Rehab chapter 25
A/N – Rating remains M for graphic descriptions of normal bodily functions.
The next day proved to be the busiest day House could remember since his admission to the hospital.
From the moment he woke up the following morning after the disagreement with Tim, it seemed like things would continue drifting southward. The nurse did move him to his new private room. Just as Wilson said, though, the loneliness proved to be unbearable. House was too proud to admit that Wilson was right; it was a mistake to move to a private room.
The first day in his new room started off badly when his "hot" scrambled eggs and bacon arrived in the wrong room. His breakfast tray was mistakenly delivered to his old room. An aide quickly delivered the tray to the correct room, but hospital food gets cold quickly even when it's delivered promptly and to the correct destination.
House actually had an appetite for breakfast this morning. When the aide delivered his tray after its unexpected delay, the food was cold. There's nothing quite like congealed, cold scrambled eggs to turn your stomach. The sight of cold scrambled eggs and bacon switched his appetite off like a light switch. The aide promptly reheated his food but the eggs looked even more revolting after they came out of the microwave. So, for the umpteenth time, House's breakfast tray went back to the kitchen completely untouched. The nurse's aide assigned to his care prepared hot oatmeal for him but that was even less appealing than the cold congealed eggs.
After the untouched breakfast tray was removed from his room, John from occupational therapy came up for his morning session. He'd expected to find House partly dressed with a hospital gown on. Rehab patients are encouraged to wear street clothes, not hospital garb, as much as possible because the act of dressing is part of therapy. House couldn't wear street clothes yet because of his IVs. What John found was somewhat disconcerting because it was obvious House was not interested in participating in anything today. House lay in bed apathetically staring at a test pattern on the TV and would not maintain any eye contact with John or even acknowledge John's presence in the room. House had made no attempt to get up in the wheel chair as John and Ruth had encouraged him to do. House was quite capable of getting himself up in the wheel chair at this point.
"Dr. House, time to get dressed!" John said cheerfully, trying to assess how best to get House to participate in therapy today. "Up and at 'em!"
"No."
"'No' isn't in my vocabulary today," John smiled. "I can't force you to do anything, but you do have to look at my ugly mug for the next hour. I can show off my talents reciting verses from the Bible at you for the next hour, or we can accomplish something with therapy – whatever you'd prefer."
"What a wonderful choice."
"From the book of Genesis…," began John.
"Therapy!" smiled House wanly. House didn't have it in him to really argue with anyone today.
"Gown on first, then up in the chair. Then we'll do something interesting," John said.
"Can't wait," House stated without emotion, as he donned a hospital gown and slowly got himself out of bed into the wheel chair.
True to his word, Dr. Anderson had kept a close eye on House's pain management. House had to admit that being able to keep a written record of his pain using the tools Dr. Anderson gave him was very therapeutic. Using House's pain management reports, Dr. Anderson was able to stabilize him on a particular dose of the fentanyl patch and House hadn't had any pain spikes in the last 12 hours or so. His pain level was hovering at about a 1 or 2 and House had to admit that he'd actually had a pain-free night last night.
When John read House's records and discovered that his pain was much better controlled the last 12 hours or so, it was a mystery why House really didn't seem to want to participate in any therapy today. He wasn't really fighting the therapy. He was just too apathetic to care.
Then John saw the draining mess on House's leg after House got up in the wheel chair. The dressing, which had just been changed an hour or so before John arrived, was already saturated again. House was clearly embarrassed and grabbed a bed sheet to cover his leg before John could get a really good look at it.
"Dr. House, don't be embarrassed. We'll cover it up. I can't really change the dressing or anything but it does help me to have a look at it first so I know what I'm dealing with when I do your therapy. I take it you're on antibiotics?"
"A shitload," was the terse reply. "Literally. Ever heard what antibiotics do to your digestive system?"
"So we can't stray too far from a toilet. I think I can manage that. I'm going to ask your nurse to re-dress your leg and as soon as that's done, we're going for a ride," John said.
