Long, Strange Trip
House gave Wilson a look and pushed through the glass door into the small reception area. He looked around the room at the burnt orange sofa, the pop machine and the junkie in the corner. "I don't belong here." House tried to turn around to leave, but Wilson put his hand on his back as encouragement.
The intake clerk looked up at him. "Do you have an appointment?"
"Yes." He said simply. It had gotten to this point. He was just another sad addiction story.
The clerk continued to write in the chart and pointed to a sign in sheet. "We'll call you when we're ready. Have a seat over there." She waved in the direction of sofa.
The junkie got up and bought himself an orange soda. His hands shook while he drank it. He spilled some on the chair he was sitting on. It blended right in.
"I think this is a very bad idea." House grew desperate to get out of there and stood up to make his escape.
"Do you know how hard this study is to get into?" Wilson growled. "I owe about seven favors. Now sit your ass down."
"You know, when you speak to me like that, people think that we're together." House fidgeted with his cane.
"It wouldn't be the first time. You should be flattered. I can do better." Wilson checked his pager and found that there were no new messages.
The junkie coughed and turned to him, "You're right. You can."
"Dude." Wilson said and turned his head.
Finally he was called back and the intake clerk sat across the desk from him, writing on a Xeroxed form. He noticed that there was no name on the chart, only a number.
"Okay, so you've been taking pain medication for a chronic condition since 1999." She noted the chart. "You're up to 60 milligrams?"
"Actually, I'm down from 80." It was a pathetic boast.
"So that was as much as you've ever taken?" The pen scratched across the page.
"Well, some days I'd take more. You know." House shrugged.
"How many alcoholic drinks do you have in a week?" The pen paused, waiting for his response.
"Two per night? Sometimes more, sometimes less." He shifted in the uncomfortable metal chair.
"Fourteen, fifteen per week?" She checked a box.
"Well, when you put it like that…" He realized it sounded pretty bad. "Yes." He was in hell.
"Okay, finally, do you believe that you are addicted to your pain killers?" Her pen stopped and she raised her face to his.
He looked into her eyes and admitted, "Yes."
She remained dispassionate, refusing to judge him, or to allow him pity. "Fine. Now, this is a double-blind study. You'll be assigned a number and from here on, that's how we'll know you. You need to sign this. It states that you agree to abide by the protocols of our study. Basically, you'll slowly reduce your doses of traditional pain killers while incorporating certain pain management techniques. Some of these are considered to be alternatives to traditional medicine. You will be tested weekly to insure that you are adhering to the dosages that we approve. The object is to understand how pain can be managed and if these alternatives can help with the alleviation of pain." She pushed the paper towards him.
House didn't even read it. He signed. He was ready to face this; he was ready to get better. "So what's it going to be? Bio-feedback? Yoga? Macro-biotic diet?"
She smiled for the first time that day and walked to the file cabinet. "Do you want what's behind door number one, or what's in the box?" She came back to him with a largish box. "I have no idea what's in there. Open it up when you get home and follow the instructions. We'll see you next week."
House put the box under his arm and limped back into the reception area. The junkie had cornered Wilson and was in the middle of relating his life story. "Have you ever been married Man?"
When he saw House, Wilson jumped up and rushed to help him with the box. "So? How was it?"
"Let's get out of here." House had his keys in his hand and was hustling out the door.
"So dude! Am I going to see you again?" The junkie called out to Wilson.
When they got home, House put the box on the dining room table and got out his pocket knife. He sliced into the top of the box and opened it.
Wilson's eyes shone, "It's like Christmas."
"It's like Christmas in Marin County. I wonder if there are Birkenstocks in there." House pulled out the first item. "Great, it's a journal." He thumbed through it. He was to record his pain levels, emotions, and observations three times a day. The next thing was a relaxation tape. "Crap. Meditation."
"Are you going to do it?" Wilson wanted to prowl through the box, but respected House's desire to inspect each item.
