While Sheldon, Tam, and their new friend, Libby, were getting to know each other and talking about geology, I could feel a certain degree of rejection from the new girl towards me, even disgust.
"Ok, so I think I'm going to the cafeteria," I said slowly, puzzled by the way Libby was still looking at me from time to time. "See you later, Sheldon, Tam. Nice to meet you, Libby," I added as I stood up.
"See you later, PJ Duncan, my friend," Tam said excitedly, smiling cheerfully.
"See you later, PJ. Remember we have English after lunch. I hope to meet in front of your locker as usual," Sheldon said formally, straightening his back and clasping his hands on the table.
"I'll be there," I assured my little friend, nodding. Sheldon needed me to accompany him to the classroom to avoid getting trampled by the crowd of students.
"Wait, can we talk?" Libby, who had been frowning during my brief final conversation with Sheldon, said, strangely furious as she stood up and walked quickly beside me, guiding me away from the table.
While I was practically dragged by the girl, Tam, sitting silently at the table, gave me a thumbs-up with a slightly impressed smile, and Sheldon, like me, seemed completely intrigued by the way Libby was dragging me.
"Is something going on?" I asked the girl after being dragged a few bookshelves away from the table, which now only Tam and Sheldon shared.
"You bet," she said, crossing her arms and frowning in a strange attempt to look intimidating, warning me.
"Ok," I said slowly, nodding. "Would you mind telling me what's going on?" I asked, puzzled.
"I don't know what you're planning with that little boy, but you need to stop," she warned seriously, pushing my chest with a finger.
"I don't—" I started to say, but the strangely furious girl interrupted me.
"Oh, you know what I'm talking about," Libby said, advancing again in a sad attempt to be intimidating, though obviously, she was failing completely. "You're PJ Duncan. The whole school knows you. You even made it to the newspaper they say you're a prodigy, but I don't believe it. You're taking advantage of that boy," she accused, pointing towards where Sheldon and Tam were.
"What?" I asked, offended, immediately understanding her hostility. "Where did you get that idea? Sheldon and Tam are my friends," I declared seriously.
"Oh, please, 'friends'?" she said with disdain in her voice. "You're a jock. They're not your friends. If I ever find out you're doing anything to them—" she said, raising her finger in front of my face again.
"Let me stop you right there," I said, raising my voice slightly, not wanting to disturb the others in the library, "I don't care what you think of me, but I don't appreciate being threatened, especially when you're completely wrong."
"I'm sorry, what is going on?" suddenly Sheldon asked, intrigued, approaching where Libby and I were arguing. "Tam and I heard you arguing and even heard PJ raise his voice, but not loud enough to be disruptive. Kudos for that," Sheldon said kindly, smiling at me.
"Go on, ask him," I said arrogantly to Libby, nodding towards the small boy.
"Sheldon, has Duncan ever asked you to do his homework or take a test for him?" Libby asked seriously, her arms crossed, increasingly frustrated.
"Oh, I wish!" Sheldon declared excitedly. "That would mean PJ is admitting to being cognitively inferior to me, and we wouldn't have to compete anymore to prove it."
"Compete?" Libby asked incredulously, taken by surprise.
"Oh, yeah, PJ and I have been competing in every class since the beginning of the school year," Sheldon declared proudly.
"A competition that, if I recall correctly, I am currently winning," I said, amused by the surprised reaction of the boy.
"Because of Georgie," Sheldon murmured, clearly annoyed.
"Now, Sheldon, could you explain to Libby here why we have a 'schedule' to meet in front of my locker?" I asked, raising an eyebrow, enjoying Libby's expression of realization.
"Sure. Your height and growing musculature, like your friends', serve perfectly as a shield from the rest of the student body," Sheldon explained unabashedly.
"Well, thanks, Sheldon," I said, smiling at my young friend. "Now, I bet you feel dumb," I murmured to the incredulous girl as I walked towards the library exit, feeling much better.
"You're welcome," I heard Sheldon say proudly before I left the library.