A few short minutes later, House had a clean dressing on his leg and John was coercing and cajoling House to venture out of his room. "Come on, you can do it! I can push if you really want me to, but after you get a taste of my driving, I think you'll want to take over. If you don't mind weaving all over the place, let me push you!" smiled John. "Come on, you got to find something funny about all this," John continued. "I'm serious – if you don't push yourself out of that room, I'm gonna get behind that chair, and I don't think you want me driving you anywhere."
Cursing and snarling the whole time, House grabbed the wheels of the chair and pushed himself out of the room. "Anything to get you to shut UP!" House snarled. John smiled even wider. A fighting attitude is better than none at all. Two feet in front of his room, in the hospital hallway, House stopped. "Ok, so I'm out. Now can I go back?"
"Nope. I have a nice surprise for you. This is the best occupational therapy exercise in the world, and I've heard you're quite good at this. I can't wait," John bubbled as he continued, "for you to keep going down the hall this way." John motioned for House to follow him.
House fired back "Well since I'm good at everything, and we're not at PPTH, the only thing I know is that you're not leading me back to my office so I can outsmart you in front of my fellows with my diagnostics chops. Slow down, I'm following!"
About halfway down the hall of the rehab wing, House slowed to a halt. Huffing and puffing, he said in a much meeker tone of voice, "Hey, idiot, stop! If you don't want me to create a traffic jam right here in the hallway, you're going to have to push me. But I'm not leaving this floor."
"Oh, don't worry – the surprise is in the rehab patient dining room right down the hall. Nobody's in there. For now, at least for the remainder of the hour, we have it by ourselves. It's worth your while," John said gently as he slowly pushed House to their destination.
As they rounded the corner and entered the rehab patient dining room, a stunning surprise awaited House.
Ruth and one of the physical therapy aides were sitting on the bench of a beautifully restored old black Story and Clark baby grand piano.
"Some richie rich donated this to us a few years ago. Not too many people know how to play it very well. Most of the time it sits here closed up, gathering dust. A few idiots keep putting plants on top of it even though we take the plants off every time we find them there," John said.
House sat there in stunned silence, not quite knowing how to react. It had been weeks since he'd touched his beautiful baby at home, and oh, how he missed it. But in order to play the piano well, one needs to be able to play the pedals. Right-handed pianists tend to use their right foot on the pedals. The logistics of how he was going to manage this were daunting, but already, the gears in his head were moving and after a few moments he motioned Ruth and the aide to get up and move the bench out of the way. He rolled right up to the piano and loosened up with some scales and a few bars of "Chopsticks".
Then he backed up and stared at the pedals as if they were adversaries to be conquered instead of old friends to be welcomed back.
"So you play, huh?" Ruth smiled. "John and I have been researching some aspects of music therapy and how we can use our patients' talents in their therapy programs. When most people hear the term 'music therapy', they think of the practice of using music therapeutically to help people. That's not what we're talking about here. When we have patients who are also musicians, we want to use their musical talents as part of their therapy. It isn't some fly-by-night thing that isn't well thought out. The idea is to use the physical act of playing an instrument as part of one's therapy. To participate in our music therapy program, participants must be able to play an instrument or sing. We aren't about teaching people how to play. We're about teaching patients how to use their instrument in their therapy."
John and Ruth looked at House to gauge his reaction. The spark was back in his eyes.
"Explain!" House said eagerly.
"Let me give you an example. Say a patient comes into rehab who plays the drums. Playing drums involves the whole body especially if you play a whole drum kit, with the bass drum. It involves all four extremities, usually all at the same time, doing something different. It requires some degree of physical strength and a great amount of coordination. The patient gets a complete assessment of their abilities, just like you did, before we start therapy of any kind. We take the ability that the patient currently has and focus on that using the drums or whatever the patient plays. If you were a paraplegic who used to play the drums, we'd get you right back on the drum kit again, using specifically prescribed drum exercises to strengthen fingers, arms and hands. We'd use a metronome, build up your drumming speed, which has the wonderful side effect of also building up finger, hand and arm strength. Then we'd move on to using whatever adaptive equipment was necessary to enable the paraplegic drummer to play the bass (kick) drum and high hat, drums that require use of a pedal."
