A New Puzzle

Cindy was half asleep on the couch when her phone went off. She fumbled for it, her hands numb having tucked them under her armpits to help her keep warm. "Dammit," she groaned. Even if she was fully awake, with the parasthesia there was no way she'd be able to answer in time.

The phone stopped ringing. The caller left no message. A few moments later she picked it up and looked at the screen. It had been Greg. Her first thought was 'asshole.' After a few more minutes she attempted to call him back.

"House." His greeting was terse.

"You called?" She said, holding back a yawn.

"Did I wake you?"

"Kind of." She sat up, wrapping her blanket around her shoulders.

"Sorry. If you want to go back to sleep-"

"No, I'm up now. What's happening? Everything okay?"

"I wanted to...I mean I didn't mean..."

"Yeah, yeah, you're sorry you dismissed me earlier today. I get it. No biggie."

She didn't want to sound perturbed, yet she was.

"If you wanted to...you know, come visit. I wouldn't object."

"Not gonna happen tonight. Sorry. I'm in my jammies in bed already."

"But it's only six o'clock!"

"Been like this all day. Not going to freeze my butt off. Not up to it." No, she wasn't mad or bitter. Just feeling blah and needing time to work things out in her head.

"But I'm injured!" He hoped she'd fall for it.

"You've got your mom and your staff of babysitters. You can survive a day without me." Cindy tried to sound reassuring.

"But I want you."

She smiled inwardly. He realized he had made a mistake sending her away. But seriously, right at this moment she needed time to herself.

"I'm feeling antisocial at the moment."

"You're pissed with me."

Damn, he was mad. "No, I'm not. I'm tired, I don't feel well and I just want to veg out and relax.

"Why don't you feel well?" His curiosity was piqued. A medical puzzle had presented itself.

"Ah, I can tell by the new tone in your voice that you're interested. I'll give you the symptoms. You can work them all night into a differential diagnosis and we'll discuss tomorrow."

"Okay. I've got my mental white board going. List 'em."

"Arthritis, tendonitis, synovitis, neuritis."

"'Itis is inflammation. Any fever?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I do have some medical training, so I know what 'itis' means too." She hadn't thought to take her temperature. "Afebrile."

"Paralysis or parasthesia?" He was in full doctor mode, wishing he did have his white board.

"Parasthesia. Poor circulation, too." She knew what she had. It was an old and chronic condition she suffered greatly from as a young adult, but the pain had been in remission for nearly twenty years. What its return meant, she wasn't exactly sure.

"History of herniated cervical discs, nerve entrapment and/or carpal tunnel syndrome?" He was on a roll, feeling a little more alive.

"Yes."

"Yes to which."

"All of them."

"Shit!"

"What's wrong?" He sounded upset, which upset her.

"You. You've got the grand whammy of symptoms."

"So what do I have?"

"My gut instinct tells me arthroneurosynotendonitis, or any combination therein of," he said this smiling, totally confident in his diagnosis.

"Treatment?"

"Rest effected joints. Drink plenty of fluids, with 600mg of anti-inflammatories TID, and see your hospitalized doctor boyfriend when you're better."

"A brilliant diagnosis and treatment plan. I couldn't have done better myself," she congratulated him. "So I am under a doctor's orders to hang up now, 'cause holding the phone makes my hand go numb. I'll talk to you in the morning."

Greg frowned as she hung up. He had no idea what she had, but he was surely going to find out.

"Doesn't sound like she's coming," Blythe said solemnly.

"No, not tonight. She's having some problems."

"I'm sure she'll be fine."

"Eh, she's young. It can't be as bad as she says." He finished the scraps of food left on his dinner tray.

Sometime after ten pm, he knew this because he had just finished watching Lie To Me, House felt the first twinges of gnawing pain. It had been a quiet day. The pain was always going to be present, but had been consistently tolerable. Until now. How long should he wait before asking for the narcotics? It was still under a 7 rating. He could ride it out until at least and 8 or 9, he thought.

The night nurse entered his room under the guise of checking his monitor leads and adjusting his bedding as needed. "Are you in any discomfort?"

"A little bit," he conceded. Maybe she had orders to dose him the minute he felt anything.

"Your heart rate is climbing. Would you like something for the pain?"

"If I say no, how long are you going to wait?"

"I have two choices. I can either call the doctor to administer a dose when you say you need it, or I can wait until your vitals become dangerously high and risk stroke or cardiac incident. Which do you think I want to happen?"

"I don't know. Do you like me?" It wasn't meant to be a loaded question, but obviously her puzzled look said she had to think too much for it to be a positive answer in his favor. "Get me the shot."

