CHAPTER TWENTY: Trying

In the morning, the insertion site on House's PICC line remains inflamed, but it doesn't seem to be any worse. Wilson draws extra blood from the port for a culture anyway.

Both men have slept well. Cuddy was right; the Ativan hadn't interfered with Wilson's ability to hear his watch alarm during the night. He'd been able to check on House, and then return to sleep quickly. And it's made a difference; he feels more like himself this morning, and far less anxious than he's been. He doesn't even hesitate to take the 0.5mg dose that Cuddy had decreed necessary during the day.

House's night had passed without incident, so he, too, is in good spirits. Wilson wonders about the left leg, though; House doesn't even ask for his cane when it's time to go to the living room. When Wilson questions it, House says simply, "After yesterday, figured the chair might be safer for a while."

Once House is settled on the couch, he uses his doctor voice to say to Wilson, "Let me see that wrist now." The tone of the statement drives home to Wilson the importance of allowing House to take control whenever possible.

Good to see him get satisfaction out of contributing, Wilson thinks as House meticulously examines his wrist. It's not only not hurting him to worry about me a little, I really think it lets him feel better about his own situation. Gotta remember that.

"You're okay to go without the bandage for now," House tells him. "I don't want that wrist stiffening up on you. But if it starts to swell again, let me know right away; I'll take another look at it."

Matching House's serious tone, Wilson thanks House, and assures him that he'll alert him immediately if there's any change in the wrist. House nods with satisfaction, evidently happy with his patient's compliance.

Wilson decides that the timing might be good for that talk on self-perception that Dick seems to think is so important. So after breakfast, when House reaches for the TV remote, Wilson stops him.

"Hey, can we talk a few minutes?" Wilson asks him.

"Haven't we been doing a lot of that lately?" House responds. "Doesn't a little mindless TV sound like more fun?"

"A lot more fun," Wilson admits. "But this is important… or so they tell me."

"Who's 'they'?"

"Cuddy and Dickinson," Wilson responds—and now House looks interested. "It's about the breakthrough pain; the loss of it, I mean. According to Dick, any major life change like that can cause a period of… uh… grieving, and--" Wilson isn't really surprised when he's interrupted. "House, would you stop laughing? This is serious."

House does stop laughing, at least long enough to ask, "Now who the hell would be upset at losing pain?" He considers his own question, and then answers it aloud while Wilson's eyebrows climb to his hairline.

"Well, maybe a masochist might be upset, but then he'd be in pain 'cuz he'd lost his pain, so he's technically still in pain, so there's really no loss of pain at all, so it's all good. Which is bad. Or maybe not… if, by definition, you're a sadist, 'cuz then that would mean… well, I'm not really sure what that would mean, but it's something to think about."

Wilson waits patiently until House has curbed most of his amusement before he continues. "What I'm trying to say is, it's not the loss of the pain, so much as a change in how people perceive themselves, when something that's defined their existence is gone."

"I don't define myself by my pain," House responds—and immediately the discussion he'd had with Wilson in his nightmare comes rushing back to him. He shakes his head, trying to clear the memory, as Wilson looks on, concerned.

"What's the matter?" Wilson asks.

"That dream… the bad one. You told me that the only way I could come to terms with the disability was to redefine everything else, so that the leg, the pain, meant nothing. You wouldn't believe me when I…." House's voice trails off. He reaches over and picks up the remote, turns on the television. "I don't wanna talk about this anymore. You've done your duty; you've discussed it with me. I get it." House already has his eyes glued to an infomercial.

Now that Wilson's finally having this conversation, though, he wants to finish it out. "House." He waits. "House, please." Finally, House looks at him. "The concern is that if people don't come to terms with the changes, it could lead to problems." Wilson's been careful to keep the conversation general, careful to say 'people' instead of 'you'; he suspects that House wouldn't respond well if he made this specific to House's state of mind.

But now he's thinking that generalizing it may have been a mistake. So he takes a deep breath, and approaches it again. "Look, it's like this. You had to live with the breakthrough pain for such a long time, and not only were you dealing with it… alone… uh, you were having to try to convince us it was real. That's a raw deal. Makes sense that since you had to devote so much energy to getting us to believe you, after while the pain might begin to define who you are, how you feel."

"It didn't," House says shortly, and turns up the volume on the television to indicate the conversation's closed.

"I agree with you," Wilson says. House is surprised; he mutes the TV, and actually looks at Wilson.

"You agree with me, yet you insist on discussing this?" he asks.

"I told Dick that you were handling the loss of the extra pain just fine, that I didn't feel this talk was necessary. And you had only two days of being back to status quo on the leg. So there's not even been much of a change so far, has there?"

"Not that I can see," House says. "Tell your shrink that his concern's misplaced. Tell him I can deal with it—if I ever get the chance to find out what it's like." He indicates the left leg with an expression approaching disgust.

"I'll do that," Wilson says. "But I need to know what I can do to help you come to terms with all this, and--"

House's voice is unexpectedly gentle, almost amused, when he interrupts. "Stop already! That's how you can help. Told you there's not a problem; stop trying to cause one, okay? In case you haven't noticed, all you've been doing for, what, eleven days, is 'helping'."

House quirks his mouth into a half-smile. "And now, in true Jimmy Wilson fashion, we're moving smoothly from 'helping' right into 'overcompensating.' So quit it. That's an order."

Wilson's smile is chagrined, and he nods at House. "Yeah. Okay. Sor--" He cuts off the apology, and laughs at himself. "You're right. So I'll just shut up now."

House picks up the television remote. "That's the first sensible thing you've said this morning," he observes. "So shut up already; almost time for SpongeBob. It's a good one, too; he and Patrick both get to sing!"

"Now I'm the one in pain," Wilson mutters darkly. But he feels good; now he can tell Cuddy and Dick that he and House have had the vital conversation, and he'd been right—no problem at all.