The rest of the school day passed without any issues. Sheldon, seemingly ignoring the context of my argument with Libby, spent the classes as usual, competing with me at every opportunity.
"Hey!" Georgie, smiling broadly, approached me during football practice. "Did you know Sheldon has a girlfriend?" he asked, amused.
"Libby," I said while warming up.
"Wow, how did you know?" my 'innocent' friend asked, impressed.
"I met her during lunch," I explained.
"But we ate lunch together," Georgie said, incredibly surprised.
"Georgie, I arrived at the cafeteria later than you guys, remember?" I asked, incredulous at my friend's behavior.
"Oh, yeah," Georgie said, nodding as his expression showed he was remembering lunch. "That sandwich was really good."
The days passed, and aside from short conversations about rocks on the way to class with an unusually excited Sheldon, nothing changed in my routine.
"What's going on with Sheldon?" I asked my friend on Friday night after returning from practice with Case, drinking sodas with Georgie in the front yard of my house while listening to music, and watching Sheldon frantically clean the windows of his house.
"Oh, he's mad because my mom didn't let him go to a movie or something with his girlfriend," Georgie explained, drinking his root beer. "Do you think regular beer tastes like this?" he asked, raising his can.
"I'm sure it does. Keep drinking that," I replied, reclining in my chair.
Several minutes after watching Sheldon clean his house's windows, my little friend calmly walked over to where Georgie and I were comfortably seated.
"Good evening, PJ," Sheldon said kindly, smiling.
"Hey buddy, want one?" I asked, pulling a soda can from the cooler on the ground.
"Oh, no thanks," Sheldon replied immediately, standing silently in front of us.
"Do you need something? Want a chair?" I asked again, noticing the boy had no intention of moving.
"Sitting out here, where birds are, you have a great sense of humor PJ," Sheldon said ironically, smiling. "I wanted to ask if you're free tomorrow?" he asked, clasping his hands in front of his abdomen.
"Well, I have practice around this time, but the rest of the day I'm free, I suppose. Why, what do you need?" I asked the boy.
"My mom thinks it would be much safer for me if you came with us. She also wants to meet Libby because she's going to drive. So, since you're free, would you like to enjoy a geology exhibit and a space shuttle movie in IMAX at the Museum of Natural Science in Houston?"
"So your mom wants me to come to accompany you?" I asked, sighing at the idea of going to see a rock exhibit.
"It's obvious if you think about it. In our neighborhood, you have the most medical experience; next is your own mother, being an athlete, you're fit enough to defend me if any altercation occurs, after Libby, you're the only one with driving knowledge and also, even if you are not legally an adult, you are responsible as one" Sheldon explained calmly.
"Yeah, those are very good reasons," I said, nodding, amused. "But I don't think it's a good idea, Sheldon," I admitted, immediately seeing his incredulous look. "I don't think Libby likes me very much, and I wouldn't want to ruin your trip."
"On the contrary," Sheldon said immediately. "She seems very interested in you. She had many questions," he added, nodding innocently.
"I assure you it's not the good kind of interest," I said, amused. "But I'll tell you what, buddy, if you really need me to come, I can do it just for tomorrow."
"Ok, thanks, Georgie," Sheldon said, nodding to his brother as a farewell and walking back to his house, completely unashamed.
"Thank God he didn't want me to go with him," Georgie said, completely relieved.
"Did you hear the reasons why your mom felt safe with me accompanying them?" I asked, amused.
"Yeah," Georgie replied, ignoring what I was implying with my question, turning up the music and leaning back in his chair.
"So 'innocent,'" I murmured, amused, enjoying the music as well.
The next day, after my morning routine, which, being the weekend, was a bit later than usual, Sheldon arrived at our house.
"Good morning, PJ," Sheldon said, standing exactly like some strange kind of door-to-door salesman. "In theory, Tam and Libby will arrive in a few minutes. Would you like to wait at my house? My mom made lemonade."
"Sure," I said, taking my keys and following Sheldon to his house. "I'll be back later," I told Gabe, who was watching TV on the living room sofa.
