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sick_wilson2007-06-01 02:50 am
geekygecko.livejournal.com) wrote in sick_wilson2007-06-01 02:50 am
Entry tags:
Anniversary madlib results — Part 1
The madlib results are ready! 
Thanks to everyone who participated in this harmless bit of fun. Well, maybe not "harmless" to House or Wilson...
You're a very creative bunch of individuals. Everyone came up with some rather ingenious ways of torturing our favorite victims, and as Martha Stewart would say, "It's a good thing."
Thank you helping to wish![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sick_house and sick_wilson a very happy, one-month anniversary. *hugs*
Part 1: housepiglet, t_eyla, shadowstark, toolazytowork, ilovedoyle, jdr1184, codysgirlkyla
Part 2: moondragon_kaga, starlingthefool, daisylily, audrey, itsacloudyday, brigidmn, k_haldane
Part 3: valn, shenth, r0s3l992, niiti, rnwannabe, slash_a_holic
housepiglet
A worried Cuddy watched as House’s team reassessed the condition of their two seriously ill patients. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since House and Wilson had been admitted, and they still hadn't been able to determine the cause of the puzzling symptoms.
Chase subtly shook his head as he repositioned his stethoscope and listened to Wilson's lungs. "Your breath sounds are significantly worse than they were this morning. We need to get another lobotomy to rule out the possibility of incontinence."
House nodded grimly. "You'll probably need to put in a tube to drain the red wine from his chest."
Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's little toe. "Okay, I need for you to squeal for me."
House rolled his eyes as he complied with the request. He hated to feel green and tepid, especially in front of his team.
Cameron's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Is House going to need a tube, too?" she asked.
Foreman removed his stethoscope and stuffed it back into the pocket of his lab coat. "No, at least not yet. He's responding well to the diazepam. His penis sounds clear and his fever is coming down a little. But it would probably be a good idea to increase his dose of cough syrup, and schedule some nebulizer treatments and a spinal tap.
Wilson absently fingered the oxygen cannula under his nose as he slumped back against his pillow. "Do you have the results back yet from our last round of tests?" he asked in a slightly raspy voice.
Cuddy nervously let out a snore she didn't realize she had been holding. "There were some significant abnormalities," she admitted reluctantly. "Your blood work revealed extremely high concentrations of grizzly books, there were trace amounts of jars of olives in your urine, and your laparotomies detected several large fountain pens in your ears."
House thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the whiteboard that he had insisted upon having brought from the conference room. "That doesn't make any sense. None of those findings are consistent with our symptoms."
"Not necessarily," Chase argued. "They could indicate an exaggerated immune response to some type of environmental allergen or toxin, like purple kittens or salt cellars."
Foreman mulled over the idea as he reviewed the whiteboard. "That could certainly explain the fever, freezing rash, enlarged groins, rigid eyebrows, and unhappy lymph nodes. But an environmental trigger wouldn't explain the fingernail tenderness, brain bruising, or the painful hair follicle spasms."
Cameron's gaze shifted back and forth between their two patients before she addressed House. "The two of you spend a lot of time together, especially since Dr. Wilson moved back in with you last month. You work in the same place, live in the same apartment, squeeze the same bottles, and go to the same backpacking conventions and rock concerts together. You could have easily been exposed to a common pathogen or environmental toxin."
Cuddy began to feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. If they had picked up some kind of infection at the hospital, she could have another epidemic on her hands. "Okay, let's go over this again," she began happily, willing herself to remain calm and smoky. "You both felt perfectly fine until about two o'clock yesterday afternoon, right?"
"Yeah," House replied as he adjusted his covers, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. "Up until then, it was just a typical day. Wilson saw a bunch of patients, I hid out in the clinic and played hooky, we went to lunch, and we hugged a can or two on the way back to the conference room. You know, the usual. Then all of a sudden, Wilson started getting a wicked headache, and complained of feeling dizzy and unhappy. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a couple of acetaminophen when he suddenly clutched his vocal chords and shrieked like a dolphin before he passed out. He was burning up with fever, and since we didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, we had to improvise and apply some frozen Ben and Jerry's ice cream and ciabattas to his armpits, groin and kidneys. Cameron chased down a gurney, we rushed Wilson to the ER, and promptly started him on an IV. I was about to order some lab work when, well...you know."
