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03 October 2009 @ 10:09 pm
[Posting order Chase, Thirteen, Foreman, Amber]

Chase knew he was inevitably going to get a mixed reaction when he walked into the Diagnostics office after calling a differential. Compounding the issue was the fact he had Amber tow. When Cuddy told him the Diagnostics patient was apparently deteriorating and he had to step up to the plate with House now out of action, Chase had one proviso - that Amber be involved in the case from now on. She originally pulled the patient from the Clinic to hand over to House, so she knew the basis of it. Chase also happened to think Wilson's smug ex-girlfriend was actually good at Diagnostics. If Cuddy wanted this thing wrapped up, Chase wanted as many hands as he could get. If the team didn't like it, they could piss off.

Amber took a seat at the conference table and Chase stepped up to the whiteboard, glancing over House's scrawls there and then picking up one of the markers, uncapping it. "House is out of action. Cuddy's asked me to run the case. Dr Hadley... Thirteen... whatever you want to go by, can I have an update on the patient's status and condition, please? I haven't had time to read the notes. I was off, you know, doing my real job. We all want this signed off as quick as we can. He's deteriorating, I know that much. What's progressed since the coughing up blood and the Low RBC count?" he asked, pointing to House's last two additions to the whiteboard with the tip of the marker.
Mood: determineddetermined
Kutner and Foreman had been sent on the B&E of the patient's home this time, and despite being slightly irked at the fact and even more irked at Chase's presence in the differential, he had just gone along with it. Even though House was - as always - firmly lodged in Denial Land, everyone knew something was wrong. It was like a gorilla had lumbered into the office, taking a large dump in the corner, and then everyone was trying to ignore it happened. Same impact knowing House had something wrong with it. It was like that Fawlty Towers scene 'Don't mention the war', and it was getting tiresome. By this point, however, Foreman was only interested in finding the patient's diagnosis, so he went to the patient's home with Kutner to try and find some more answers.

There were a few possible indicators, or at the very least, some leads they might be able to follow. Foreman returned to the hospital with some specimens to take to the lab for testing, and that was where he was headed while Kutner bailed to go get a burger in the cafe, promising he would be by the labs ASAP. ASAP in Kutner language could mean just about anything, though. Foreman wasn't going to sit around and wait for him to stuff his face. He was pulling on his lab coat as he entered the path labs, hoping the tests would bring something to light to speed up this diagnosis a little. With House hardly able to string a sentence together without staring off into space and Chase hovering around him like a bad smell, how was anyone even going to get on the same page to solve the case?
House checked his watch.


He had six minutes before Cuddy transformed back into the Wicked Witch of the hospital's west wing and sent her flying monkeys out to drag him to the depths of the Radiology Department if he refused to show up all by himself. He sat back in his chair, rotating a rubber band around his fingers as he stared intently at his grey carpet in thought. She wouldn't really fire him. She never did. He was her hospital's biggest asset.

So... Cuddy wouldn't dare fire him even if he can't do his job properly because he's "her hospital's biggest asset." Nice rationalization. If there was some sort of cognitive impairment left over from his bout with brain trauma, his career would be shot dead in the water. He knew just as well, if not better, than anyone else that the headaches and confusion could be indicative of increased intracranial pressure. If that was the case, he could go from doctor to dim-wit in a week, and he'd could end up spending the rest of his life in diapers with Wilson wiping drool off his chin.

Wilson was a whole other story. House knew he'd been acting a lot more distant than usual, and they've barely said two words to each other since the accident, save the verbal boxing match they contended in just this morning, but to throw everything away and quit just like that? What the hell for? Because House was the reason him and Amber broke up? Give him a fucking break. He'll get over it. House made a mental note to make a visit to the oncologist after the MRI he didn't plan on going to.

If he remembered, he thought sarcastically, taking the rubber band on his pointer finger and launching it at the glass door to the differentials office. House checked his wristwatch again, furrowing his brow as he noticed two small spots on his shirt. Stretching his shirt down to check for any other stains, he watched as another drop landed on his chest. Putting two and two together, House brought a hand up to wipe at his ear, frowning when he pulled blood smeared fingers away.

Alright, maybe the MRI wasn't such a bad idea.
Mood: discontentdiscontent
10 September 2009 @ 04:17 pm
"Ah hhab halymawha?" was all Jim could manage before the tongue depressor was removed from his mouth, looking inquisitively between the two doctors. Well, at least he was getting an answer other than 'it might be this.'

Taub rolled back on the seat, putting the patient's hand back down on the bed after inspecting the tips of his fingers for dilated blood vessels, indicative of HHT. No dice, which meant it wasn't HHT... which also meant that they had a better chance about being correct about the Polymyositis and less of a chance at aggravating the patient with diagnosis after diagnosis.

"Polymyositis is a disease that affects your connective tissues. Makes you feel weak and makes it harder to move muscles without getting tired a lot sooner than you normally would."

Jim found himself eyeing the female doctor. Um... "What does that have anything to do with the fact that I feel like I'm coughing up enough blood to fill a pool with?" he asked, not quite getting it. "It's curable, right?"
07 September 2009 @ 07:29 am
Chase had half an hour before his next surgery, a hysterectomy of a young woman who had been brought in last night following a car accident. Not only had the impact caused her to lose a baby, but she had too many internal injuries and now needed the operation. She wouldn't be able to have anymore kids. It sucked, and some days Chase just didn't like his job. No one should have their ability to have children stolen off them at twenty-two years old. That wasn't old enough to know anything about your life.

