The Frame Game

Cindy spent the better part of her shift worrying about Greg. The traveling physical therapist couldn't get the equipment until Monday morning. Set up wouldn't happen until later that day or possibly Tuesday. The thought of Greg having to suffer for another few days was eating away at her.

On her lunch hour she called her boss and let him know the situation. Radcliffe wasn't too happy either. They brainstormed a bit. Perhaps a little help from Princeton-Plainsboro was in order.

Cindy hung up and called Greg's phone. It was picked up almost immediately. "Hey, Wilson, this is Cindy. How's it going?"

Wilson spoke softly. "He's finally sleeping. He's been miserable all morning."

"I'm working on getting the traction frame from other sources. If we get it tonight, will you help me set it up?"

"Of course. I'll do anything to get him out of pain."

"I'll let you know if we succeed."

Wilson hung up, then checked on House. He didn't look very comfortable, but at least he was resting. The first hour of pain had been difficult for both of them. No matter what Wilson tried, House couldn't get his leg in a position that didn't make him squirm. All the adjusting and re-adjusting threw Greg over the edge. He screamed and yelled, berating everyone and anyone, especially Wilson. For a few moments James contemplated looking for a hidden stash of Vicodin. Instead he found a heating pad and a bottle of Ibuprofen. 'Any port in a storm,' he thought.

"Take these House, they'll help you relax," Wilson lied. The placebo affect had worked before on his friend. If it worked now, there'd be no harm in it.

Not knowing where to place the heating pad was the hardest part.

Greg guided his friend's hand to the area just above his right buttock. "And watch what you're grabbing," he said gruffly.

The strange combination seemed to be working. Wilson had stayed at his

side until he was asleep.

Cindy stepped in to the inventory supply room. The ward was low on traction frames this time of year. Winter tended to wreak a lot of havoc on limbs and backs. She gleaned through the supplies, pulling out two small sand bag weights, the three lambskin slings she would need, and extra rope for the pulleys. She spied the perfect gadget; the egg crate foam wedge that would support his back and help keep his hip at a neutral angle.

At the desk she filled out the requisition form for Dr. Radcliffe to sign off on. Now all she was waiting to hear was if Princeton-Plainsboro would give up the frame.

Lisa Cuddy had received a call from House's orthopedic surgeon unexpectedly. At first she was confused by what he was asking, but further clarification made it easier for her to get things done. Sunday afternoon at the hospital was hit or miss. Orthopedics could be busy or dead. Cuddy was hoping it was slow.

The nursing staff on the ward picked up the phone almost immediately.

"This is Dr. Cuddy. Who's on call?"

"That would be Dr. Mackey. I'll get him."

Lisa waited only seconds before the doctor picked up. They spoke a few minutes. She waited while supply was checked and then requested the tech on call to have the framework ready for pick up by six.

Greg woke up from his nap feeling nauseated. He was having palpitations and sweating. 'An anxiety attack,' he told himself. 'Calm down.'

He tried to regulate his breathing but couldn't stay on task as muscles twitched and threatened to claw him apart from the inside out. He didn't have the wherewithal to call Wilson to do something. After all, what could he do?

Almost as if by psychic power, Wilson appeared at the door. "House, you okay?"

"No!" He half screamed, half cried.

"Why didn't they -"

"I need more pills!"

He sounded exactly the same as he did when he wanted Vicodin. Wilson wasn't sure if he was delusional at this point or not.

"Check the kitchen," Greg growled between clenched jaws.

Wilson was torn between examining him out or heading for the kitchen.

"Call her. Find out what she did with them."

It was a demand. An order not to be ignored. Wilson pulled out his cell phone.