Chapter 27: A Visit from an Old Friend

The next morning, Stacy and Mark stood in the hallway, looking at the lone occupant in the diagnostics conference room. The glass table was covered in paperwork, but the white board was empty and moved off to one side.

Dr. Cameron glanced up when the door opened. "Mark. Stacy. What a surprise! Who's this?" she asked, looking down into the stroller.

"This is Kyle, our son," Stacy introduced, and the next few minutes were occupied with the baby. "So where's House? We were hoping to catch him before he went to lunch." Stacy couldn't help but notice the look of apprehension that crossed the younger woman's face.

"He's not here today," she finally answered.

"Is everything all right?"

"Fine." The reply came almost too quickly. "He had something he needed to do at home today, and we don't currently have a patient."

"Oh, well. It was good to see you again, Allison."

As they walked out of the hospital, she decided to give House a call, knowing he often ignored his home phone when it rang. To her surprise, he answered almost immediately. "Hi, Greg, it's Stacy. Mark, Kyle and I were in town for a doctor's appointment and we hoped to see you. Cameron said that you were stuck at home, so I thought that if you were free, we could drop by with lunch."

There was a long pause, that with anyone else would be interpreted as someone searching for a polite way to refuse. Given that House didn't do 'polite', she again wondered what was going on. "Sure, why not." He didn't sound very enthusiastic, but House wasn't one to do something he didn't want to do.

"So what should I get for you at the deli? The usual?"

"No. Get me a turkey on wheat. No mustard or pickles. Easy on the mayo." This from a man who insisted that bread only came in one color? They talked for a few minutes and Mark and Stacy arrived at the deli located two blocks from House's apartment. As they approached House's place, she kept remembering the last time they had seen him, and how thin and ill he had looked. When she had talked to James since then, the only thing he had said was that House was better.

When he opened the door, she knew that Wilson hadn't told the truth. Even though it had been less than six months since she had last seen him, House looked almost ten years older. His hair had more gray in it, and there were new lines of pain etched into his face. His eyes looked tired, but he looked happy enough to see them, and he smiled down at Kyle, a rare display from someone who rarely showed emotion.

As Mark carried Kyle into the bedroom, still asleep in his car seat, Stacy watched House limp across the room, leaning heavily on his cane. She couldn't help but notice how slowly he was moving, not even bothering to hide the pain. All at once she knew she was seeing her own worst nightmare. Her fears were only confirmed as she spotted the medical equipment scattered around the room, as well as the whiteboard and the stack of medical files on the coffee table. Clearly, today was not an isolated incident; he obviously had been working from home for weeks, if not months. She watched in amazement as Greg allowed her husband to help him ease down onto the couch. As he moved, she could see that he had gained weight, even though none of it had gone to his face, where his cheekbones pressed against his skin. She sank into one of the chairs, trying to pretend that everything wasn't horribly wrong.

They'd just gotten settled when House's cell phone rang. He looked at the readout, and then sighed. "Sorry. I have to take this."

She nodded and he answered the phone.

"Hi Mom. Everything's set. Wilson will pick you up at baggage claim at 7 PM." He paused, listening. "It's no problem. Look, Barry's decided to push back the surgery a week." There was another pause. "No, its good that you're coming now. Barry isn't comfortable with me being home alone for long periods of time, and Wilson's trying to save as much leave for after, and I can only take my team visiting for a few hours at most. So it's either you guys or being admitted." He rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I'll see you tonight." He hung up without saying goodbye. He looked over at Mark. "So, you finally ditched the cane."

Mark was about to answer when Stacy interrupted. "You're going to make small talk?!"

House looked confused. "Isn't that the socially acceptable way to entertain guests?"

But Stacy wasn't to be deterred. "Jesus, Greg! You look terrible, you can barely walk, and it's clear you haven't been able to go to work in weeks!"

"I'm fine," was his flat reply.

"For once in your life, can't you admit there's something wrong!"

