a little drama to make it interesting...
Chapter 65:
Sunday evening consisted of House and Cuddy sitting on Cuddy's living room floor unpacking boxes from the big move. By nine p.m., there were only two more boxes left.
Cuddy couldn't believe House offered her sister and Matt the apartment.
"Why are you surprised?" he had asked. "It's not like we need two places."
"I'm just surprised at your approach, that's all," she had told him.
"It's so 'un- Gregory House' like," she added, chuckling.
House scowled at her and turned his attention back to lifting books out of a box with his hand.
"And Greg, I didn't get a chance to say this before, but I think you're taking more Vicodin than usual."
"In case you haven't noticed, I do have an infarction and it hurts."
I'm not talking about your actual pain. I know that exists, but all I'm saying is I notice you reaching for it more often, that's all. We've talked about how some of your pain may be psychological -"
"You know what else makes me take more pills?" he interrupted her. "Annoyance, like when I'm being annoyed right now. By you."
Cuddy shook her head and went back to unpacking boxes. "I'm just looking out for you and your liver," she muttered to herself.
When he arrived at the hospital for work Monday morning, House went to the pharmacy to pick up his refill prescription. He had taken his last Vicodin the night before and forgot to have some extras.
His patience running thin due to both being in pain (he tried not to focus on what Cuddy had said to him over the weekend about some of his pain being in his head), and the amount of time it had taken the new pharmacy technician to fill his refill prescription, when he was finally handed the orange bottle, House unscrewed the cap and tilted the bottle into his mouth as he slowly limped to the elevator.
Consulting his watch, he grumbled under his breath. His leg ached tremendously AND he was late for his physical therapy appointment with Laura.
As he stepped into the elevator, he tried not to think about his later appointment that day with John Greene.
"So Lisa didn't hear you call her name?"
House shook his head, rubbing his aching right thigh. "No. Her windows were up."
Four hours after his physical therapy appointment, House was sitting in John Greene's office, as the lawyer questioned him in regards to Cuddy's accident.
John stopped writing and watched House pop another pill into his mouth
"That's been the fourth pill you've had since you came into my office," he told House, concerned as he watched the diagnostician.
House scoffed. "Couldn't possibly be the fact that I'm in pain," he snapped, as he continued to rub his thigh vigorously.
"So," John said quickly, backing off. "Lisa makes the turn but you see the SUV first."
"Yeah. I don't even think she saw it until it was too late."
"The SUV's lights were off?"
"Yeah. I saw the silver front. He must have been going…at least 60-70 miles an hour—" Shaking his head, House cleared his throat and looked down at his thigh.
"I'm sorry. I know this is hard but I have a couple more questions, okay?" John told him, softly.
House closed his eyes, balling his fists. His head ached. His leg ached. Laying his forehead against his cane, he exhaled and motioned for John to continue. Why did his leg hurt this much? More than usual? He had taken more than enough Vicodin to block the pain, so what was taking so long?
John looked at him, concerned. "Greg, are you sure -"
"I'm fine," House shot at him impatiently, through gritted teeth.
"Okay," John replied, still not convinced, but he knew House was a very private person so he did not pry. Besides, it wasn't relevant.
"…Did Chase say anything to you when he was removed from his vehicle? Assuming he saw you at the scene…"
"He waved at me," House shot through gritted teeth. "That fucking idiot waved at me."
"Let's not get carried away here, now," John said quickly, "Now, I read the police report. His BAC was listed as being .13 that night. His lawyer is most likely going to play into that, saying Chase shouldn't be at fault due to the impairment of alcohol."
House scoffed. "Asshole….he knew what he was doing."
"Greg, please. Stop. I know you are pissed off about what Chase did – and with great reason to be – but right now, I'm trying to come up with a sound and solid argument that we can use in court in two weeks in order to have Chase get what he deserves. Focus, okay?"
As House limped back to his office twenty minutes later, he stopped and leaned against a wall in the corridor, clearly distracted.
Closing his eyes and leaning his cane next to him, he reached down and grabbed his thigh with his right hand, caressing it. The muscle was in a spasm. Taking his hand off his thigh, he reached into his pocket and, fishing out his Vicodin, unscrewed the cap and poured half the bottle into his mouth.
Gritting his teeth and wiping the sweat off his forehead, he gripped his cane, pushed himself off the wall and continued to limp painfully to his office.
"New case," Foreman began, as he saw his boss enter the conference room. "Forty year-old female came into the E.R. Sudden onset of aggressive behavior and then she fainted. Her husband said that it's not like her."
"Get a tox screen and send her to the psych ward. Next," House said roughly, as he limped to the nearest chair and collapsed into it, leaning his head back, his hand gripping his thigh.
"Tox screen upon admission was negative," Foreman told him. "You okay? You're sweating."
"I'm fine," House yelled, picking his head up. "Our patient, it seems, is not." Letting go of his thigh, he stood up, ignoring the bout of dizziness that just came over him, and limped over to the whiteboard.
Exchanging an equally concerned look with Foreman, Cameron looked over at her boss. "House, you're pale and sweating. You are not fine."
