Night of the Dripping Tap, Chapter 9
Things had started to quieten down on the corridor outside his room and still House stewed and perspired wrapped up in blankets, marooned in his bed.
He guessed that it was nearing dinner time but he wasn't sure. In his real life, his stomach would be growling at him eat some lunch House, chow down, it's dinner time but here, his stomach was being filled and emptied by the tubes snaking in through his arm and out through his nose. He needn't be bothered by basic human functionality, he had machines to do that for him.
The weirdest thing though was that his pain wasn't controlling him. Taking charge of his own pre-prescribed doses of Morphine kept him ticking away. Not once had he felt that building crescendo of pain; starting off like the beginnings of an orgasm, moving slowly from need-to-take-a-pill now, to too-late-you're-fucked, then had him raging, howling and longing to run off down the street.
Still, he realised that Phase One of his escape plan was coming off the Morphine. Contrary to popular opinion, he didn't actually like being high. Anyway, he wasn't too sure how much longer he could cope with the insane dreams and the resulting lack of sleep.
He relaxed into the trail of his thoughts and wondered just where his mind would take him if he really let go. Once the bunnies had hopped back in to his room however, he forced his mind back to reality; he didn't like the bunnies.
Boredom was setting in. He was getting better and his mind was starting to come out of the funk it had been in and to think again. He had to be getting within a couple of days of being discharged. He knew there were a few things the baby-doc was waiting for; a good bowel movement, some independent mobility, a lower temp and some solid food. House sniggered at the creepy parallels between his infant doctor and the expectations of new parents.
Pushing at the call button for what felt like the hundredth time that day, House sent messages of reinforcement to his digestive tract. He was going for three bites of toast.
'They won't come you know.'
'Excuse me?'
'The nurses, they won't come. I heard some sort of commotion just before you woke up. They're busy.' Right, he'd forgotten about his room-mate.
'Oh, okay…' House let his voice trail off and wondered when he'd lost his entire personality. He thought it might have been back on Uncle Bob's bathroom floor along with the carrots.
'What ya in for anyway?'
'Huh?' This was getting silly, he checked his balls, no, still there.
'I'm in for a little liver trouble, how 'bout you?'
'Oh, uh, Diverticulitis…' how could he have missed something so simple?
'I don't know that one… so, you're a doctor huh?'
Come on House, he thought silently, crank it up. 'No, no, that's just my mother's idea of a joke – she was drunk when she named me.' There ya go, one conversation ended.
'Oh, ha ha very funny! My name's…'
CEO bleeted on and House tuned out. Really, what was wrong with him? Pathetic. He stabbed more urgently at the call button now.
They really weren't coming and he couldn't stand much more of this 'friendly patient banter' or whatever they called it in the Ward Dynamics text book he had stored away somewhere in his mind.
He drummed his fingers against the safety rail – there again, he felt like a coddled toddler – and summoned up the strength to try to get out of bed without a fever-stricken mind to motivate him.
He pushed the up button to elevate the head of his bed and let the machinery take the strain. Once upright, mindful of all his accessories, he hooked his hands together under his leg and lifted it up over the side of the bed.
Given its rest in splendid isolation for the past… who knew how long, House wasn't surprised to find that it had totally seized up but the usual pain that accompanied it just wasn't there. Wary, he prodded at the rigid muscle and waited for the coordinating stab of pain. There was none. Morphine was good; but then, that was why he'd had that bit of trouble a few years back and he wasn't going there again.
He stood placing all his weight on his left foot, then, once he was standing upright, he tested out his right. He pressed down with more and more of his body weight and still the leg held. His foot felt swollen and fat, like an over-stuffed sausage but other than that… well, he was okay.
He didn't waste any time questioning this bizarre, but much appreciated, side effect and started to form his steps.
'Hey, you sure that's a good idea? I said, hey? That a good idea?'
'Yup, I'm outta here!' House strode out surely across the room and was heading for the hallway, smirk firmly in place.
Not two seconds later, House collapsed smack onto his ass as though someone had cut his strings.
Craning his head around, CEO mumbled into his newspaper, 'Told you it wasn't a good idea.'
'Got that, thanks.'
House sat on the floor, bare ass feeling every bit of its nakedness. Feeling that no man should suffer the sensation of his most valuable assets vulnerable on hard, cold tiles, he contemplated his next move. He had absolutely no dignity left so anything he did was free of his usual compunction to look at least a little cool. The way he saw it there were two options; one to wait for a nurse to stroll by, and two to ask CEO to hit his call button again.
House chose the third option. He would get up, his stitches would not object, nor would his leg, and he would walk over to the bench just opposite the nurses station, and he would sit there; like a normal person.
Thankfully, the IV stand he had been cursing throughout his stay came in very useful as he hauled himself upright once again. He gave himself just a little bit more time to feel stable and then issued the order to walk; over there, please.
His body obeyed and House lurched and skidded over to the bench; reaching for it like a marathon runner for the finishing line.
He sat heavily and felt for his pulse whilst he marvelled at how out of breath that whole endeavour had made him. Enjoying his new position, House let his eyes close, just for a moment, and revelled in the fact that he shouldn't be doing this. Then, he remembered that he hadn't spent the night at an illegal rave or scored an ounce of primo hash; he had just managed to walk the four steps from his bed to the bench in the hallway.
It took all of four minutes for him to start to feel bored. He knotted his hands together and felt the pull of the cannula marking its protest. He watched as the skin on his hand stretched thinner allowing the full length of the needle to show more clearly under the surface. He picked at the edges of the tape holding the needle in place and curled it back a little. He was about to pick at the matching port on the other hand when he felt a firm, warm hand on his shoulder.
'Doctor House, is everything alright? What are you doing out here?'
'I uh, wanted some toast.' What was it with him anyway? He started to think that the eight inches of removed bowel had been the natural resting place for his mojo, it certainly seemed like the perfect location.
'Look, Doctor House, I get that you're bored. This is a good sign; you're on the mend. Really though, we can't have you on the move without some assistance, who knows what might happen? Okay?'
'Right.' House mumbled apologetically. If Wilson could see him now, he'd never live it down. He started to push himself up from the bench and was secretly glad to find the nurse's strong arm around his shoulders. An angry little spike of pain was poking him right under the mangled skin on his leg.
'We'll just get you right back into bed then we'll see about some toast, huh?'
'Ok.' He thought he sounded a little like Vince from Pulp Fiction in the date-with-Mia scene. 'A Royale with cheese…' he was one stoned House.
'Huh? What did you say?'
He sniggered at his own joke as he relaxed back into his bed. He watched the nurse as she checked his temperature and took his blood pressure. She noted down all his numbers and nodded to herself, satisfied that nothing was amiss.
House pressed the button on his infusion pump listening for the hiss of Morphine to go shooting into his veins. Maybe the toast could wait until tomorrow.