Chapter One: In the Hospital

Divorces were hard. Marriages were easy – too easy to agree to and too easy to get. But divorces – they were dammed near impossible to secure. You never heard of anyone getting drunk, flying off to Las Vegas and getting divorced.

I had celebrated my divorce from the most articulate redneck lawyer in all of Alabama by applying to Princeton to pursue a doctorate in English with my dissertation specializing in contemporary British playwrights. Amazingly, I was not only accepted, but I was given a teaching assistantship as well. I found the end of the summer signaling a new beginning as I moved my few southern belongings into a studio apartment near the campus and tried to acquaint myself with the area before the beginning of classes. I was wholly unprepared for the illness that overtook me with cramping and bleeding for several days; finally, at the urging of my supervisor, Dr. Jacobs, I traveled to the clinic at Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital.

I must have looked a sight – 40-year-old female in bright orange running shorts with navy letters spelling TIGER across my ss (souvenirs from my alma mater, Auburn University), a navy tank top, and Nike running shoes. I was standing in the exam room, leaning over, holding onto the exam table, when I could hear the door opening behind me.

"And you must be," a lackadaisical voice began. It paused momentarily, then continued, "Tiger. So, Tiger, what symptoms are you having?" I heard him fling himself onto a rolling stool.

I tried to turn to face the doctor, but as I did my stomach cramped violently and I unintentionally puked on his Nikes.

"What the he!!?" he yelled and started to get up, but I was feeling faint and, apparently, fell right atop him before he could stand up. That was all I remember of my first meeting with Dr. Gregory House.

My head felt like the inside of a snare drum as I struggled to open my eyes. I thought, initially, I was hallucinating, if not actually dead, when all I could discern was a blond-haired young man with a darling smile of impossibly white teeth. He proved himself to be real, however, when he immediately began to flash a penlight into my grumpy eyes. I tried to knock it away. "What are you doing?"

"I just need to check your vitals, Audra," he said in an appealing Australian accent. I expected him to offer me a can of lager at any moment.

"I thought I was in heaven until you started tormenting me with that wicked light."

He smiled and chuckled. "I just have to see how you are doing."

"And how would that be?"

"We've done some blood tests, but we need an MRI. Did you know you were pregnant?"

I took a deep breath. "Well, no, angel from he!!, I did not know any such thing. Would you care to enlighten me?"

"Audra, I am Dr. Chase. You are about 10 weeks pregnant. You didn't know?"

I rubbed my hand across my face, but, of course, I did not backhand the attractive Dr. Chase. "You heard me correctly. My being pregnant comes not only as a surprise, but as what one might call a miraculous surprise."

"Audra," Dr. Chase said in a very serious tone, "you've been bleeding while you've been here. Have you had any spotting before now?"

I tried to sit up. "How long have I been here?" My voice was a bit shrill.

Dr. Chase handed me a glass of water and calmly told me I had been unconscious only about eight hours – it was now early evening. I, in exchange, told him I had been bleeding and cramping for several days.

"Am I losing this baby?" I asked.

"There is always the possibility of a spontaneous abortion during the first trimester, but we will do everything we can to prevent that from happening."

"No," I practically yelled. I took a breath and then continued, "I don't want this baby." I turned away from the perplexed Dr. Chase and refused to answer any more of his questions. Eventually, he left my room.

I panicked. As soon as I was alone, I carefully removed the IV from my arm. I didn't know what they were pumping into me, but I knew I dammed sure didn't want any of that liquid to keep this baby inside of me alive. I lifted the hospital's attempt at a gown and saw the huge pad pooled with blood between my thighs. I took comfort in this. Surely such a loss of blood would indicate no good for the baby. I tried to rest back on the bed again.

The cramping had begun to return ever so faintly by the time I heard the footsteps punctuated by the thump of the cane coming toward my room. My back was still to the door and I made no attempt to turn over. He banged his cane on the edge of my bed.

"Tiger, oh Tiger. Wakey, wakey," he sang in a mock nursery tune.

"Bite me."

"That's not very polite considering you owe me a new pair of Nikes. And, who-oh-who removed your IV?"

"Wash your Nikes."

"I'd be willing to bet you're not feeling so well right now; in fact, I'd bet your pain meds have worn off and you're beginning to cramp and hurt and you're probably thinking of barfing again – am I in the ball park?"

"Come to this side of the bed and find out."