He was standing at the Nurses' station of the Operating Rooms, reading over the file for a second time. Second, but not last. In fact, he would probably read and check the details a good six more times with various staff members before the scalpel even came near the woman's flesh. Sure, Medical Negligence happened, but it shouldn't with the right protocol. There was going to be no med malpractice on Chase's watch, and no wrong body parts being chopped off.

He had already lost time sitting in on House's differentials. It didn't feel the same anymore, and he felt like he was 1) going through the motions, and 2) babysitting House to make sure he didn't throw a blood clot in his brain and start frothing at the mouth or the like. Knowing he wouldn't be following through on the actual case was probably part of the problem. There was sitting in on a differential and there was acting on one. Without the latter, Chase was just bored. He had the sort of attention span that liked to be busy. He didn't always need to be busy with something productive, but something to do with his hands was usually ample. He may was well have been sitting with his finger up his arse in the differentials for all the purpose he had there.
04 September 2009 @ 11:09 am
Cuddy swooped on the Diagnostics conference room and found the team filtering out, leaving House and Chase in there by the whiteboard. Wait...



Cuddy's eyes bounced between the two men in confusion for a moment, before she cleared her throat. Chase seemed to suspect a storm was brewing and merely offered a slight smirk before exiting the room and disappearing up the hall. Cuddy looked over House's face for all of twenty seconds before she held up her hand. "What is going on, House? No bull. No jokes. No fobbing me off with ridiculous references to my cleavage or other body parts. Answers, now."
Mood: determineddetermined
It took Wilson over an hour of sitting in his office trying to remain separated from the situation before he made any firm decisions. Why... why was it always like this? He didn't want to be doing this all over again. He wanted to step away and make a clean break so maybe he could pick up the tattered pieces of his life and try to find some happiness, even if he was getting tired in his search for it. The first half hour, he resolved that it was Cuddy's problem... especially if Wilson planned to resign from the job and move very far away from Princeton. He was even contemplating returning to Canada. Why couldn't it just be easy?

The second half hour was when the headache started to set in, and the drained tiredness. It was always the drained tiredness that made Wilson's footing in his resolve slip. How was Cuddy going to know if Wilson didn't tell her? How could Cuddy really deal with House on her own? Was House accountable for his own actions if he had neurological issues? Was it neurological issues, or just more substance abuse? Did Wilson want anything to do with the substance abuse? Did Wilson want to care anymore?

He exhaled heavily and hoarsely as he sat hunched slightly forward on the sofa in Cuddy's office. She was sitting in the arm chair beside him expectantly. He hadn't actually said anything since arriving in her office beyond 'Can I please have a word?'. It might actually help if he spoke up. He opened his mouth, the words about House on the tip of his tongue, but instead, "I'm resigning."
[Post order is House, Thirteen, Chase]

Tapping the marker on the table, the incident with Wilson earlier running through his mind, House pointed to the whiteboard.

Perpetual dry cough
Difficulty breathing

"Got a new symptom. Patient is coughing up blood," he stated.

Kutner looked around the table, a beat passing before piping up with, "We hooked him up with a bag of B Negative, but he's losing blood faster than we can put it back into him."

House tilted his head, "... A lot of blood," he corrected himself. "I'm safe to assume you ran a blood test?"

"Low red blood cell count, no signs of infiltrates," Taub answered.

"CT results?" House asked, turning to add Low RBC count to the whiteboard. Lung cancer didn't move this fast, and bronchitis didn't cause this much blood loss. So... maybe Cut Throat Bitch did something right for once and actually gave them a proper case.
24 August 2009 @ 02:13 am
Amber was due on another Clinic shift in half an hour. She didn't actually mind the Clinic most days, and it did break the monotony of working in the Radiology department day in, day out. She was still only a part-time employee and that probably wouldn't change in the immediate future unless there was some force of miracle. Cuddy was adamant she would only give her part-time hours so soon after the accident, especially in the of the fact Amber up and did something like nearly dying. Time to recuperate would be needed, probably more mentally than emotionally.

Slotting some coins into the coffee machine up the hall from Radiology, Amber just shook her head. She felt fine. She could actually really use some extra work to keep her sane. Whenever she was home on her days off, she became starkly conscious that her relationship with Wilson was done and dusted. Amber had ended it after the accident. Nearly losing your life because of a stupid move on House's part... well, Amber's tolerance for the miserable doctor had diluted to almost nothing. Sure, she could cope with him in her job, but in her personal life? No way. She put up with it because she loved Wilson and she thought they maybe had something long-term that was progressing nicely and making her happy. But House had always been like a thorn in her side from day one and she was tired of competing. When she got on that bus to make sure he didn't kill himself, and in turn nearly died herself, it was just the last straw. Wilson would never set any ground rules of stop House coming between him and his relationships. Amber just didn't want to play that fiery game anymore.

She hit the latte button, even if it she knew it was going to be a weak imitation of a true latte. She needed a hit of caffeine for her next shift, which hopefully wouldn't be totally mind-numbing.
22 August 2009 @ 12:31 pm
After his coffee/chat with Cuddy, Wilson realised he now carried the burden of needing to go talk to House without actually knowing why he was really there. Sure, House seemed to be acting strange in the wake of the bus crash, but who wasn't? Everyone was trying to process it differently and deal with different aspects of it, Wilson himself included.

He flicked the lock on his office door and pulled it closed behind him, pausing for a moment to rub at the back of his neck. He promised Cuddy he would try, so he was going to try. At least see for himself what was up with House. He was coming up the corridor towards House's office when Chase exited the Diagnostics conference room. The two doctors merely nodded politely at each other before Chase went in the opposite direction towards the elevators. Why was Chase there?

Wilson went into House's office, pausing in the doorway and pointing over his shoulder. "Why was Chase here?" he asked.