"Everything will be fine once the baby is born. I'll get my vicodin back, I won't be confined to the damn couch, and I'll finally be able to eat without wanting to puke."

"What does a baby have to do with the fact that you're sick?" Stacy asked.

"Wilson didn't tell you?" She shook her head. "Cuddy?" No. Great, now he'd have to explain it. "I'm pregnant." Stacy and Mark were looking at him like he'd lost his mind. After months of being around people who already knew, it was easy to forget how bizarre the whole situation really is. He sighed. "Back in august, I had this odd conversation with a chick I knew had died the week before. I figured it was a weird dream or a strange hallucination and I didn't think that much about it. Then I got sick—nausea, vomiting, fatigue, and it never got any better. Even the blood tests pointed to testicular cancer, but the ultrasound and biopsy were clean." He reached over to pick up the thickest file sitting on the coffee table. "This is what we found in my abdomen."

Stacy squinted at the ultrasound picture, still not willing to believe it was a baby. "It's a tumor, isn't it."

House rolled his eyes. "To quote the boy-wonder oncologist, 'a tumor doesn't have a heartbeat'." He pulled out another photograph from the file. "This was taken last night. Gestational age: 33 weeks, 5 days."

Stacy looked down at the 3D ultrasound, which looked like a grainy, monochromatic picture of a baby. She had to admit it even kind of looked like Greg. She'd seen him play some elaborate pranks, but this took the cake. "So you spontaneously grew a uterus after talking to a dead girl?" she asked, playing along with the joke.

He didn't smile back. "I wish. Maybe if I'd had a uterus, I wouldn't have nearly lost the baby back in December. I certainly wouldn't have been on bedrest for the last thirteen weeks. Turns out a uterus isn't required to carry a baby, just highly recommended," he said bitterly.

She finally realized he was serious. "How is it possible?"

He shrugged. "Getting pregnant—who knows? Carrying the baby, all that's needed is a blood supply. The placenta has fused to the major organs in my abdomen. Essentially, it's an ectopic pregnancy. Making it this far is a good sign."

"Ectopic… I thought ectopic pregnancies were terminated as soon as they're discovered."

"Depends on the placement of the fetus. There have been documented cases of abdominal pregnancies being allowed to continue. Delivery is typically at 34 weeks. Too much later and the risk of placential abruption gets too high. The only reason why we're waiting another week is that tests have shown that her lungs are underdeveloped."

Mark saw the sadness in House's eyes, and tried to change the subject. "So, any weird cravings?"

House grinned. "No, just a whole list of things that would set off a new round of retching. Does anyone ever crave pickles and ice cream?"

Stacy laughed. "No one I ever met!"

Mark chimed in. "God, I wish it was pickles and ice cream. At least the grocery store is open until midnight. No, she had to crave bruschetta from Mario's, usually ten minutes before they were about to close. Luckily, the chef took pity on me a few times."

"Bruschetta? But you hate raw tomatoes!"

Stacy laughed. "Cravings usually don't make sense. So what things set off the nausea?"

"Coffee was one of the worst, where even the smell of it would set me of. And any form of seafood. Then there was booze and cauliflower. At least those were easy enough to avoid. I thought that Cameron's morning coffee would be the death of me."

She was mentally counting back. "So, is that why you looked like death warmed over when you came to visit?"

"Yeah, two months of puking. I had lost nine pounds by that point."

"Greg! That couldn't have been good for the baby."

"Like I could have known I was pregnant. I may be a diagnostician, but even I don't think that far outside the box."

"So what did you think was wrong?" asked Mark. "You must have had some theory?"

"Parasite. Of course, I wasn't wrong in the strictest definition of the word."

As they were talking, Stacy had been laying out the food from the deli. House looked at his sandwich with distaste. "God, I can't wait until I can eat like a normal human being again. I'm so sick of having to watch everything I eat!