He laughed. "You can have a legal abortion, you know. So why endanger your own life just to terminate a fetus?"

I was cramping heartily now and couldn't, even with my back to the doctor, remain stoic. I pulled my knees up under my chin and vomited onto the floor. The doctor yelled into the hall, "Nurse with a mop."

I pulled my head back onto my pillow and he addressed me again. "How long are we going to continue playing chicken with this fetus?"

I turned my head and looked at him for the first, clear time. He had huge, aquamarine eyes so light and deep I stopped breathing for the longest of moments. "Won't the baby just abort?"

"Interesting thing, Tiger – this fetus is digging in its heels. It's going to make you vomit and cramp and bleed, it's going to send your fever sky high and your heart rate even higher, but the bugger is showing no signs of leaving its comfy home of its own accord."

"It has to self-abort."

"Tiger," the doctor said, sitting beside the bed and leaning closer to my face, "if you don't want this fetus to become a baby, then why don't you request an abortion and I'll arrange it right now. Its determination is no match for technology."

I turned back away from those eyes. "No."

"Tiger, you're bucking for a psych consult. What do you think?"

"My mind is just fine, and you know that or you wouldn't ask me."

He chuckled. "I've talked to Dr. Jacobs. He's quite impressed with you. He thinks you are amazingly talented even if you are from Alabama. He thinks you have a lot of potential – I've always detested that phrase. What do you think, Tiger?"

"I think you need to leave."

"You're going to need a transfusion if you continue to bleed."

"So?"

"You've listed no 'next-of-kin,' Tiger. No one to call."

"So?"

"For a doctoral candidate in English, your vocabulary is singularly limited, Tiger."

I turned over, facing the angular, unshaven face that encased those blue eyes. I tried to lean up, but I felt weak. "My vocabulary is spectacular when the occasion calls for it. This occasion calls for you to allow my baby to abort or die or do whatever has to be done to be rid of it."

"Then, Tiger," he said in a quiet and almost gentle tone, "sign for a D&C and we'll be able to end the life of the fetus and start paying attention to getting your health back on an even keel."

"Hear me, Dr. . . Blue Eyes, nothing will be done to hasten the demise of my baby. Once the baby no longer is alive, then you may do whatever is necessary and normal to take care of me." I was growing weaker and my last words trailed off as I felt my vision fading. So ended my second encounter with Dr. House.

I groggily awoke to Dr. Chase yelling at me and shaking my shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm here, what do you want?" I asked hatefully.

Blondie shoved a clipboard under my chin and placed a pen in my hand. "We need for you to sign these forms for the transfusion. If we don't get some blood in you, we're going to lose you."

I scribbled something, then leaned over the side of the bed and vomited right onto Dr. Chase's shoes, which was a particular shame as they were leather loafers.

"My bad," I muttered as he backed up and refrained from swearing. "Am I losing the baby?"

"Uh," he stammered as he shook the goo off his feet, "not so far. Now that you're awake we'll bring in the portable sonogram and show you a picture of your baby. Would you like that?"

"Yeah," I muttered, but my heart wasn't in it.

A skinny, brunette, teenaged doctor showed up with a bag of blood and hooked it to the IV that had been reconnected to my arm. While the bag emptied into me, I waited alone for the portable sonogram to appear. I admit I was curious; I had never had a baby, and so had never had a sonogram done before. I wanted to get a glimpse of the tadpole who was tormenting me so.

Blue Eyes came loudly, unceremoniously back with both the cane and a machine I took to be the sonogram. He pushed it next to the bed and positioned himself beyond puking distance of me. "Pull up your gown," he directed tersely.

I did. He squirted some jelly on my belly, then ran a wand against my middle and the machine came to life. He reached up and angled the screen so I could see.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's a stubborn fetus with a thick, southern accent," he responded.

"But, where is it?" I insisted. All I could see were wavy lines.

"I'll make you a deal. I'll show you your fetus if you explain to me why you've taken such a confusing attitude to it – deal?"

I was squinting at the screen but could make out nothing, so I nodded.

Blue Eyes lowered the wand just a tad and the lines, while still squiggly, seemed to part around a tiny seedling. I could actually see the rapid flutter of its heart. I looked at the doctor. "Hey, Blue Eyes, you had that wand-thingy in the wrong place. No fair."

He turned off the machine and handed me a tissue to wipe off the jelly. "Tiger, nothing and everything's fair when you're my patient. Now, let's hear why you won't abort but don't want this fetus."

