A short while later, breakfast was brought in, including not only Cuddy's tray but for the first time since his awakening one for House. They were not the same, however. House dubiously eyed his Jell-O, juice, and clear liquids and poked the Jell-O with his spoon, as if checking it for reflexes. Cuddy laughed, and he glared at her and then at her tray of eggs and toast. "Trade?" he suggested.
"Nope, that's what the doctor ordered, and that's what you're eating. You haven't actually had anything to eat in 4 1/2 days, Greg. Take it slowly. I already served my time at the beginning of this week."
He mournfully started on the Jell-O. Cuddy and Jensen both were watching him use his hand, noting that there didn't seem to be any coordination problems. Most likely the weakness yesterday morning had just been exhaustion. In fact, by the time he finished the tray, he looked like he was starting to get tired again.
"I'm fine," he snapped, getting annoyed with their analysis. They had been trying to be surreptitious, but of course he noticed.
Just then, Blythe and Susan came through the door of the room. "Greg! You're awake!" Blythe walked over as fast as she could with her quad cane and wrapped him in a hug that was near painful.
"Hi," he said, obviously, at least to Cuddy and Jensen, totally avoiding her title so he wouldn't have to hunt for it.
"Oh, Greg, we were SO worried about you." Blythe bent over for hug, round two, and she had barely let him go when Susan, coming up beside her, took her turn. House's expression of martyrdom made Cuddy feel sorry for him, and she jumped into the pool of family issues with both feet. Jensen was even here at the moment for backup. Perfect.
"I was thinking, Mom, Blythe, you two might be able to help us out."
They released House immediately, turning to face her. "What could we do?" Susan asked.
"Rachel's still in the hospital, you know, but there's no medical reason why she can't go home, and there are plenty of insurance reasons why she's already pushed it on length of stay here. Could you take Rachel to our house? The nanny will be glad to help out, of course. I'll give you her number. But it's a good chance to spend some time with your granddaughter."
"I'd love to, Lisa."
"We want to help any way we can," Blythe chimed in.
"You realize, Blythe, you can't be carrying her yourself."
"Of course, Lisa. I understand. We'll be glad to, and then after you get home. . ."
House closed his eyes in pain that Cuddy was pretty sure was primarily emotional, not physical at the moment, and Cuddy interrupted her. "After we get home, we're going to be hiring somebody to stay there for Rachel, including overnights. We won't be able to take care of her ourselves at first, of course; I'll be on lifting restrictions for a while, and Greg probably will need a little time to finish healing, too. But we'll be hiring somebody, and you two can leave us in good hands."
The women immediately objected in chorus. "But, Lisa, we'd be glad to help."
"We're family. That's what family does."
Jensen came in from the sidelines. "One of the biggest wishes after an accident is just to have things return to normal. I think the two of them are going to need time alone, time to process and start getting their lives back. I'm sure they appreciate your good intentions, but the ultimate goal is return for everybody to your usual lives. For you, Mrs. House, that's in Lexington with all your activities and friends, and for you, Mrs. Cuddy, that's with your husband, who will be going through his own attempt to return to normality after his surgery. He will need you there. I'm sure he's already missing your support and presence."
Susan looked thoughtful and slightly guilty thinking of Robert. "But we should be doing it. They're going to need help."
"We're going to have help," Cuddy promised. "But we hate keeping you here away from everything, and we really just want to get normal back, like Dr. Jensen said. We'll hire help for what we need, but Princeton is our home, and it's not yours. We're going to need some space to deal with everything."
"But Greg isn't going to be able to do things for a long time," Blythe protested. "Walking, tending to Rachel. Who knows how long it will be?"
House still had his eyes shut, but Cuddy looked at the monitors past him and knew this conversation was getting to him. "We'll have help. I promise. But we need space to process things on our own. Please."