Stacy laughed. "I remember the feeling, but what no one tells you is that when you breastfeed, you still have to watch what you eat, even if it isn't nearly as restrictive."

"Luckily for me, no breastfeeding."

"But it's so much better for the baby," Mark protested, earning a glare from House.

"Do I look like I am going to breastfeed anytime soon?" he asked, gesturing to his flat chest. "I may have gotten a baby, but it didn't come with a uterus or mammary glands. Like most men, I only have nipples for fun."

As they ate lunch, House described how he'd been working from home for the last few months, and Mark and Stacy talked about their son and the challenges of parenthood.

As she was gathering up all of the sandwich wrappers and the plastic containers, Stacy decided to have a little fun. "So, have you tried belly cream?" She then proceeded to rattle off her favorite brand.

House snorted. "Like I want to smell like fruit salad. Hell no."

Stacy was giggling. "So you have tried it!"

House rolled his eyes. "Wilson found some that smells like suntan lotion, which is way better than that crap. Hell, I could care less about stretch marks, but these days, having Wilson rub my belly is the closest thing to sex I can get."

Now Mark was grinning as well. It was at that moment that Wilson walked in the door. He was relieved to hear the laughter from the occupants of the living room.

House looked up. "What are you doing home so early?"

"I was running ahead of schedule all day, and then they canceled the meeting because three people were out of town. I escaped before anyone could find something I had to do." He looked around at Stacy and Mark. "So, did you bring Kyle?"

"He's in the bedroom, fast asleep in his car seat," Stacy replied.

They both went down the hall so Wilson could see her son for the first time. As he knelt down to inspect the baby, Stacy was looking around the room in confusion. Everything was as she remembered it, with the addition of a few of Wilson's things here and there. "So where are you stashing the stuff for the baby?" she finally asked.

"What stuff?"

"The usual—clothes, crib, car seat." Wilson didn't answer, so she continued, "changing table, diapers? The basics for managing a baby."

He sat down on the edge of the bed, and she joined him. "We don't have anything. Not until we know she's OK."

"They won't let you take her home without a car seat."

"She'll be in the NICU for at least 2 days detoxing from House's pain meds, but she'll probably be there longer. Average stay at 35 weeks is about a week and a half. We'll have time to figure everything out." He sighed. "I think we're afraid we'll jinx everything if we assume everything will be OK. So, no baby stuff until after she's born."

"Is it really that bad?" she asked.

He nodded. "Things could go wrong at any moment. The fact that we are planning when and how to deliver the baby is a minor miracle. No one expected them to make it this far." He thought of last night's meeting, as the doctors had meticulously planned the surgery and discussed the possible complications. "The surgery itself is scary. If all goes well, they will cut him open and remove the baby, leaving the placenta intact inside him. Then, in the coming months, it will eventually be absorbed by his body, but for the next six months or so, there is a chance he could start bleeding."

"Why don't they just remove it? Wouldn't that be safer?"

"No. The placenta has had to attach to the veins and arteries supplying his organs. To remove the placenta, they would need to sever all of those points of connection, and there's a chance of massive bleeding. So, leaving the placenta in is the best bet, even if it means living under the Sword of Damocles for a little while longer."

She put her arm around him. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Pray." He shrugged. "Think of something to keep him occupied for a week? Barry doesn't want him taking any more cases."

"Why?"

"Too much stress, too little sleep. His blood pressure is borderline."

"Maybe he could play video games with his parents?"

He looked at her incredulously. "Are you kidding? I've seen him turn Super Mario Brothers into a full contact sport. What did you do when you were on bedrest?"

"I learned to knit."

Wilson laughed at the mental image of Greg knitting a baby sweater. "Can you imagine? He'd probably stab someone with a needle."

She thought for a minute. "How about cards? I know poker isn't quite the same without the beer and pretzels, but desperate times…."

He nodded, and finished, "… call for desperate measures. Maybe that would work."

The headed back into the living room, and after Mark and Stacy had left, Wilson began making phone calls.