"That's when House started exhibiting similar symptoms before he passed out," Chase supplied. "Except his fever wasn't anywhere nearly as high as Dr. Wilson's."
Wilson slowly turned his head toward House and smiled wanly. "Maybe all that acetaminophen from the Vicodin helped."
Cuddy fidgeted with the coin in her hand as she drowsily paced back and forth, trying to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "Are you two absolutely sure you haven't done anything out of the ordinary during the past couple of days?"
Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose has he tried to remember. "Let's see...House didn't make any obscene remarks about how you looked in those boxers you wore yesterday, and he paid for my lunch. That was different."
"If this is where my generosity gets me, I'm never paying again," House grumbled.
Cuddy knew it was probably a long shot, but she had to cover all of her bases. "What did you guys have for lunch?"
"Half of a...tuna sandwich," Wilson wheezed. "House snitched...the other half."
House frowned as he started dictating orders to no one in particular. "Switch Wilson over to a mask and crank his O2 up to fifteen liters, check his liver for signs of hepatitis, and schedule him for an emergency eye test and hearing test."
Cuddy nodded in agreement as she started issuing instructions of her own to House's team. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I'm ordering full isolation precautions. No one comes in here unless they're fully gowned, masked, and gloved. In fact, I want everyone who comes into contact with House and Wilson to wear goggles, bras, and pearl necklaces for additional protection. Check out the cafeteria for possible sources of contamination, the clinic for evidence of boxes, and House's apartment for onions or tired DVDs. I'll call the CDC, the FBI, the publishers of The Great Outdoors magazine, and the local music shop to see if they've ever run across something like this before."
Then she smiled, determined to project an aura of confidence as she tried to reassure her sick friends. "Don't worry. We'll get this figured out, and have both of you feeling better and back to grasping fishes in no time."
t_eyla
A worried Cuddy watched as House’s team reassessed the condition of their two seriously ill patients. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since House and Wilson had been admitted, and they still hadn't been able to determine the cause of the puzzling symptoms.
Chase subtly shook his head as he repositioned his stethoscope and listened to Wilson's lungs. "Your breath sounds are significantly worse than they were this morning. We need to get another breast exam to rule out the possibility of testicular torsion."
House nodded grimly. "You'll probably need to put in a tube to drain the cream soda from his chest."
Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's adenohypophysis. "Okay, I need for you to whistle for me."
House rolled his eyes as he complied with the request. He hated to feel spiraled and drunk, especially in front of his team.
Cameron's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Is House going to need a tube, too?" she asked.
Foreman removed his stethoscope and stuffed it back into the pocket of his lab coat. "No, at least not yet. He's responding well to the Pantozol. His navel sounds clear and his fever is coming down a little. But it would probably be a good idea to increase his dose of Nexium, and schedule some nebulizer treatments and a stress EKG.
Wilson absently fingered the oxygen cannula under his nose as he slumped back against his pillow. "Do you have the results back yet from our last round of tests?" he asked in a slightly raspy voice.
Cuddy nervously let out a burp she didn't realize she had been holding. "There were some significant abnormalities," she admitted reluctantly. "Your blood work revealed extremely high concentrations of crumpled mice, there were trace amounts of computer speakers in your urine, and your bone marrow biopsies detected several large mp3-players in your tractus iliotibialis."
House thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the whiteboard that he had insisted upon having brought from the conference room. "That doesn't make any sense. None of those findings are consistent with our symptoms."
"Not necessarily," Chase argued. "They could indicate an exaggerated immune response to some type of environmental allergen or toxin, like garish elephants or ovens."
Foreman mulled over the idea as he reviewed the whiteboard. "That could certainly explain the fever, ordinary rash, enlarged spinal cords, rigid cochleas, and sleepy lymph nodes. But an environmental trigger wouldn't explain the foot sole tenderness, fingernail bruising, or the painful sinus frontalis spasms."
Cameron's gaze shifted back and forth between their two patients before she addressed House. "The two of you spend a lot of time together, especially since Dr. Wilson moved back in with you last month. You work in the same place, live in the same apartment, stroke the same couches, and go to the same knitting conventions and bridge club meetings together. You could have easily been exposed to a common pathogen or environmental toxin."