I put my head back on my pillow and sighed. Oh he!!.

Blue Eyes sighed. "According to Dr. Jacobs, you're divorced. Would I be correct in assuming this is the offspring of your ex?"

I laughed. "My ex may be capable of many fantastical feats, but even he couldn't ejaculate ten miles through brick and wood with enough force to penetrate my uterus."

Blue Eyes sighed. "I'll take that as a 'no.' Tiger, this would be much quicker if you'd just give me the info rather than insisting I pull it out of you."

I looked over at him and thought about the implications of this pregnancy. "Are you married, Blue Eyes?"

"The name is House, and not even close."

"My marriage was more like a partnership – I played hostess for his business dinners, and he allowed me time off to pursue my education. Sex was never a major player." I had to pause. "We parted when he found a better hostess, one who was also a lawyer and could bring in more money than I."

He rolled his hand in a "hurry up" motion.

"I'm sorry. Am I keeping you, because it's the middle of the night and I'd prefer sleeping to discussing impregnation."

He looked down and smiled ever so slightly. "Actually, it's the wee hours of the morning and I'm quite happy to stay here listening to you because every hour I log here with you is one less hour I have to spend back in the clinic."

"The clinic – where we first met? I would have expected you to be a bit more sentimental about it."

"I can only write off one pair of new Nikes a week – you filled that quota yesterday."

We actually looked at each other and smiled.

"Okay, Tiger, get to the father."

"I was running on campus during the summer – I had moved into a dorm room while the divorce was being finalized and while I was moving – and I was, well, I thought he was just running, too, but, as it turned out, he had been watching me . . ."

"You were raped."

I couldn't look at him, but I nodded.

"Did you know him?"

"It was dark, late at night, and the lighting was bad. He caught me from behind and covered my eyes. He got me into some shrubbery – I guess I should say he got me in the bushes – I never saw his face. He whispered when he talked to me. I just did what he said."

When I finally looked up, Dr. House's eyes seemed darker and his expression was grim and concentrated. "Did you call the police, file a report?"

"No, Blue Eyes, I just thanked him for the good time and gave him my cell number. Of course I called the police. I didn't even bathe. I went through the entire examination thing, with the hospital, and then the interrogation with the police." I felt myself tearing up, so I reached for the water and drank some to give me a chance to put my mask back in place. "The police explained how unlikely it would be to catch anyone since I could give them no description, really, of the rapist, except that he wore New Balance running shoes." I laughed a little hysterically then.

"And you hadn't been on any birth control?"

"No. Allen and I weren't much for having sex – he really didn't care for anything involving physical contact – and we just figured we would take our chances. I am forty, after all, so it didn't really occur to me I'd get pregnant. It would be my luck."

"Tiger," he said and touched my hand, causing me to look into his face. He had shoved the sonogram machine away from the bed and was right beside my shoulder. "Do you want a baby?"

"That's not really the question, Blue Eyes. The question is, do I want this baby. And I don't have an easy answer." I broke his gaze. "I don't like calling it a 'fetus,' but I'm not ready to call it a baby. I need to name it. I'm thinking Hamlet would be appropriate since I'm vacillating about its existence."

"Then we should call you Hamlet. This fetus is he!! bent on surviving. You'd best find a different literary namesake."

I looked back into his lovely eyes and answered him, "Then he must be Ulysses, coming home. And I must be Molly Bloom."

Blue Eyes laughed and squeezed my hand. I felt the tears slide down my cheeks. I dropped my head in shame.

"Okay, Molly Bloom, if you promise not to rip out your IV, I'll see if I can score some real food for the two of us," Blue Eyes said while shoving the sonogram out of the room. I suspected my crying made him uncomfortable, although it certainly embarrassed the crap out of me, and he left to give me a chance to get my emotions in check. If only it were so simple.

I remembered the feel of the male body shoving me atop an azalea bush, pulling on my shorts and kneeing apart my legs. He had taken me from behind, and it had been agonizing. I had tried to yell, but he had pushed my face farther into the shrub and told me he'd hurt me if I didn't stay quiet. I had believed him. I had bled afterwards, not the way I was bleeding with Ulysses, but the parallel was not lost on me. Did I want this seedling? Could I raise a child on my own? A child with a completely unknown father? Holy he!!, what a mess. But Ulysses was a strong-willed seedling – surely this must say something positive about his genetics.