Jensen chimed in again. "That is why it's such a good opportunity for you two to spend time with Rachel the next several days. Just think, you can take care of her now, until her parents are discharged, and then the next time you come back next year for a short visit, you can spend time with both of your granddaughters." Susan and Blythe considered that, softening a little at the thought of Abby. "At the bottom line, though, they need to get back to their lives as soon as possible, as near as possible to the way things used to be, and the two of you need to get back to yours. So take advantage of the time with Rachel right now."
The mothers looked dubious but thoughtful. "You will hire some help at first?" Blythe asked.
"Yes. I promise. We'll both be careful not to overdo it."
"I'm sure Rachel would like to see her room and her toys again as soon as possible," Jensen suggested.
Slowly, the women moved toward the door. "I guess that plan makes sense," Susan stated. "We'll go get Rachel and bring her back up for a minute as we leave. See you in a little while, Lisa, Greg."
"See you," Cuddy replied. House didn't reply, and when she looked over at him after the mothers had left, he still had his eyes shut. "Are you all right, Greg?"
Jensen unpropped himself from the far wall. "I'm going down to the cafeteria for my own breakfast. I'll see you later." He departed at a fairly rapid pace for him, and Cuddy looked after him, puzzled. It was almost like he was deliberately leaving them alone right now, but he had left them alone much less abruptly many times so far. It wasn't one of his usual smooth, unobtrusive exits. However, that tickling thought was just a minor impression next to the major one that House was clearly, by vitals, upset, which hadn't decreased when the mothers left.
"Greg? What's the matter?" He opened his eyes to study her, but he didn't speak. "Come on, talk to me. What is it?"
"You didn't want to talk?"
"To talk about what?"
He gritted his teeth in frustration. "Rachel. Do I get a . . . vote?"
Abruptly, she realized that they hadn't talked about it, hadn't even discussed future plans. "I apologize, Greg. I should have waited and talked it over with you first. It was Jensen's idea, really; I was asking him this morning the best way to tell them to get lost. I just jumped on into it at the chance there, while they were in the room, but you're right, we should have discussed it alone." She studied him, still feeling that there was something else. "Jensen called it a compromise offer, give them Rachel now, then immediately lay down the future law for when we come home. I know Rachel will probably get tired of them, but at least she's too young to remember the trauma of several days with her grandparents." She tried to make it a joke, but he wasn't responding. Not even a glint of humor in his eyes. "Do you not like the idea?"
He sighed. "It's fine."
She squeezed his hand. "I wasn't trying to cut you out of the decision, really. I apologize. I do value your input." He still wasn't responding to her much, and his heart rate was still on the high side. "Greg, what is it? You can't tell me something else isn't bothering you. I know you by now, and besides, you're hooked up to a vital signs monitor."
He turned his head, studying the numbers in surprise. "What is it?" she repeated. "Please, talk to me."
After a moment, he said softly, "Mom was right. We have no . . . idea what kind of . . . time frame . . . we're talking about. What if I never . . ." He trailed off.
Cuddy abruptly remembered Blythe's matter-of-fact statement, her simple and unshielded opinion that House would have more significant difficulties ahead physically than Cuddy would. She sighed. "Greg, I was saying that both of us are going to need help."
"One more than the . . . other."
"We don't know that yet. We haven't even done full testing. But whatever it is, Greg, we will deal with it. We will deal with it. Together. Have you already forgotten our wedding vows? For better or for worse, in sickness and in health. We'll make it, Greg."
He slammed his left hand abruptly against the rails of the bed. "DAMN that driver!" His next reaction was to snatch that arm abruptly back up, cradling it against his chest. He had smacked himself against the stitches. The monitor numbers really made a jump there.
"Greg, are you okay?" Cuddy started to lean over toward him, flinching as her stitches pulled.