Hours later the pain escalated with a bout of muscle cramps. He was given a muscle relaxant and plied with heading pads under his lower back and over his hip and thigh. The therapies calmed him down enough to doze in and out. By morning he was exhausted and in a modicum of discomfort.

Upon refusal to eat breakfast, the nurse brought a can of vanilla Ensure with a straw and slammed it down on the table in front of him. "You have a choice."

"Not really." He picked at the powdered eggs on his plate, preferring to skip over what passed as some sort of meat links. The coffee was weak, the fruit cup turning brown. Damn. The Ensure was actually the most appetizing thing on the table.

The nurse returned a half hour later to check his progress. "You did good."

"Got any Pepto?"

"Are you sick to your stomach?"

"Not yet, but I have a feeling I will be after eating what passes for food around here."

"Dr. House, you're really quite funny." She made some notes in his chart.

"I'm so charming, I could be in a box of cereal."

"How are you holding up today?" Wilson walked in with House's mother.

"Much better, provided you have my computer and reading glasses."

Blythe handed him his rucksack. "Hope I got everything you needed."

Greg barely listened as he extracted his laptop and quickly opened it up, ready to plug in Cindy's list of symptoms.

"You've got a patient?"

"Not exactly. More like a puzzle to solve."

Wilson's brow knit with consternation.

"Don't have a cow, dude. Before you leave, remember to remind me to remind you to send Foreman down to see me sometime today." His fingers flew across the little keys.

"No problem." He backed out of the room, a little put off that his friend was more interested in the computer and an enigma than a little face time with a real person.

Blythe took it all in her stride. She sat in the bedside chair, picking a book out of her tote bag. If and when her son had anything to say to her; he would when he was ready.

By the time lunch arrived, Greg was totally absorbed in his research. He was thoroughly annoyed when the aid tried to put his meal tray next to the laptop.

"Working here," he growled without looking away from the screen.

Blythe cleared the beside stand to make room for the tray. "Here." She took it from the aide. "I'll make sure he eventually eats."

He got to a place where he was content to stop. Removing the glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose as a method of acupressure to relieve the eye strain he was feeling.

"Did you sleep at all last night?"

"A little. What's on the tray?"

"Looks like meatloaf, mashed potatoes and peas."

"Gads. I've got to convince Cuddy to get a better chef."

"Greg, be nice. It looks perfectly edible."

"Looks can be deceiving." He moved his laptop so she could put the food in front of him."

"Dr. Cuddy asked if I wouldn't mind helping out in the nursery again." Blythe was trying to be nonchalant, but she was bursting with excitement. "And since I figure you'll want to rest during dialysis, I told her I would."

"Pretty soon Wilson will have you reading to the cancer kids."

"Oh, that reminds me. Tomorrow I'm scheduling a play date for you with Jeremy."

"Who's Jeremy? And you better tell me he's a world champion poker player who had to have a chip removed from a certain orifice because he's THAT good."

"Greg!"

"Mom!" He matched her tone. "I'm fifty years old. I don't have play dates. Playmates-yes. But definitely not play dates."

"He's a sweet young man bored out of his skull. He'd really enjoy meeting you."

"I suppose I could suffer through it…for you." He cut a chunk of meat, stabbed it with the fork and tentatively brought it to his mouth.

"That reminds me." He felt around his left side for the cell phone. After finding his call log, Greg selected Cindy's number.

"Hello,' Cindy barely opened her eyes to make sure she was answering her cell and not the TV remote.

"What are you doing still sleeping?"

"Greg?"

"Yep. So answer the question."

"What question?"

"Sleeping. You. Middle of the day. Go!"

"Bad night," she admitted, wiping her free hand across her face. "What time is it?"

"Twelve-thirty."

"Shit!"

"Don't panic, the world didn't end without you."

"No. I mean…ahh, I don't…I didn't plan on sleeping through the day."

"Sounds like you needed it. Go back to sleep. Call me later." He hung up not waiting for a response.

"So what time should I set up the meet and greet for?"

Greg frowned, giving her the pleading look 'don't do this to me.'

"Better yet, you'll have lunch together."

"Ma!"

"Don't Ma me." She gave him back the attitude he gave her. "And you'll be nice."

Cindy dragged her ass off the couch and down the hall to the bathroom. Her body ached from a night on the couch and the drop in temperature that frosted the panes of her windows. The apartment was freezing. Of course, her unexpected siesta in the living room didn't take into consideration turning up the heater to compensate for the nighttime temperature change.

The quickest way to chase away the aches and pain was to jump in a hot shower, then turn up the heat before burrowing under the bed covers.