House was about to answer when he gripped the whiteboard tray with his hand, doubled over and retched into the floor.
Then, he fainted, his body collapsing onto the carpet.
"House!" Cameron cried out. She and Foreman rushed over to where he lay on the floor.
"Get Cuddy," Cameron said, quickly as she turned her boss over so he was flat on his back.
"You get Cuddy," Foreman told her. "I'll move him."
Not even ten minutes later, Cameron had returned, with the Dean of Medicine behind her.
"What happened?" Cuddy asked, hurriedly.
Foreman had moved House to the chair in his office and was now taking his pulse.
"No idea," Foreman told her. "He came in, clearly in pain, distracted and then presumably lost his balance, vomited and then fainted."
Kneeling down next to an unconscious House, Cuddy felt his cheeks. "He's flushed and sweaty."
"His breath sounds seem to be pretty weak," Foreman said. "His pulse is slow but not terrible."
"Did he fall on his shoulder?"
"No," Cameron told her. "But he seemed to be in a lot of pain with his leg."
Cuddy withdrew an orange bottle from the front pocket of his jeans. "His Vicodin bottle is more than half-way empty. This was filled this morning. He ran out last night," she said, looking at the label.
"Unless it's not Vicodin," Foreman said, glancing at the orange bottle.
Cuddy looked over at him, shocked. "What do you mean," she said, unscrewing the cap and pouring a white capsule into her open palm. "Of course it's - "
And then she stopped, her breath hitched in her throat. Looking over at Foreman and Cameron, she said quietly, "This isn't Vicodin."
Shakily, she stood up, trying to keep her composure. "He needs to get whatever he took out of his system. Get him to the I.C.U. and do a gastric lavage. Get a urine sample straight from the bladder. I'll get a wheelchair." She turned toward the door. "Get a blood test as well," she added quickly before walking out.
"We trached him to help clear the airway and did the lavage," Foreman told the Dean of Medicine, an hour and a half later. "Cameron's in the lab looking at the urine and blood samples."
They were standing outside House's room in the ICU.
"Good," Cuddy replied, tiredly. She looked in the window at House who was sedated, with a tube down his throat.
"Since he's been without Vicodin for so long, I assume for more than fourteen hours, he's going to be in a lot of pain when the sedative wears off and he wakes up," Foreman told her.
"We could give him morphine," he added.
Cuddy looked at him. "Morphine takes three hours to work intravenously -"
"By then," Foreman interrupted her calmly, "whatever he took will be out of his system due to the lavage and vomiting."
As Cuddy looked at him warily, he added "If we wait for another three, four hours and then start him on the morphine, then that's three hours more of him waiting for the morphine to kick in. If he's been without the Vicodin almost all day, he's not going to want to wake up and then have to wait for pain relief. We should do it intramuscularly."
Cuddy agreed. "You're right."
As Foreman went to get a syringe and the morphine, Cuddy quietly slid open the door to House's room and stepped inside. Walking up to the head of the bed, she lightly squeezed his hand with her own.
"What are you on, Greg?" she whispered quietly to herself, as she ran her hand through his hair. Bending down, she kissed him lightly on the forehead.
Lifting his gown, she laid a shaky hand on his naked right thigh, covering the gruesome scar. Immediately, she felt the muscle bulging in spasm.
"Oh god, how many of these have you had?" she whispered, on the verge of tears, as she kept her hand on the contracting muscle.
Hearing the door slide open, she turned. Foreman stepped over carrying a syringe, and walked over next to Cuddy.
"Oh my god," he exclaimed, looking down at the gruesome disfigured thigh.
Confused, Cuddy looked at him but said nothing.
"This is why he's in pain every day?" Foreman exclaimed, staring at her as he now understood his boss in a different way.
"That's why," Cuddy confirmed.
Foreman shook his head, almost in disbelief.
Cuddy was silent for a few seconds. "It's been in a series of spasms without the Vicodin," she said quietly.
"So, the majority of his pain is really real?" Foreman asked, astonished. "It's not all in his head?"
"Oh it's real, alright," Cuddy whispered, grabbing the syringe from his hand. Holding it vertical, she flicked the needle and then inserted it into the thigh muscle, exerting force on the plunger.
Foreman looked at her. "So he really needs the Vicodin?"
"To function, yes."
Glancing up at the monitor, Foreman said, "He seems to be breathing better. Let's wait until he's awake to remove the tube."
Letting Cuddy know that he was going to check on Cameron in the lab, Foreman grabbed the used syringe from Cuddy's hand, disposed of it in a container by the door, and then left.
Sitting down in the chair by the window, Cuddy pulled out her Blackberry, scrolling through her emails as she waited for House to wake.
Two hours later, Cuddy glanced up from reading her book and saw Cameron enter the room with Foreman trailing behind. She stood up at once.
"What'd you find?"
"Tizanidine," Cameron told her.
"The muscle relaxer?" Cuddy asked.
Cameron nodded. "They weren't doing anything. That's why he took so many."
Running a hand down her face, Cuddy exhaled slowly. "He's been without Vicodin for almost eighteen hours," she whispered.
"Hopefully the morphine will start working soon," Foreman said, reassuringly.
