Night of the Dripping Tap, Chapter 6
On what he thought may have been the sixth night of his incarceration in 'Wherever-the-hell General', a new room mate was delivered to House's room. The unconscious form had that unique smell of death and House began to feel like some sort of bizarre Grim Reaper as he prepared for yet another visit from the morgue team.
It was something that wasn't written about in any medical texts or talked about in med-school lectures. It was a kind of rite of passage that the freshly qualified had to discover for themselves. It was almost impossible to detect and just as hard to describe. There was, nevertheless, a distinct odour to those moments from death; more specifically, those who were moments from death after a long illness. It was as though the body had already begun to rot.
It lingered just under the danger radar and had a pungent quality that stuck to nose hairs and made olfactory sensors react over and over again, even days later. House sniffed like a hound trying to trap the perfect adjective to pin down this rank stench.
The second he thought he had formed the appropriate word on the tip of his tongue, House heard the man wheeze and rasp as he let out an almighty jet of wind. Having completed a rotation on Digestive Diseases in the past, House was all too aware of one of the most problematic side-effects to be suffered on this kind of ward; horrible, horrible gas.
The rotting, meaty, eggy, visibly green mist emitted by his latest room-mate was all it took to send House grabbling for an emesis basin before he new what he was doing.
His stomach heaved, clenched and nothing, nothing was coming up. With the NG tube having been in place for three days now, his body was forcing him through an entirely pointless endeavour. He felt like his eyes were about to pop right out of his sockets as the heaving continued. Tears streamed down his face and the staples and stitches holding him together felt like they were straining at the seams. Right at that moment, he didn't think he could be any more of a sorry ass if he tried.
With a loud creaking groan, the man let another lethal blast go and along with that, went his final breath. Unfortunately for the green-faced House, even death didn't free him from suffering through the misery of the noxious gases released from this guy. Another unfortunate fact that he happened to know was how long it took for a body to release trapped air.
The next gaseous eruption was enough to convince him to call for the Nurse. The stench, coming deeper as it was from within the body, was getting more and more horrific.
He yelled weakly between wretches and stabbed at the call button in an effort to escape the fetid room.
'Doctor House, what can I-' on seeing that House was almost half way out of his bed and simultaneously getting hit by the outrageous smell, the nurse continued. 'Oh my, I see what you mean… hold tight I'll get you a chair.'
With the retching, the pain in his belly and the unending torment of his leg, House saw no other option but to wait for the nurse and the wheelchair. The absolute only positive he could see was that he wasn't about to be pushed down the halls of PPTH in a crappy gown whilst trying, and failing, to puke his guts out.
To give her her due, the nurse arrived back quickly enough and House almost fell head first into her arms in an effort to escape.
'Steady there Doctor House, let's just get you into this safely. Now, lock your arms around my neck and let me take your weight okay?' He did as she asked and hoped that not all of his bare ass was glowing away to the general public. 'That's it, now, I'm going to lower you down and you must let me do the work. The last thing we want is any burst staples or stitches right?!'
With a few grunts and well placed groans, House and the nurse managed to get him sitting safely in the chair. She pushed him a little too quickly out of the stinking room and his head went spinning off into blackness.
When he came too he found himself parked in a small courtyard garden. The very first thing he did was to take a lungful of pure, unfettered air and he smiled as all his alveoli cried out in relief. His head stopped spinning and he experimentally turned it left and right both to test its steadiness and seek out the nurse who was surely sticking with her charge.
'Welcome back again, Dr House!'
Jesus, she was like a tube of Crazy Glue.
'I thought you'd like some uh, fresh air. I'm just gonna sit right here until you're ready to go back. You just go on and pretend like I'm not here okay?'
House grunted an acknowledgment and made do with the fact that this was the closest he would come to solitude while he remained incarcerated in the goddam suburbs.
The air around him was clean, crisp and cool. The leaves on the trees were the fecund, vibrant green that only occurs for those few days after the buds first unfurl, and the grass was tipped with drops of dew. A small brown bird tweeted mournfully for its mate and a snail slithered slowly across the path in front of him.
The courtyard was surrounded on four sides by huge glass windows that allowed a glimpse into the corridors of the hospital. House watched lazily as doctors and nurses buzzed about inside. He felt a million miles away from home.
He had no real concept of time and an even more tentative grasp on what day it might be. It was useful then to know that dew meant the morning after the proverbial long night had finally risen.
The air felt cold through his gown and he realised just how disgusting he felt. He hadn't had a shower for who-knows how long and the stubble on his face was rapidly reaching beardic-proportions. He rubbed at his eyes and felt the grease on his skin and the traces of dried sweat ingrained in his wrinkles.
The last however-many days felt like they'd passed in a blur and he was grateful for this trip outdoors. The chance to anchor himself in a familiar world let him feel like he might actually escape the hell of illness. Inside, he felt stifled; he couldn't sleep, he was filthy, he was sick.
He let his breath out even and slow. His head dropped onto his chest feeling suddenly too heavy to lift. His eye-lids drooped and his focus was too fuzzy to lock onto anything in particular.
House felt himself sinking into the wheelchair as though it were a black-hole into another time, another place. Sleep claimed him and he did not protest.