Unexpected Results

Greg hardly touched lunch. The sleeping pill they gave him made him groggy, even though he got a decent amount of shut-eye. He was very aware that pain was seeping back into his existence. The scheduled EMG wasn't going to be the worst test they could possibly give him, but it certainly wasn't going to be pleasant, either.

When Dr. Radcliffe arrived he was carrying House's MRI films. Normally he didn't show his patients the nitty-gritty results, but House's reputation as an outstanding diagnostician might lend a hand in determining potential courses of treatment. After all, the man was the only one to diagnose his own infarction. It seemed cruel to leave him out of the loop.

"Wanna show you something." He handed Greg the manila oversized envelope.

"You're going to let me in on the differential? Greg was astounded. He'd never willingly do something that idiotic.

"Normally I wouldn't even make an exception for any other doctor, but since it's you."

"Great. Physician heal thyself."

"Cindy wanted to be here when I gave you the test results. She said you were really anxious to get them yesterday."

"I was, but that was then."

"I haven't let her in on your secret; but eventually she'll catch on. I'm surprised she hasn't already."

"Like I said, I'm enjoying the anonymity. I have no desire to be treated like the ass people know me to be."

"I have to admit, I was expecting to knock heads with you."

"Maybe a year ago. Hell, depending on my mood, I would have given you hell last week. I've been in chronic pain for a dozen years or so. I spent most of that time in a Vicodin bubble just to be able to function. You are the first doctor who thinks he can do something to alleviate some of the pain. That's way more than anyone's ever offered me."

"There are no guarantees. But if we do find something that helps, at least you'll have a choice."

"So what does the MRI tell you," House steeled himself for impending doom.

"With respect to your leg, the femur is structurally sound. Your hip is showing a little wear and tear, as well as your knee. But hey, you're over fifty." He shrugged, trying to spin a little joviality into a diagnosis of mild arthritis.

"Nothing so far that wasn't unexpected." Greg watched the doctor for signs of dropping the other shoe.

"You have a herniated disc at L3-L4."

"THAT is unexpected." Greg was shocked.

"Considering what your body's been through, I'm amazed you're still alive."

"It's really a non-issue…the disc thing. I'm asymptomatic." Greg was trying to reason out why it was such a big deal.

"Seriously?" Just because you don't have low back pain doesn't mean you're not having symptoms." It was like he was waiting for his patient to reach the same conclusions.

"If my hand hurts, it's most likely NOT because I have a brain tumor."

"Radiculopathy. The disc impinges the nerve at the root. It sends signals down its channels triggering pain and/or spasming, effecting other parts of the body."

"That's just radiculous." But Greg knew the orthopedist was right.

"Sciatica."

"That goes down the leg. I don't have pain all the way down."

"The nerve was damaged by the infarction. The EMG would show where sciatic pain is interrupted. Unfortunately with the fibular fractures we can't run the electrical conduction study of the nerve just yet."

"Then why bother doing it at all?" House was trying to draw the reasoning from the doctor.

"The muscle conduction study will help us determine how the muscle tissue is functioning and let us see the electrical impulses of the spasms."

Greg nodded. It was a sound plan. "When do we start?"

"Cindy's prepping a room. She'll cut you out of the cast, make you a splint and then the fun will begin."

"Yippee," Greg frowned.