"Ok," he replied, raising his thumb without turning around.
"Ah, PJ, would you like a glass of lemonade?" Mrs. Cooper kindly asked at the Cooper's house.
"Yes, I would love one, thank you," I said, smiling at the woman.
"Sheldon, could you serve PJ some lemonade, please?" she said, as Sheldon immediately nodded, walking formally out of the living room. "Would you like to sit down?" she added, pointing to a sofa.
Mrs. Cooper, looking towards where Sheldon had gone, waited a few seconds before turning to me.
"Before Tam and Libby arrive, I'd like you to know something," Mrs. Cooper said quickly, apparently having some trouble saying Libby's name. "All of this is because I want to meet that girl. Normally, I would feel completely at ease with you present there," she assured me, seemingly worried I might take my presence there the wrong way.
"Oh, don't worry about it. I completely understand," I assured the woman.
"Oh, thank God," Mrs. Cooper said, relieved. "Do you happen to know this Libby girl?" a moment later secretly she asked, interested.
"Oh, well, I met her a few days ago. She seems like a good person," I responded. "Also intelligent. She was reading about a topic advanced for school," I added, noticing Mrs. Cooper wanted to know more.
"That's all?" Mrs. Cooper asked nervously.
"Well, she was obviously interested in Sheldon's well-being," I admitted. "She seemed to think I was using Sheldon for his homework, like a bully or something."
"Oh, that's funny," Mrs. Cooper said, laughing lightly. "You bullying Sheldon," she added, amused, though a few seconds later, I saw the idea grow in her mind while frowning.
"What's going on?" Sheldon asked, carrying a tray with a single glass of lemonade.
"Oh, nothing, honey," quickly Mrs. Cooper replied.
"Thank you, Sheldon," I said, taking the glass from the tray he was carrying.
"You're welcome. Here's also a coaster," he added, placing a circular plastic piece on the coffee table.
"Ok, I'll make sure to use it," I said, putting the glass on the coaster.
"Thank you," Sheldon said with relief.
"Bullying," I heard Mrs. Cooper murmur with a slight laugh.
After a few minutes of Sheldon telling me about everything he found interesting about the museum we were supposedly going to, the Coopers' doorbell rang.
"Oh boy, they're here," Sheldon said excitedly, standing up immediately, followed by his mother.
Mrs. Cooper opened the door. "Hi there, please come in, have a seat."
"You have a beautiful home," Libby said as she entered with Tam.
"Thank you," both Sheldon and Mrs. Cooper responded at the same time, making Mrs. Cooper look at Sheldon, puzzled.
"Duncan," Libby said, surprised to see me in the Coopers' living room, stopping for a moment.
"Libby," I nodded to the girl as a greeting, amused as her expression immediately turned slightly embarrassed.
"Oh PJ Duncan, my friend," Tam said, smiling widely as he saw me.
"Tam," I greeted the boy, still finding it strange that he used my full name.
"What are you doing here?" the intrigued girl asked, forcing a smile as she took a seat on the same sofa as me, on the other side of Tam, who was in the middle of us, fortunately.
"Oh, PJ was very kind to offer to accompany you. I feel much safer if he goes with you," Mrs. Cooper responded.
"Also, PJ is our neighbor," Sheldon added.
"Yeah, his car is outside, pretty cool," Tam said, smiling slowly, making me silently thank him with a smile and a wink.
"Ok, I hope you'll forgive me," Mrs. Cooper said to Libby, changing the conversation. "I just wanted to meet the person driving my nine-year-old son to Houston."
"I understand," Libby responded.
"Me, too," Tam suddenly added.
"I wasn't talking to you, Tam," Mrs. Cooper said harshly. "I just wanted to make certain that you've had no traffic tickets or, heaven forbid, accidents," the woman said seriously to Libby.
"No, ma'am," the girl immediately assured.
"Even if you're not, I'd prefer you to say it now, and I'm sure PJ could drive you there," Mrs. Cooper said.