Blue Eyes returned with sodas and a bedpan full of vending machine snacks. I grabbed a can of grape soda and a bag of Funyuns while the doctor had, appropriately, chosen Dr. Pepper and barbeque chips.

"I have a question, Dr. Blue Eyes. Can you do any kind of genetic testing on Ulysses?"

Through a full mouth, Blue Eyes answered, "Yes, but we're a bit limited since we don't know what we're looking for. Any genetic problems in your family, Molly Bloom?"

I shook my head in the negative.

"The bleeding should be ending. You'd probably be more comfortable with some things of your own, although I suspect you find that hospital gown quite titillating."

I lowered the sheet and looked askance at the gown. "But, Blue Eyes, who would I be trying to titillate? You?"

He wiggled his eyebrows at me and I couldn't stop myself from laughing.

"Women pregnant by unknown assailants get you hot?"

"Never underestimate the powers of my imagination, Molly."

I felt myself, unaccountably, blushing.

"I was thinking," he continued, "I could send one of my flunkies to your place and have them pick up some things."

I swallowed a mouth full of Funyuns and said, "Flunkies? You have flunkies?"

"Flunkies, fellows, same difference. You're going to be here a while – you might as well have some of your own things."

I nodded. I didn't know then that he would, himself, go to my apartment for my things. Blue Eyes could never turn down a chance to examine another's life.

"I start classes in a week – I'll be okay by then, right?"

"That's my plan, Molly. Of course, if Ulysses, at anytime, becomes unstable, you might have to remain reclined."

"I prefer to teach upright, but, if I have to, I can teach while sitting down."

"Molly, dear, by 'reclined' I meant flat on your back, pretty much as you are now."

"Ahhh," I said with a smile, "now I understand. You're concerned I might use my hospital gown for flirting with my students and my professors. Although, now I think of it, I imagine this gown would be more likely to work on the students. Teenagers are so easy to excite."

"Don't you think the bloody pad would put them off?"

I laughed, "Just a tad."

Blue Eyes and I crunched through the bedpan of junk food. He popped a pill for dessert but told me I couldn't have one – it wouldn't be good for Ulysses. I was tiring anyway and dozed off with the sounds of him slurping soda in my ears.

I heard the steps punctuated by the thump of his cane and a louder thump that made me jump out of a sound sleep. "What?" I almost screamed.

He slung a gym bag on my bed. "Here are some of your things. Apparently you don't own any pajamas, so there's a pair of sweat pants on the top. Slip those on and I'll take you and your IV pole to the cafeteria for lunch."

I sat up in the bed and unzipped the bag. Lying on top of my worn, gray sweats was a pair of panties. I held them up and looked at him, "Blue Eyes, a thong?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Dr. Cameron must have gone to your apartment. She looks all girly, but the rumors say she goes both ways."

I stared at him. "Dr. Cameron? Is that the little brunette girl? Blue Eyes, you brought these from my apartment, didn't you?"

He turned and exited, stopping briefly at the door. "Put on the sweats and I'll be back in ten minutes. No flapping hospital gowns in the cafeteria."

Getting out of bed and into real clothing was easier said than done. I was much weaker than I had realized. However, by the time B.E. returned I had my backside covered and was trying to get my Nikes on my feet. Bending over was awkward and I was sore.

"Here, Ms. Joyce, let me tie them," B.E. said. I watched him bend over and perform such a personal chore for me; I was touched. When I looked up over his head I realized another doctor was watching us from the doorway.

"Hello?" I said hesitantly.

The doctor stepped forward.

B.E. stood up and took my hand to help me to my feet. "That's Dr. Wilson. He's just here to escort your IV pole."

I looked back at Dr. Wilson as B.E. pulled me past him. "My IV pole thanks you."

Dr. Wilson nodded, "I am honored."

As we made our halting way down the hall, I asked B.E. what else he had brought me from my apartment.

"I told you, Ms. Joyce, Dr. Cameron sent you the sweats, a Beatles t-shirt (good taste there), a couple of books, a John Hiatt cd (good taste there, too), and some note cards in case you want to write someone."

"Which books?"

"It was dammed hard to pick – the place is littered with them."

I stopped short, and Dr. Wilson and the pole almost ran into me. "So you admit you were in my apartment."

B.E. jerked my arm to get me into an elevator. "I'm just repeating Dr. Cameron's complaint."

As Dr. Wilson followed us into the elevator I thought I caught him smiling at B.E.