Hi there, dear readers! It's been a very nice Saturday and I decided it's time for a new story. This one's Hilson all the way through plus we see a little bit of Stacy and Sam Carr (but Sam will be portrayed in a different light from what we've seen on the show so far). I know there have been about a million infarction stories but I still think there's room for improvement over what is already out there. I took the story of how House suffered the infarction, as told in "Three Stories", and embellished it quite a bit. The timeline is not in keeping with the show so just keep that in mind as you're reading. For example, Sam Carr makes an appearance as Wilson's first wife in my story here when House has his infarction, but on the show, we didn't even know who Wilson's first wife was until much later on. Even though the timeline has differences from that on the show, I tried to keep House and Wilson as in character as I could. As usual, I don't own the show or the characters from the show. They are property of David Shore, Fox, NBC Universal, and the other powers that be. I only own my story and the OCs.
After getting off the elevator, Wilson looked to his right and to his left. The nurse's station was toward his right. In front of the nurse's station there was a traffic jam with doctors on their way to see patients, nurses preparing medications, and therapy aides on their way to patient rooms with wheelchairs and other assistive devices. It was 8 am, and the day was just getting started for the patients in the vascular surgery wing. On his way down the long narrow hallway, Wilson found himself dodging dietary aides pushing a heavy meal cart full of dirty breakfast trays the opposite direction, toward the elevators. Wilson astutely noticed that the uppermost tray in the rack, the one picked up from the last room at the end of the hallway on the right, was completely untouched – unlike all of the others, which had been demolished. There was a completely untouched bowl of jello, a cup of iced tea from which the cover hadn't even been removed, and an unopened carton of orange juice. None of the items on the tray had been opened.
Closing his eyes for a moment, he gathered his thoughts as he neared his destination. Within a few feet of the patient's room, he found the door closed. Like all of the other rooms in this hallway, this was a semi-private room occupied by two patients. Unwilling to bother the other patient unnecessarily and unsure as to whether or not to knock, he paused a moment and listened.
"Come on, Dr. House. You can do this." A male voice was talking softly. "The dressing is off so I can check your incision. I have to check your pulses and I need you to wiggle your toes."
An annoying series of rapid beeps followed. It sounded like teenagers on Halloween, pounding on a doorbell just to annoy the homeowner. "Dr. House, that's only programmed to…" "I know what it's fucking programmed to do!" House yelled. "If you don't want me to reprogram it myself I need you to get my surgeon right now!"
"Ok, ok. Hold on. I'll get the doctor now," Ronald said with compassion and understanding. "I'll get him right now."
Wilson could hear Ronald paging House's surgeon from the other side of the closed door. The phone rang inside House's room. "Dr. O'Malley, hi, it's Ronald Major. I'm the nurse taking care of Dr. House today. I paged you because I was wondering if we could go up on Dr. House's morphine. He's on 2 mg an hour. According to what I heard in report this morning from the night shift, he was still pretty out of it from the anesthesia most of the night. About 6 am he started waking up more, and he's completely wide awake now. The morphine we have him on now isn't doing anything."
Wilson opened the door and wasn't ready for what he saw. House's roommate nodded briefly at Wilson then with an irritated motion, quickly jerked the curtains closed around his bed. Wilson passed the roommate and got his first view of House since yesterday.
Yesterday had been bad enough. Today obviously promised to be a whole lot worse.
A week ago, House was playing a pickup game of golf with three other guys he didn't know. He checked out the list in the clubhouse to see if there were any players signed up that day who needed a partner. These three guys needed a fourth. The three other guys turned out to be doctors from Princeton General. They met House in the clubhouse, introduced themselves, got some drinks and snacks and headed out to the first hole. House didn't know the three men but they recognized him right off the bat. "You're Greg House, aren't you, from the Diagnostics department over at PPTH, right? You head it up, don't you?" House nodded and gave them an indifferent shrug. He wasn't being rude. He just wasn't really in the mood to talk. He wanted to get out on the course, enjoy the nice weather, and stretch his legs a little. "We're all on staff at General. I'm Daniel O'Malley, this here's Tim and Jeff. We're all vascular surgeons." Who cares, thought House. "Ok," was all he said.
On the first hole, House let the other three guys go ahead of him. He was enjoying the view of the four gorgeous ladies waiting their turn on the tee behind his group. The weather was warm and they were perspiring a bit even though they hadn't even started playing yet. The ladies were mostly preoccupied with gossip, but the one who caught his eye winked back at him and unbuttoned the top button on her golf shirt. It never hurt to flash a little skin in front of a cute guy, even on a golf course. In fact, especially on a golf course. It was widely assumed that good young female golfers were also dykes. She wanted to let him know in no uncertain terms that she was quite ready and available if he should deign to come over and treat her to a closer view of his beautiful blue eyes.