"Thank you," Cuddy whispered, as she moved toward the bed.
Just then, the monitor above the bed began to beep faster than normal. Foreman and Cameron rushed to one side while Cuddy stayed where she was on the other side.
"House?" Foreman called out.
House's eyes flickered open.
"House, don't move. We're going to remove the tube, okay? See if you can breathe on your own."
House flashed him the thumbs up sign with his right thumb.
As Foreman gently pulled the tube out of his bosses throat and mouth, House went into a coughing fit and then retched.
Grabbing the pink plastic basin from the side table, Cameron held it up to his boss's chin as he coughed again and then vomited.
Leaning back onto the pillows, House spoke, his voice raspy.
"Water."
Cuddy poured him water from a carafe into a plastic cup, and held it up to his mouth.
As he swallowed, House closed his eyes. His right hand went down to grab his thigh, but Cuddy stopped him, placing her hand over his.
"Don't."
"What happened?" he croaked out, softly.
"Your Vicodin bottle was accidentally filled with Tizanidine," Cameron told him. "We had to pump your stomach. You overdosed."
Opening his eyes, House exhaled. "That would explain the no Vicodin part," he croaked, gritting his teeth.
"We gave you some morphine to help with your leg," Foreman told him. "It should start working soon."
Cuddy looked across the bed at the two doctors'. "I think I can manage from here. Thanks."
When Cameron and Foreman stepped out and shut the door, Cuddy sat down on the bed facing him.
"How bad is the pain?"
"Bad."
"Your thigh keeps going into spasms." She reached out her hand and stroked his cheek. "Breathe, honey," she whispered. "It'll be okay."
"House reached out and gripped her arm. "I didn't know they weren't -"
"I know, Greg. Shh."
"This proves I'm an addict. I can't even go a day without -"
"This proves you need the pills to function and to take away your pain, Greg," Cuddy whispered, interrupting him. "Regardless of the fact that you need to cut back, the pills help you function."
She stood up. "I'm going to get you a heating pad and a sedative. When you wake up, you'll feel better."
Within five minutes, Cuddy plugged the heating pad and laid it on his thigh. A nurse injected a sedative into his I.V. and then left.
"I love you," Cuddy said quietly. Kissing him on the lips, she watched as he closed his eyes. "Get some rest."
Once House was completely under sedation, Cuddy stood and stepped out into the ICU corridor.
"Lisa!"
Cuddy turned and saw Wilson coming towards her and she walked to meet him.
"I heard about what happened. Is House okay?"
"He's going to be fine," Cuddy told him. "Simple accidental overdose, that's all."
"Did you talk to the pharmacy yet?" Wilson asked, as they walked out of the ICU together.
"No."
"Lisa, they mixed up his Vicodin with muscle relaxers! He could have died!"
Cuddy raised an eyebrow at him. "I think someone would have caught on before he kicked the bucket."
"I'm just saying -"
"I know what you're saying," Cuddy interrupted him. "This is serious. Yes, I know. I'll talk to the pharmacy when I have the time, but right now, I need to get back to my office. I'm knee-deep in paperwork and charts."
As she walked away from the oncologist, Cuddy suddenly turned back to face him.
"Oh and if you aren't doing anything, the clinic is short-staffed today."
As House was lying in the ICU after an accidental overdose, Cuddy was in her office and Wilson was helping to diagnose colds and fakers in the clinic, John Greene entered the maternity ward.
As he was let through the double doors, he walked up to a circulation desk in the middle of the floor.
"Hi. I'm looking for Doctor Parker."
"Can I ask who you are and what it's regarding?" a nurse asked, without looking up from the chart she was writing in.
"John Greene…and it's, ah, … rather personal."
"That's what they all say," the nurse murmured. "Doctor Parker is busy."
"I can wait." He paused. "Or…you can page him."
The nurse looked up at him, a mixture of curiosity and amusement on her face. "Or I can call security."
John exhaled. "Look," he began curtly, "I'm a lawyer in this hospital, and all I'm doing is asking to speak to your boss about a personal issue. Now, I can wait like you said because he is busy, or…you can page him."
The nurse was just about to respond when a man in his mid 60's wearing a white coat stepped out of a patient's room across from the desk where John was standing.
"Get Becca an epidural," the man directed toward the nurse, as he slapped a file on the counter.
"Right away, doctor," the nurse told him, quickly as she stood up. "Um, this man needs to speak to you about…something…"
John stepped forward in Joseph Parker's direct line of vision and extended his hand.
"Doctor Parker, John Greene. I need to speak with you regarding something personal."
The obstetrician shook his hand. "Unfortunately, I don't have time, John. Leave a note with Cindy here and I'll get back to you when I can." Dismissing the lawyer, he turned to talk with the nurse.
"It's about Lisa Cuddy!" John blurted out.
That got Parker's attention.
"Can we go somewhere more private?" the lawyer asked.
"Walk with me," Parker said, motioning with his hand as he started down the corridor.
...TBC... Sorry for the cliffhanger. I promise I'll try and update soon! Life often gets in the way but I'll try my best.
Thanks to all my readers. You guys are the best!