his thigh muscle removed, please be careful with it." When they asked if there was any other history of injury Cuddy and Wilson listed the two gunshot injuries and the severe fractured skull he suffered over two years ago.
The attending seemed puzzled by the fact that this was his fourth serious injury, but thanked the two Doctors and requested that they send over his up to date medical records, before letting the door swing closed. Not used to being turned away from a procedure room in a hospital Cuddy tried to argue but was overruled and directed to a overflowing waiting room, where House's admission forms were shoved, none too politely, into her shaking hands.
Cuddy grabbed the pen inserted in the clasp of the clipboard and peered down at the familiar form, she began filling out House's name when she was distracted by the sight of deep rust colour of dried blood, House's blood. It had dried on her hands, covered her sleeves and smeared the front of her top. She glanced at Wilson, who was sitting stiffly, staring straight ahead, he looked worse. Blood had soaked through his sleeves and shirt front and stained the top of his trousers. Chancing a glance around the room she noticed the covert looks of other people in the waiting room. Obviously wondering what had happened, whether they were involved and how badly the person they accompanied was hurt. It was something for the crowd to distract them from their own worry, they seemed to draw comfort from the fact that at least someone else was in worse off shape. Breathing deeply to suppress the sob building in her chest Cuddy wordlessly shoved the clipboard into Wilson's hand and mumbled that she was heading to the bathroom.
She strode straight up to the sink and turned the warm tap on full, she began scrubbing at the stains on her hands before moving onto her sleeves, resulting only in spreading a deep pink stain up her arms. Frustrated, she ripped off the cardigan and shoved it in a nearby bin before walking into a cubical and slamming the door behind her. It was only when she was alone that she finally let her emotions overtake her. Shaking silently, she grabbed a fistful of wadded up toilet paper and attempted to staunch the flow of tears suddenly spilling down her face.
HHHHHHHHHH
The worried pair sat in the crowded ER waiting room for the next hour and a half worrying, waiting desperately for good news, for any news. The incident at the factory had stretched the busy hospitals resources to their limit and the staff were struggling to deal with the resulting backlog. Wilson and Cuddy had sat in a silent daze for 20 minutes after Cuddy returned from the bathroom, red eyed and subdued, before Cuddy's phone rang, startling her out of her stunned reverie. It was Marina, her child minder. She was stood outside Cuddy's house waiting to take care of Rachel, wondering if Cuddy was OK. Guilt suddenly coursed through Cuddy's every fibre, she had forgotten her daughter, hadn't given her a moment's thought after dropping her off at day care. After arranging for Marina to pick Rachel up at the hospital and letting day care know who would pick her up Cuddy hung up the phone and put her head in her hands, trying to hold back another wave of tears, caused by the stress of the morning.
When Cuddy and Wilson were finally allowed to see House he had been stripped of his stained and bloodied clothes. A fresh medically issued tourniquet stopped him from bleeding out. He was carefully hooked up to machines and given lifesaving drugs. X-rays had been administered and bloods drawn. The intervention had gone some way to improving his condition, he had stopped sweating and looked less pale and shocky, but the blood and grime was still there, a stark reminder of how close they had come to losing him.
A sober, grey haired Doctor fiddled with glasses as he told the pair of their friend's condition. They were still awaiting results of the CT scan on his head and were monitoring his kidney function, worried about how trauma to his lower back could have affected his soft, delicate organs. His lung was punctured and was bleeding into his chest cavity, he needed surgery to repair it and the arterial damage in his right thigh, and an orthopaedic surgeon would attempt to repair the nasty break, but they had to prepare for the possibility that they may not save the leg. He would have to wait his turn, the OR was backed up with emergency patients, and despite the severity of House's injuries there were other more critical patients ahead of him. By the time he was moved to a side room to await his slot, he had finally been cleaned up somewhat. The blood had been hastily wiped from his chin and the palms of his hands. Cuddy and Wilson were allowed to sit with him.
Within minutes Wilson excused himself, claiming a need to freshen up and for strong coffee, he promised to bring her something to eat and drink and shuffled tiredly out of the room, looking defeated. Left alone, she had nothing to do but looked worriedly at her unconscious boyfriend. She hated seeing him like this, so still and lifeless. He was normally so animated, he filled the room with his overpowering personality and demanded that everyone focus their attention on him. Now his face was still, his body was motionless and his voice was silenced.
Her thoughts drifted unbidden back to the traumatic ambulance ride. The pain House was in, the lack of focus in his eyes, the intubation, the terrifying moment when he actually stopped breathing. She replayed the traumatic insertion of the chest tube and the blood that flowed freely from the small tube. Her eyes went anxiously to the container collecting the blood from his chest and she was satisfied that he was not bleeding too much. Unable to quell the anxiety suddenly rising in her chest, she fixed her eyes on the monitors, tracking his vitals. For now they were depressed, but stable.