Right then, an ICU nurse hurried into the room, closely followed by Wilson. "What the hell is going on in here?" Wilson demanded. "I was just walking into the unit, and suddenly everything went haywire." The nurse was trying to capture House's left wrist, which he was still cradling tight against his chest and wasn't about to give up. Wilson moved around her, grabbing the extremity himself, and the nurse yielded with relief. "Get me some more morphine," Wilson ordered, looking at the monitor briefly, then returning his attention to the wrist. He moved the rolling over-bed table with the empty breakfast tray aside for better access and leverage. House wasn't giving the arm up.
"No," House demanded. His eyes were still shut, the numbers beside him still far too high.
"House, you need something."
"I need . . . everybody to leave us ALONE!" His shout didn't do much for his headache and didn't even achieve the request. Wilson showed no signs of going anywhere.
"Easy, Greg," Cuddy said softly, capturing his right hand again.
"Let me look at it," Wilson insisted. He and House were in a determined tug-of-war over House's left wrist, which Wilson was gradually winning solely because of House's weakness. "What did you do?"
"He hit it on the rails," Cuddy supplied, trying to spare him the frustration of the explanation at the moment.
"How did you do that accidentally? You're right-handed, shouldn't have been picking up the left that far for anything, not to get it clear out over the rails." Wilson gained another inch in the battle.
"It wasn't accidental," Cuddy admitted.
House abruptly stopped resisting, with the result that the oncologist nearly went flying backwards and lost his balance. He scrambled for a moment to stay upright without dropping House's left wrist, both of which goals he accomplished, although with difficulty. Wilson turned the wrist between his hands, inspecting it. There was blood along the bandage, although not a large amount, and Wilson sighed and began pulling the tape loose. "Why would you . . ."
"Never mind!" House and Cuddy interrupted in absolute unison.
The nurse re-entered with a syringe of morphine. "Put it down and go get me some dressing supplies," Wilson told her. He looked up at House. "Okay, you have 30 seconds to tell me why I shouldn't give you a large dose of morphine right now."
That, of course, just reminded House of how long it took him to actually say things at the moment. Wilson and Cuddy both read his eyes flawlessly, and the oncologist sighed. "Damn it, that wasn't what I meant." He succeeded in getting the dressing off and inspected the sutures. They clearly had been smacked straight across the cut, and there was oozing around some of them, although none had torn. "I don't think you did any real damage, but I wouldn't advise doing that again." He looked up and divided his gaze between House and Cuddy. "What's going on?"
Just then, the neonatologist entered the room. "Good morning! I'm glad you're both awake; I thought we might discuss Abby's course thus far." The nurse entered after him and handed fresh bandaging materials to Wilson.
"House needs another dose of morphine right now," Wilson said, looking at the numbers on the monitor, which still didn't look good.
House closed his eyes. "Go ahead. Talk about . . . everything without me."
"No," Cuddy replied firmly. "We either both get an update right now, or neither of us does. Wilson, could you give him just a partial dose? Just knock the edge off a little." The monitor numbers were worrying her, but House's mental state at the moment was worrying her more. "Is that okay, Greg?"
He opened his eyes, meeting hers and searching for any pity or patronizing. All he saw was concern mixed with sincerity. She really would turn down an update on their daughter right now in order to share it. "Okay. Not much."
Wilson picked up the syringe and injected about a third of it. "Give it a minute," he requested of the neonatologist, who was looking from one to the other of the room's occupants like he'd been dropped in the middle of a tennis match.
By the time Wilson got House's wrist rebandaged, the numbers on the screen had started to creep down, and House didn't look quite as much like he was clenching his teeth. Wilson stepped back a token half step from the bed, still staying perfectly close, and picked up the remaining morphine, holding the syringe between his fingers. "Okay, go."
The neonatologist looked from House to Cuddy, and both of them nodded. "Abby is one week old today," he started. "The fact that she's survived that week is an excellent sign. Don't get me wrong; she isn't out of the woods, and we're still months away from discharge even if all goes well. But the majority of non surviving premies die in the first 48 hours."
"What about the bleed?" Cuddy asked.