"Yes. In for a penny, in for a pound. It's for science after all." House returned to the box. "Here's some good news. I get to keep eating what I normally eat."
"That's good news for the Hershey Corporation." Wilson observed.
House pulled out the last of the items in the box. It was a white plastic box. The paper wrapped around it said 'tea' and suggested that a teaspoon of loose leaves steeped for 2 minutes would help with reducing stress. House sniffed at it experimentally. "Damn!" A smile spread across his face. "What does this smell like?" He shoved it under Wilson's nose.
Wilson pushed it away. "Stop!"
"I'm serious. Smell it." Wilson took a whiff. "No way. That smells like…"
"Otto's jacket. James, for the first time since I decided to do this I am a happy man." He got up and started rifling through drawers.
"What are you doing?" Wilson stood up.
"I'm looking for a pipe. I thought I might still have one." His shoulders sagged. "There's no way I'm making tea out of this."
Wilson smiled and went into the kitchen. He rustled around in the recycling and came back with an empty pop can. "Give me your knife." He pressed in the sides of the can and drilled a hole on one side of the can; on the top he made a small screen with the tip of the knife. "I think we're in business. Got a lighter?"
"What if it's not pot?" House said, handing him a Zippo with a skull on it.
"What the hell is this?" Wilson looked at it.
"Present from a biker I treated once. Knew it would come in handy. Come on, spark it up." House could barely contain his excitement.
Wilson put a few leaves on the screen and his thumb on the hole. He lit the leaves with his right hand and inhaled, controlling the air with the thumb-hole. A plume of smoke wafted up and the unmistakable smell of cannabis wafted over towards House.
"Gimme! It's mine." House took the can and the lighter and soon he was holding a mouthful of smoke. "Oh my God. That takes me back. This is really pot. I thought this was illegal."
Wilson giggled, "Maybe they put the box together before last month's supreme court ruling. It's a double-blind study; they have no way of knowing who has what. You're a lucky bastard you know?"
House laughed. "Yeah, I might have lost the use of my leg, but I can get high like some punk at the 7-11. Speaking of which, I need a supply of Oreos and some rolling papers. This homemade pipe won't cut it."
Within an hour they returned with what looked like a twelve-year old's Halloween haul. They had also stopped at Taco Bell.
Cameron arrived home at seven and was surprised to find them sprawled out on the sofa watching The Young Ones on DVD. Roman lounged between the two of them languidly watching them volley a wadded up candy wrapper back and forth. The remnants of their binge remained on the coffee table. She sniffed the air, "What's that smell?"
House giggled, "She has no idea."
"She's very serious." Wilson agreed.
House turned to her, "You never went to a frat party at all in college?"
Now it was Wilson's turn to giggle.
"What?" Cameron was truly mystified. "Are you drunk?"
House could barely speak for laughing, "No."
She shook her head and went into the other room, "I'm doing my treadmill. Sober up or something."
They both laughed loudly. House reached over to his journal. He spoke as he wrote, "Dear Diary, today I became a woman." Wilson dissolved into helpless laughter. "Check this out." He reached over for the hemostat and the roach that was on the end of it. House lit it and rather than inhaling he blew through it towards Roman.
Roman pawed at the smoke, but most of it went straight up his nose. He touched his nose a couple of times and sneezed.
House reached for another Oreo. "Now I'm going to have to share with him."
Wilson became serious, "You know that you're not supposed to become addicted to pot."
"Not pot. Medical marijuana. There's a difference." House professed, putting the lid on his precious box.
"Not any more. It's all illegal. Every last stem, seed and leaf. We could be arrested." Wilson sat up. "This is very irresponsible."
"No. What if it really is some kind of tea? What if we're just naturally silly like this?" House sat up and rubbed Roman's stomach. "He's a good cat." He said in a small, talking to the cat, voice.
"Yeah. That must be it. Should I drive home? It was just tea." Wilson didn't look like he was going anywhere.
"Better stay here." House said, "You can do the relaxation tape with me."