"That would be pretty cool. I've always wanted to ride in your car," Tam immediately said.
"Tam," Mrs. Cooper warned seriously, silencing the Vietnamese boy again.
"You've got nothing to worry about, ma'am," Libby assured. "I'm a very safe driver."
"Good, good," Mrs. Cooper said, relieved. "Have you made this trip before?"
"A few times, yes," Libby responded, making Mrs. Cooper nod.
"You smoke marijuana?" Mrs. Cooper asked suddenly, trying to catch the girl by surprise.
"Mom!" Sheldon exclaimed, obviously embarrassed.
"No, ma'am," Libby assured calmly.
"Just say no," Tam said again, making Mrs. Cooper simply stare at him this time, causing the boy to lower his head, disappointed.
"Well, I find this very reassuring," Mrs. Cooper said, relieved. "I have to admit, I had some trepidation, but having met you, I'm feeling a lot better."
"Good," Sheldon said cheerfully.
"You've got nothing to worry about, Mrs. Cooper," Libby assured kindly. "I've been babysitting kids for years," she added, and from Sheldon's expression, I was sure it wasn't the best choice of words.
"Excuse me," Sheldon said, much paler than usual, which was worrying. "I don't feel well," he continued, visibly worrying his mother. "You'll have to go without me," he added, walking away from the living room.
"Oh my," Mrs. Cooper murmured, watching her son leave melancholically. "I'm sorry to waste your time, Libby, but it seems Sheldon won't be accompanying you guys. Also, thank you for coming here, PJ," she added, smiling slightly.
"Don't worry, ma'am," Libby assured, apparently puzzled by the whole situation.
"Yeah, don't worry," Tam said, this time being ignored by everyone.
"Don't worry, Mrs. Cooper, this was a fun chat," I said, patting Tam's shoulder and standing up. "Thanks for the lemonade."
"Well, see you later," outside the Cooper's house I said to the two uncomfortable teenagers.
"Wait, where are you going?" Tam asked.
"Don't get me wrong, but the only reason I was going with you was to accompany Sheldon," I said to a disappointed Tam. "But hey, I'm sure you two can have fun with... the rocks," I added.
"Oh, yeah," Tam said slowly, seemingly getting some kind of message as he smiled widely moving his eyebrows significantly.
"Rocks?" Libby asked, looking offended for some reason.
"Like I said, have fun," I said, walking home.
"I thought you had left," coming out of the kitchen in our house with a glass of water, Gabe said.
"What are you talking about? I've been here all day," I said, looking at my brother strangely.
Sighing before raising his shoulders, Gabe sat back on the sofa.
"I'm not at all worried about your future," I said, hugging my brother by the shoulder, watching Scooby-Doo with him.
Days passed again. It was Tuesday, and after the second period, I left with Brock, heading to our lockers to meet the others.
"Hey Porker, after class?" In the hallway, a couple of extremely disheveled guys pushed Brock while passing, laughing unpleasantly as they walked.
"What was that?" I asked, watching the guys walk away.
"My senior friends," Brock responded cheerfully. "We hang out after class. They're pretty cool."
'Pretty cool' seemed like two idiots to me. "Ok... what do you do after school?" I asked, slightly interested. I didn't like to think that my friend was being bullied.
"I don't know, we make jokes and... Wait a minute, you're jealous!" Brock exclaimed, smiling obviously excited.
"Yeah, I'm jealous that you hang out with more friends besides us," I said, rolling my eyes exasperatedly.
"Oh come on, don't feel bad for having feelings, we all have them," Brock declared, hugging my shoulder tightly.
"I'll kick your ass," I joked while walking with my friend.
"If you need a shoulder to cry on after doing that, I'll be ready," Brock declared.
After school, at the hospital, in the ER waiting rooms on my way to the diagnostics lounge, I encountered House sitting in one of the armchairs in the emergency room waiting area, reading a newspaper with his legs on a small table.