The three guys were pretty decent golfers but they didn't have the same graceful athleticism House had. House's swing was fluent and powerful on the tee, gentle and accurate on the green. On the ninth hole, House teed off. As he twisted in the backswing, he noticed mild pain in his right thigh. Must have pulled a muscle, he thought. It didn't hurt too bad and he still hit a pretty good drive – the ball arched gracefully through the air and landed straight and true down the middle of the fairway, and it landed about 90 yards from the hole. It was a par four hole. The pain peaked and then started to fade quite a bit. House was the last to play. The foursome made their way down the fairway. As the other three guys made their shots, House pulled out his five iron and leaned on it a bit. The pulled muscle in his right thigh irritated him a bit. I'm in great shape, he thought. I stretched and limbered up before we started. Didn't notice anything then. He made the green in two shots. With a birdie on the line, he crouched over the putter with a master's touch and sent the ball into the hole with a plink. The other three guys each clapped him on the back and he leaned over to pick the ball out of the hole. He straightened up with a lop-sided grin on his face and threw his right arm up in the air with the ball clenched in his fist. He wheeled around and shouted "Birdie that!" to the beautiful ladies behind them getting ready to tee off on the ninth tee.
House's foursome were all in pretty good physical shape and had chosen to walk the whole 18 holes instead of renting a cart. House turned back around after the little showboating on the ninth hole, and began the walk to the tenth tee. He took a few steps off the ninth green when the pain hit again. This time it hit with a vengeance. He'd had the golf bag looped over his right shoulder. The golf bag hit the ground like a sack of bricks. Golf clubs and balls went flying all over the place. House was still standing but just barely. He hunched over, grabbed his right leg with both hands furiously rubbing what felt like the mother of all pulled muscles. His face was pinched in a grimace that reminded Daniel of a terrible injury he'd witnessed in a college football game. From the look on House's face and the death grip he had on his leg, Daniel knew this was pretty bad. Daniel said "Oh my God, what happened? Why don't you lie down and I'll have a look." Then to the other two guys, Daniel said "Go back to the ninth tee and tell them we have an injury down here. Tell them to call the clubhouse and get a cart down here. He's not going to be able to finish."
Daniel helped House to lie down on the ground and pulled his right pant leg up for a closer look. They were only about a few yards away from the ninth green, but they were headed downhill, and Daniel didn't think House would be able to make it back up the little hill to the ninth green much less all the way back to the ninth tee or the clubhouse. While Daniel stayed with House, the other two guys ran back to the ninth tee. When they saw golfers on the tee, they yelled "FORE!" The first lady in the foursome behind them on the ninth tee had already teed off and the second lady in the group was teeing up her ball. Apparently none of the women heard the two men. "Hey!" they screamed. "Fore! We got a guy down on the ground! Hold your shots!" One guy called the clubhouse and requested a cart and an ambulance. The other guy yelled down to Daniel "FORE! Look out! There's a ball headed your way! " Daniel was kneeling on the ground next to House. He jerked his head up as the ball hit the ground not twenty five yards from them. As badly as House was hurting and as much as the situation seemed to be worsening, Daniel couldn't help but briefly think Man, that lady has some guns. This is a 225 yard hole. She'd teed off and hit the ball 200 yards.
House was curled up on the ground, moaning. His clothes and hair were soaked in sweat and he was shivering. Daniel said "Man, did you pull a muscle?" House ground out through gritted teeth, "I must have. Man, I can't move. Oohh, the cramp won't let up!" he cried, looking up into Daniel's face. "Hang on. The other two are getting help.
I can't get your right pant leg up far enough to get a good look. I'm gonna have to cut the pant leg. Hey, you need to go to the emergency room anyway, and the paramedics are gonna have to cut it if you can't pull your pants down yourself. I doubt you wanna pull your pants down out here. So let me cut 'em." Daniel pulled out a pair of scissors from a bag full of spoons, can openers, napkins and other things he'd needed occasionally out on the golf course. As he cut the pant leg he noticed a faint purplish hue to House's lower right leg. The skin on the leg was cool to touch. Daniel checked House's pedal, posterior tibial and popliteal pulses. The pedal and posterior tibial pulses were completely absent and the popliteal pulse was weak. "Your leg's turning purple and the pulses are almost gone. This is not just a pulled muscle."