Night of the Dripping Tap, Chapter 8
House counted the seconds in an effort to work out why time was passing both so horribly slowly and so horribly quickly. After getting all the way to twenty-five, his head felt fuzzy and he gave up.
He wondered why there was no clock in the room but was managing just fine thank you to drive himself to the point of insanity by imagining the sound of ticking.
His day had been split into pain checks, hourly obs, visits from his Mom and catnaps of minute proportions. He only seemed able to sleep when he shouldn't have been.
Sometimes, it felt like the nurse had just finished trying to irritate him into wellness when she would reappear with a new IV bag. Sometimes, it felt like she was never coming back. He would fall as though from the top of a roller coast down deep into the sleep of the sick where he knew he was drooling and groaning but he could do nothing about it.
He felt like he was making absolutely no kind of attempt at recovery. He had been hit with infection after infection after infection. The drain was still taking at least 800 mls a day from the surgical site and he was producing only the dribbliest quantities of rancid stool. When he glanced down at the catheter bag, he felt like the pointless middleman between the saline going in and the saline coming out. He was an unnecessary complication in the never-ending cycle of fluidic exchange.
Counting up the bags attached to his IV stand passed some time. Morphine, check. Antibiotics, check. Saline, check. Fake food, check.
Counting the collection bags passed some more. Catheter, check. Drain, check.
When that was done, he tried to close his eyes. Despite the darkness outside and the dimmed lights inside, he knew he'd fallen into the trap of swapping day for night.
Pumps hissed like the automatic air fresheners in public toilets and it was only when he'd tuned his ear to the specific frequency of his own, that he realised another body had been delivered to the bed next to his.
The new guy was snoring gently and seemed thoroughly and peacefully asleep. House turned his head to study his profile and noted how well kept he seemed compared to Barrel-Man and Death-Fart. His hair looked clean and he was close-shaven. He had a good, solid Roman-nose and House guessed he was some kind of CEO of some pointless company.
House's distant examination left him with only a lingering grasp on the guy's diagnosis. His game was off, he knew he was sick.
He closed his eyes again and tried to coax his mind to just slow down and unwind. There was a little ditty running over and over and he couldn't shake it.
'Down by the sea,
That's where you'll find me…
Down by the sea,
That's were you'll find me…'
The rhythm it drummed out kept up a marching cadence in his head and it had him totally possessed. Closing his eyes only made it worse. The staggered pattern of hard and soft syllables grew louder and he imagined marching bands trooping in one ear and out of the other.
He scratched at his skin and hated being tied up in a knot of tubes and pain. If he moved even a little bit, his leg reminded him of its existence and his belly burned like he was being branded. He stabbed at the Morphine pump and waited for relief.
When he felt like he couldn't feel any sorrier for himself, the nurse reappeared with a tray of toast.
House watched her hawk-like as she carried her treasure across the room. He hadn't eaten anything of any substance since the wedding and his mouth felt as though slugs were running riot, leaving their gloopy trails all over his teeth.
To bite into that toast… to feel it crunch and the sharp edges hack off the fuzz in his mouth…
Positive she was headed for his sleeping companion, House was actually delighted when she turned toward his bed.
He closed his gaping mouth and swallowed thickly.
She stepped closer and he could smell the chunky, white toast as though it were right under his nose.
His eyes were fixed on his prize and he took a minute to register that she was talking to him.
'I said, Doctor House? We're going to try you with some toast. Now don't try to eat it all at once, your bowel will be very sensitive and we want to see how you get on, okay?'
'Yeah, yeah' he panted, and snatched the plate off the tray.
He brought the toast up to his waiting mouth and crunched into as far as he could. With bulging cheeks he chewed and chewed, and chewed some more.
'Doctor House, take it easy!'
Before he'd quite finished the first mouthful, he took another bite and crammed that into his mouth along with the half-masticated first lot. He swallowed and felt the lumps of mush move over the tube down his oesophagus, making him feel every inch of the alien intrusion, right down to his gut.
His chewing slowed when he realised the tiny bits that had made it into his digestive system were about to be ejected.
He spat the half-chewed bread out onto the tray in front of him as he recognised the first signs of imminent vomiting.
The nurse grabbed an emesis basin quickly shoving it under his chin just as sure enough, his stomach clenched and spasmed and he wretched out the pitiful few crumbs he had managed to get down.
He groaned as his stomach muscles reminded him painfully of their recent violation and fell back against the bed. The nurse wiped at his brow and mouth as she rambled on.
'It's okay Doctor House. That usually happens I'm afraid. Now, you just take it easy and we can try this again later on. You let me know if you need to go to the bathroom okay? I think we'll try to get you up and about, huh?'
He closed his eyes in silent agreement and was thankful that he didn't have a reputation to protect down here. He was acting like a biddable puppy and it felt just a little bit good. Just a little.
Thinking that he must have drifted off again, he tried to work out how long had passed post-toast. He was surprised to find the sun shining through the hazy glass of his room and that there was a small swarm of visitors nattering around CEO's bed.
Turning his head toward the Nurse's Station, he froze in abject terror when he found dear old Uncle Bob staring right at him.
'There he is! How ya' doin' Gregs, huh?!' Without waiting for any kind of reply, Bob continued, 'I said we'd end up at the hospital, didn't I? Well, your mother has been very worried. She doesn't say but I know, you know? Now what're they sayin', Gregs huh? When you getting outta here? Of course, you'll need to come back and stay with your Aunt and me, won't be able to fly for some time huh? Well-'
'Huh?' House managed, horrified.
'That doctor over there, who looks about twelve? He said you wouldn't be able to fly, you'd need to stay right here in Lexington for a week or so…'
House let him ramble on and between thinking that his uncle really mustn't get out much, he started hatching an escape plan.
He hit the call button and when the nurse came in, asked for some help to get to the bathroom.
Uncle Bob looked about him nervously and House took more than a little satisfaction that he had his uncle on edge remembering that beautiful moment back at the house.
As House started to sit up, cradling his stomach and willing his leg to just behave for a second, Bob started to rub at the back of his neck and check his watch.
'Wowzer! Is that the time?! I guess I got carried away, huh Gregs?!'
'Oh, you have to go… so soon?' Even he had to admit this was one of his more 'honest' performances.
'Oh Greg, I hate to leave you here but your mother…and, and um, Sarah… we have a reservation so uh…'
'Well, you all have a great time then.' House feigned disappointment remarkably well and let the tiniest of evil farts rip out like a full stop at the end of a sentence. 'See you then Bob!'
Bob wrinkled his nose and House was happy his aim was so spot on.
'Yeah, now take care Greg, I'll uh, phone uh… bye!' Bob scurried out of the room and House let an evil grin spread across his face like butter melting over toast.
Now, how was he going to avoid Bob's and make it back to Princeton?