"Of course, it's the alcohol!" he suddenly shouted, drawing the attention of many people around him. "Hello! This guy's a professional doctor, plays golf and everything, I bet," he continued sarcastically, standing up and walking toward a doctor who seemed to be arguing with some kid.
Should I interfere in this?
"Hey JP, come and hear this," House ordered me.
"Well, seems like I have no choice now," I murmured.
"He's not gonna tell you your mom's an alcoholic without proof," House said sarcastically, pointing at the other doctor. "I'm sure he scoped for varices, checked her esophagus, ran all kinds of blood tests. A doctor like this, they don't make assumptions; they do the work."
"I'd be happy to refer you the case, Dr. House," the other doctor said, obviously exasperated by House's words. "You seem so interested."
"What case? It's over," House declared sarcastically. "You're sending her home."
"PJ," the other doctor said, calming his tone, asking for my help.
What, now I'm some kind of nanny for House? "Sure," I responded to the man.
"Thanks," the doctor said, handing me a chart and walking away from where we were.
"What, you're my nanny?" House asked, right?.
"How old is she?" House asked the boy now that the other doctor had left.
"You're a doctor?" the boy asked House, incredulous about the whole interaction.
"Own my own stethoscope," House responded.
"Yes, he is," I added, assuring the boy.
"Sorry, did I ask you how old she was? I forget," House asked sarcastically.
"Oh, she's thirty-eight," the boy responded quickly.
"Strange," House murmured, obviously more interested.
"What's up?" I asked.
"My mom," the boy explained, opening a notebook apparently full of notes. "She's got a deep vein thrombosis."
"Really strange," I said, agreeing with House. "Did she have any accidents, blows, or falls?" I asked the boy.
"No, I would notice," the boy said immediately holding up some kind of notebook apparently filled with post-its and notes.
"What do you have there?" House asked, looking at the boy's notebook.
"Oh, just my notes, I have everything here, from the first diagnosis to the current one" the boy admitted, slightly embarrassed.
"That will be very useful," I said, raising my hand, smiling at the boy, but internally puzzled by the boy's need to make so many notes.
"Useful?" he asked, handing me his notebook.
"Yeah, congratulations, kid, you got a doctor interested in your mom's case," House said sarcastically. "You, nurse, come and admit this boy's mom," he rudely added, stopping one of the hospital nurses walking down the hallway.
"Sure, Dr. House," the nurse said, clenching her jaw, obviously annoyed by his rudeness.
"See you in the lounge, I'm going to call your brothers," House said, snatching the notebook and chart from my hand and leaving without saying anything else.
"Thanks, Matilda," I said slightly embarrassed by how House treated her, pressing the nurse's shoulder slightly.
"Oh, don't mention it, PJ, after all, it's my job," the nurse said ironically.
"Are you also a doctor?" the boy asked, incredulous, seeing my backpack.
I needed a place to store my books.
"Don't you know him?" Matilda, the nurse, asked, surprised. "He's PJ Duncan," she said, making the boy surprised to hear my name. "From the newspaper," she added, and I noticed the boy didn't didn't recognize my name for that reason.
"So, are you a doctor?" he asked, now seemingly nervously avoiding my gaze.
"Well—" I was saying, but Nurse Matilda interrupted me.
"He's not one yet, but I assure you he's much better than... other doctors," the nurse said harshly, obviously having someone in mind.
"Thanks, but that might be an exaggeration," I said, making the nurse chuckle. "Hey man, I'll leave you in the incredibly capable hands of Nurse Matilda here. She'll accompany you to admit your mom," I said, pressing the shoulder of the still strangely nervous boy slightly.
In the diagnostics lounge, the four doctors were already present. House was writing on his board what I could imagine was the new patient's data.
"Hello," I greeted those present.
"Hey PJ," and now only Cameron responded.
One out of three, way to step up my game.
"Ok, now that we're all here," House said, clapping in his typical sarcastic tone. "A thirty-eight-year-old woman with no previous symptoms or history presents with deep vein thrombosis. How did she get it?"