The cynical, hard-bitten House tried very hard to hide his excitement at what he was hearing. One of his many mottoes was "if it sounds too good to be true, it is." But John and Ruth were getting through to him, at least a little. Dare he hope for some fun?
"Go on," House said.
"We hear you play the piano." God, I wonder what blabbermouth told them that? House thought to himself, knowing all the while it had to be Wilson. Good old Wilson. House nodded slowly.
"You're right handed, correct?" But while John was in the middle of asking that question, House plunged right in with a nice Dr. John number. Eyes closed, he reveled in the joy that playing the piano always brought him. He was oblivious to anyone else in the room; simply enjoying the moment while it lasted.
By the time he finished the song and opened his eyes, the dining room was packed with doctors, nurses, and other patients. Ruth and John started clapping. Wilson wandered into the room during the last few bars of the song, having heard the piano when he got off the elevator. House seemed quite embarrassed. Playing the piano was a personal thing for him. It brought him pleasure. He didn't play for other people. He played for himself. The applause was unexpected and unnerving. House didn't know how to react. Wilson saw his discomfort and moved quickly to sit next to him. For House's ears only, Wilson whispered "See? You could have no legs at all. Nobody's looking at your legs. They like YOU."
House stayed at the piano, head down and eyes closed in total relaxation. Since he apparently was finished playing for the time being, the other occupants of the room wandered out slowly, leaving Ruth, John, House and Wilson alone in the dining room.
"Well, that wasn't quite what we intended; that was actually much more than we intended. Wow! That was awesome!" Ruth smiled.
John continued, "Let me explain the plan. Since your injury is in the right leg, we'll start by developing added strength and coordination in your left arm. The reason for that is because when you graduate to using a cane, which you will, you'll use it in your left hand. You'll find that added strength and coordination in your left arm may come in quite handy. For the next few days, when I do your occupational therapy, it'll be in here. Piano will be a part of your OT, but not all of it. When you're playing the piano during OT and any other time you want, play the left hand only. Work on scales. Start slowly and build up speed over time. You can also play anything else you want when you're not in OT. For the purposes of occupational therapy, here are the exercises to work on with your left hand." John presented House with sheet music containing piano exercises for the left hand only.
Ruth added, "From a physical therapy standpoint, John's right about cane use and developing added strength and coordination in your left hand. Most right-handed people tend to use their left hand just to follow whatever the right is doing. Since you'll be using a cane or some other assistive device permanently, in your left hand, we need to get your left hand 'thinking independently', so to speak. Means it's time to make it stronger and even more coordinated than your right hand."
House really enjoyed what he was hearing and wanted to stay right where he was. He wished everyone else would leave so he could close his eyes and go back to some old sweet tune again on the piano. This was better than any sedative. But one can only sit in a wheel chair for so long before joints and muscles stiffen and the patient needs to move. Mother Nature was calling, and worst of all, he wasn't sure he had time to get to a bathroom. Wonderful.
House started squirming a little in the chair. The more he squirmed, the more pain he was in; but it was either squirm or else just let go and poop all over the place right there in the dining room. Finally he said, softly, "Wilson."
The situation was apparent to everyone. Wilson grabbed the wheel chair and broke the speed limit heading for the bathroom.
When they got to the bathroom, Wilson wasted no time pulling House's underwear down and bodily lifting his friend, bridal style, out of the wheel chair and on to the toilet.
House was absolutely mortified. Being a typical guy, the farting sounds and the sounds and smells that came after that were just part and parcel of being a guy. That wasn't what he was embarrassed about. And for the first time, he wasn't even embarrassed about Wilson seeing the saturated dressing on his leg. What he was mortified about was the idea that Wilson had to break the speed limit GETTING him there. House wanted to push the chair by himself, get himself on the toilet, and poop in private. But if left to do it himself like he wanted, by the time House pushed the chair to the bathroom, pulled his underwear down and slid over to the toilet, there'd be a trail of you-know-what all the way from the dining room to the bathroom. Yet another wonderful side-effect of antibiotics, House thought. "I don't need company in here!" House yelled at Wilson while finishing what he was in there to do. "Can't a guy get some privacy? I can wipe my own ass!"