"It is starting to recede, and it never went past Grade II. Her pressure wasn't high to the point that I would expect permanent brain damage. Her oximetry has continued to be unstable at times, which simply goes with the territory. As long as she gets immediate attention from the nurses, we can manage that. Down the road, both of you will be learning infant CPR and how to cope with apnea episodes. There is one new concern this morning, a fever. We've drawn full cultures and started broad-spectrum antibiotics empirically while waiting. I would be surprised if she didn't have a few rounds of infection during her course. We're continuing the surfactant for the lungs, but again, we've got a long way to go to independent breathing. But overall, she has survived to this point, and she seems to be a fighter."
Cuddy smiled. "In a best case scenario, when do you think she might come home?"
"The soonest is usually around the actual due date, so mid January. I wouldn't expect her home for Christmas, I'm afraid."
House flinched, thinking of all the unpleasant things of Christmas past. He and Cuddy had been talking about how to make this one a positive one, a time for Rachel, a time for hopeful anticipation of their daughter's birth in January. How rapidly plans and hopes could change. At this point, the goal was to have their daughter still be alive on Christmas, even if still hospitalized.
Cuddy squeezed his hand. "Maybe we could celebrate Christmas late."
House snorted. "We can't move . . . dates."
"The date of Christmas isn't accurate anyway, not even for Christians," Wilson pointed out. "If you're just having a family celebration, January 25th is as good as December 25th. No reason it can't be."
"We've got time to discuss it. And we will, together, and decide," Cuddy said pointedly. House's hand twitched in hers. "So doctor, overall, what do you think her chances are?"
"Better than they were a week ago. Not as good as they would have been with a few more weeks of gestation. But she is hanging on for us. She seems like a strong one. I'm cautiously optimistic."
"Thank you," Cuddy replied. Right then, the neonatologist's pager went off, and he looked down at it and then excused himself.
Footsteps sounded up the hall, and House abruptly raised his head. "Give me .. ." He reached out toward the syringe, not even taking time to fight for the word. "Now!"
"But a few minutes ago, you didn't want any at all. Oh," Wilson replied, light dawning as he recognized a voice outside the room. He quickly injected the remainder of the syringe. "Have a nice nap, House."
Blythe and Susan came into the room, Rachel in Susan's arms. "Look who's here!" Blythe exclaimed.
House's eyelids were starting to droop, but he smiled at his daughter. "Hi . . . Rachel."
Wilson stepped back, dropping the empty syringe into the sharps container. "I just gave him another dose of morphine. His vitals were getting a little unstable again. You two don't need to stay long."
Both women gave House a worried look. "Okay," Susan replied. "We were just popping in for a minute."
Cuddy squeezed House's hand. "Don't fight it, Greg. You can see Rachel some other time."
"Okay," he replied, voice trailing off slightly on the end.
Blythe stepped forward to give him a quick hug, then retreated. "Get well, Gregory. We'll be back some other time." Susan came over to let Cuddy kiss Rachel, and then the two mothers left.
Cuddy closed her eyes. The roller coaster of the last hour had worn her out, and she was ready for a nap herself. "Want me to get another syringe?" Wilson asked, only half joking.
Cuddy shook her head. "Too much temptation. If I had one around here, I'd eventually use it as a dart."
Wilson laughed. He made one final check of House's vitals, which were dropping nicely back down to baseline, and then he turned back to Cuddy. "Why did he hit the rails?"
"He was frustrated," Cuddy replied. She didn't give details as to cause.
Wilson sighed. "I can't blame him. I would be, too." He turned to leave. "Have a nice nap, you two."
"We will." Cuddy looked over at House after Wilson had left. "You are not going to be a handicapped burden on us, you idiot, no matter what happens. And we will get through things. Is that understood?" He didn't reply. Silence gives consent. "Good. And don't you forget it." Wishing it were that easy, she let herself drift off into sleep.