"Oral contraceptives, smoking, diabetes, obesity," Dr. Foreman said frustratedly, listing the common causes. "What's the point here? A D.V.T. is a D.V.T. Put her on I.V. Heparin to prevent future clots," he added, exasperated. "What's the big mystery?"
"Fine, you're all sleepy, obviously you need a hint. Kid," House said.
"The age," I responded immediately.
"Yeah, she's twenty years too young to get a deep vein thrombosis," House added obviously, looking incredulously at his employees.
"I treated a twelve-year-old girl once, a soccer player," Dr. Foreman said, unimpressed with the idea. "She got kicked in the leg," he added.
"There was no trauma," I negated immediately.
"And none of the risk factors," House added.
"You took a history?" Cameron asked, impressed.
"I got some notes," House said, raising the notebook he snatched from my hands. "They're not mine, but they're reliable, I think, for the purposes of this discussion. And as for the immobility, well, she's real active right now. Of course, paranoia keeps her limber."
"Paranoia?" Dr. Foreman asked, surely expressing the same question as the others.
"Oh, yeah," House nodded. "She's schizophrenic," he explained as if it were nothing. "And her kid wrote this, so it might be a little biased, you know, having to take care of his nutso mom and all."
Hearing House's words, everyone else in the room looked at him incredulously.
"You think there's a connection? Do we include schizophrenia in the differential for D.V.T?" House asked mockingly.
"Well—" Dr. Foreman was saying.
"The answer is no," House interrupted immediately. "Abnormal dopaminergic pathways in the brain do not cause blood clots. Schizophrenia is not the cause of D.V.T."
"Okay, so we're ignoring schizophrenia for the diagnosis, but again, D.V.T," Dr. Foreman said, slightly exasperated.
"Correct, and it's our job to find out why," House said, walking out of the room. "Your new bible, study it and pass it to the rest of the class," he added, handing me the boy's notebook.
"I don't study the bible," I said, tapping the notebook in my hand.
"Come on, you live in Texas," House said sarcastically, leaving the lounge.
After House, the other three doctors also left the room, leaving me alone with the patient's chart and her son's notebook.
At least the notebook was well-structured.
On some occasions the boy would simply write down the date, phone number and name of the doctor he took his mother to, fortunately there were not many names.
Using the phone in House's office I called the few names in the notebook to ask a couple of questions on House's behalf.
"Hey kid, did you find anything interesting?" After several hours and many dozens of pages read, House asked me as he walked to his desk.
"I made some follow-up calls with some of the doctors present," I said, pushing the notebook in front of him, "other than a visit to an ophthalmologist, there wasn't much of interest, at least until today she had a 0.12 blood alcohol level even though her son wrote that the last alcohol she had was three days ago," I said, pointing to one of the last pages in the notebook that I had marked.
"Yeah, I heard that." Taking the notebook from my hand, he read the part I had marked for him.
"Do you believe the kid?" I asked seriously. If it's true and the woman hadn't consumed more alcohol today, then we had more symptoms to consider.
"He's a good kid," he said slowly, placing the notebook on his desk.
"That doesn't answer my question."
"No, it doesn't." Leaning back thoughtfully in his chair, House replied.
At that moment, House's pager went off. "What's happening?" I asked, seeing the man frown, but not receiving a response.
Several minutes later, Cameron and Dr. Foreman arrived at the lounge. House had called Foreman from his office, leaving Cameron and me outside.
"So, when I said no psych meds, I'm just curious— which word didn't you understand?" House sarcastically asked Dr. Foreman talking loud enough that we could even hear outside.
"The Haldol had nothing to do with the bleed, you know that." Dr. Foreman defended himself. "I used it purely as a chemical restraint."
"Oh, great," House declared with false relief. "Well, that's good to hear, so she won't experience any of those pesky little side effects you get when your motives aren't pure. Oh, wait," he added ironically.
"Those side effects are so rare!" Dr. Foreman defended himself, annoyed.
"What, passing out, increased confusion, depression?" House asked. "That's not gonna happen," he responded sarcastically. "That's not gonna screw up our diagnosis, 'cause you just used it to restrain her. I'm so relieved."