Wilson found her this way when he finally returned to the small room thirty minutes later. His shirt had been sponged, but still bore the evidence of the traumatic ambulance ride, he carried a steaming cup of coffee in his left hand, which he handed to the woman next to him as he sat down. He was quiet for a while as he sat looking at the battered and unconscious form of his friend. As he perched on the hard, unforgiving chair his jaw tensed and relaxed rhythmically, his hands fiddled with a loose thread on his lap. Finally he spoke, so gently that Cuddy almost missed it. "It's my fault." She looked at him curiously but didn't speak. "House told me not to touch the tourniquet but I didn't listen. He nearly bled out because I ignored him." He continued to look at the hands in his lap. His posture defeated.
Cuddy's voice was also hushed, devoid of its usual authority, "His pedal pulses were weak and his foot was cold. You did what you had to do, you were worried about his leg, you didn't know the bleed was arterial." Normally Cuddy would have reached out to him, held his hand or would have put a comforting hand on his arm, but she couldn't bring herself to move her hand away from House's lifeless hand, resting on the bed. She couldn't offer Wilson comfort, because she was desperate for some of her own.
"But it was and he nearly bled out and I froze." He confessed miserably. "…It's my fault he stopped breathing, that he needed a chest tube. If I hadn't moved the tourniquet he wouldn't have been writhing in agony when I tightened it again, he wouldn't have ripped his lung apart on his broken ribs."
Cuddy didn't reply. She didn't know what to say, he was right of course, they both knew it, but he had acted in his friends best interests. He always acted in House's best interests.
Suddenly House's hand twitched under her own, movement from the bed caught Cuddy's attention. House swallowed convulsively around the tube in his throat. When he couldn't dislodge it he moved weakly, an uncomfortable groan echoed down the tube. Cuddy and Wilson were on their feet in moments. Cuddy used her free hand to stroke his hair, soothing him while Wilson stepped forwards to look down at his friend.
"Hey," Cuddy said softly and smiled when he slowly opened his eyes and looked unsteadily at her. He tried to speak and frowned when he couldn't. "Don't try to talk, you're on a ventilator. Your lung collapsed and you stopped breathing." He blinked slowly and looked lazily around the small cubical, frowning again at the unfamiliar environment. Then his gaze floated over to his friend.
Wilson's reassuring smile faltered when House seemed to stare right through him. Hoping that his friend was just tired he began talking. "I always knew you would do anything to avoid work, but this is ridiculous." He didn't get the reaction he expected, there was no eye roll, no smirk around the tube in his mouth. He merely blinked lethargically and let his head roll to the side.
Worried, Wilson announced that he was going to get the Doctor.
"House," Cuddy began and was pleased when he dragged his gaze to look at her. "Blink if you can understand me." There was a pause before he slowly blinked. "Do you know where you are?" She asked, her voice soft and low. He looked around the cubical again, then looked back at his girlfriend, his furrowed brows told her everything, he had no idea. Cuddy was about to explain when Wilson returned with a Doctor.
He was tall and plump, his brown hair was thinning. An eager grin plastered his face.
"Good Morning, Doctor House. I'm Doctor Franks. I have to say, it's an honour to meet you." He paused, seemingly waiting for some sort of reaction, when he didn't get one he continued. "I've followed your work closely for some time." He bounced animatedly on the balls of his feet as he talked. "I particularly enjoyed your article on infectious diseases last month. Perhaps you could take some time later to look over an article I'm writing on trauma medicine, I'm sure you will find it…" His oblivious diatribe faltered when Wilson cleared his throat, and he looked up to see House's eyes wandering the room listlessly, before resting again on Cuddy's. "Sorry, now may not be the time." He blushed slightly at having been caught gushing.
He went on to explain House's condition in minute detail, his eyes buried in the chart in his hands, not noticing that his patient was not listening at all. When he finally looked up he noticed the disconnected expression and the listless wandering of his eyes. "Dr House," When it didn't work he repeated himself then again, finally succeeding in gaining his patient's attention. "Are you experiencing any pain? Dizziness? Nausea?" A slight shake of the head seemed to account for all three, before his eyes slid slowly shut. "Dr House" He called again, the man on the bed jumped slightly at the loud noise and he opened his eyes again. "Your drowsiness, can be attributed to your head wound and blood loss. You will feel better soon." Again there was no reaction, but he continued none the less. "You are next in line for the OR where we will repair your ribs and the damage to your lungs. Ortho will also be there to reset your leg and vascular to repair the damage to the artery." Here he took a breath, stealing himself to broach the next topic on his list when House's eyes slid shut again.
This time Cuddy stood to rouse him, but with no success. Worried, three sets of eyes travelled to the monitors, his stats had dropped. A sudden alarm drew their attention to the dwindling BP. "He's bleeding." Cuddy voiced the concern of all three. Franks threw back the sheets and lifted House's gown, there was no sign of haemorrhage around his ribs. A dark spot lower down the sheet caught Wilson's attention. He moved the sheet down further to reveal a slowly spreading pool of blood oozing from the tourniquet around his leg.
"Ring the OR," He commanded. "he needs the surgery now."