"She spit on my face," Dr. Foreman exclaimed indignantly.
"That must have been so frightening for you," House mocked.
"What was I supposed to do, tie her down?" Dr. Foreman asked.
"Yeah," House replied as if it were obvious.
"What happened?" Without intending to interrupt the other doctors' discussion, I leaned slightly and asked Cameron.
"The patient bled out two units."
"The clotting studies," Chase said, arriving from the hallway. "Pretty fast. Did you promise to date the entire lab?" Ignoring me, he asked Cameron.
"No, I save that for emergencies," Cameron replied monotonously. "I told them she bled out two units, and if it happened again, she'd die," he added, taking the papers from Chase's hand.
"If it had happened at home, she would have died," Chase said, disappointed. "And the ER doctor was gonna send her home."
"May I?" When Cameron finished reading the test results, I asked immediately, receiving the document.
"I used my best judgment," Dr. Foreman exclaimed.
"It turns out your best judgment is not good enough. Here's an idea: next time, use mine," House responded.
"I think they're choosing a movie," Cameron said sarcastically.
"Why did the patient bleed out?" House asked, coming out of his office.
"The clotting studies so far are normal," Cameron replied.
"Well, cover your ears if you don't want me to spoil the ending," House said arrogantly. "Everything was normal, except for a prolonged P.T. time, which means what?" he asked.
"Usually it means whoever drew the blood didn't do it right," Dr. Foreman said, exasperated.
"Oh, that's right, because you drew the blood," House said. "But you were precise because you knew the tube was purely for the P.T. study."
"That's right," Dr. Foreman responded.
"And I'm right with you. I trust this result for two reasons: A) because you are a good doctor, and B) because five milligrams of I.V. Haldol makes for a spectacularly cooperative patient," House declared ironically.
House's words, obviously irritating Dr. Foreman, caused him to walk away from the conversation.
"The prolonged P.T. time makes me think she's got a vitamin K deficiency," House declared, ignoring Dr. Foreman.
"Vitamin K would explain the bleed, but not the clot," Cameron disagreed.
"Without vitamin K, protein C doesn't work. Without protein C, she clots," House explained. "Clotting and thinning all at the same time."
"What about another drug interacting with Heparin, an antibiotic like ampicillin?" Cameron asked. "That would cause the bleed."
"She's not on ampicillin," I disagreed. "Two months ago she complained of a sore throat, and her son got her ampicillin, which she refused to take," I explained, recalling the information from the notebook.
"He just said she didn't take it. What is it, everybody lies except for schizophrenics and their children?" Cameron asked, exasperated.
"It's more likely than malnourishment. Why not scurvy or the plague?" Chase asked.
"I wish my idea was as cool and with it as yours," House said, pretending to be impressed. "What is yours, by the way? Do you have one?"
"Alcohol," Chase responded immediately. "It causes immobility, which explains the D.V.T."
"It also causes cirrhosis," I nodded. "If it's true that the woman didn't drink more alcohol today, the 0.12 blood alcohol level can be explained by liver damage."
"Yeah, it also explains the bleed and the prolonged P.T. time," Chase said, glancing at me. "Let's ultrasound the liver."
"Three theories," House said, amused. "Check out her place for ampicillin and diet," he said, nodding to Chase and Dr. Foreman. "Then ultrasound her liver. Let's find out who's right before she bleeds to death."
"Let's go," Dr. Foreman told Chase with a nod.
"Wait," House said with a broad smile. "Take the kid with you," he added, patting my shoulder, which made both Chase and Dr. Foreman frown.
Great.
---
Author Thoughts:
As always, I'm not American, not a doctor, and not a fighter.
Another chapter has passed, so new thanks are in order. I would like to especially thank:
RandomPasserby96
11332223
keyakedo
And once again the top changes, congratulations 11332223.
With that said,
I think that's all. As always, if you find any errors, please let me know, and I'll correct them immediately.
Thank you for reading! :D
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