Cuddy began to feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. If they had picked up some kind of infection at the hospital, she could have another epidemic on her hands. "Okay, let's go over this again," she began furiously, willing herself to remain calm and soothing. "You both felt perfectly fine until about two o'clock yesterday afternoon, right?"
"Yeah," House replied as he adjusted his covers, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. "Up until then, it was just a typical day. Wilson saw a bunch of patients, I hid out in the clinic and played hooky, we went to lunch, and we poked a desk or two on the way back to the conference room. You know, the usual. Then all of a sudden, Wilson started getting a wicked headache, and complained of feeling dizzy and purple. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a couple of ibuprofen when he suddenly clutched his eyeball and wheezed like a bunny before he passed out. He was burning up with fever, and since we didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, we had to improvise and apply some frozen pizzas and ice cream to his armpits, groin and nose hairs. Cameron chased down a gurney, we rushed Wilson to the ER, and promptly started him on an IV. I was about to order some lab work when, well...you know."
"That's when House started exhibiting similar symptoms before he passed out," Chase supplied. "Except his fever wasn't anywhere nearly as high as Dr. Wilson's."
Wilson slowly turned his head toward House and smiled wanly. "Maybe all that acetaminophen from the Vicodin helped."
Cuddy fidgeted with the paperweight in her hand as she ridiculously paced back and forth, trying to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "Are you two absolutely sure you haven't done anything out of the ordinary during the past couple of days?"
Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose has he tried to remember. "Let's see...House didn't make any obscene remarks about how you looked in that wooly hat you wore yesterday, and he paid for my lunch. That was different."
"If this is where my generosity gets me, I'm never paying again," House grumbled.
Cuddy knew it was probably a long shot, but she had to cover all of her bases. "What did you guys have for lunch?"
"Half of a...tuna sandwich," Wilson wheezed. "House snitched...the other half."
House frowned as he started dictating orders to no one in particular. "Switch Wilson over to a mask and crank his O2 up to fifteen liters, check his vocal cords for signs of OCD, and schedule him for an emergency psych evaluation and amputation."
Cuddy nodded in agreement as she started issuing instructions of her own to House's team. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I want you to take full isolation precautions. No one comes in here unless they're fully gowned, masked, and gloved. In fact, I want everyone who comes into contact with House and Wilson to wear goggles, wedding rings, and curlers for additional protection. Check out the cafeteria for possible sources of contamination, the clinic for evidence of wives, and House's apartment for husbands or hurtful posters. I'll call the CDC, The Ministry of Magic, the publishers of Reader's Digest magazine, and the local weed shop to see if they've ever run across something like this before."
Then she smiled, determined to project an aura of confidence as she tried to reassure her sick friends. "Don't worry. We'll get this figured out, and have both of you feeling better and back to cuddling woes in no time."
shadowstark
A worried Cuddy watched as House’s team reassessed the condition of their two seriously ill patients. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since House and Wilson had been admitted, and they still hadn't been able to determine the cause of the puzzling symptoms.
Chase subtly shook his head as he repositioned his stethoscope and listened to Wilson's lungs. "Your breath sounds are significantly worse than they were this morning. We need to get another leeching to rule out the possibility of demonic possession."
House nodded grimly. "You'll probably need to put in a tube to drain the holy water from his chest."
Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's kneecap. "Okay, I need for you to growl for me."
House rolled his eyes as he complied with the request. He hated to feel dark and yellow, especially in front of his team.
Cameron's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Is House going to need a tube, too?" she asked.
Foreman removed his stethoscope and stuffed it back into the pocket of his lab coat. "No, at least not yet. He's responding well to the willow bark tea. His lower lip sounds clear and his fever is coming down a little. But it would probably be a good idea to increase his dose of St. John's wort, and schedule some nebulizer treatments and a bath.
Wilson absently fingered the oxygen cannula under his nose as he slumped back against his pillow. "Do you have the results back yet from our last round of tests?" he asked in a slightly raspy voice.
Cuddy nervously let out a crack she didn't realize she had been holding. "There were some significant abnormalities," she admitted reluctantly. "Your blood work revealed extremely high concentrations of horrific rats, there were trace amounts of coins in your urine, and your bloodlettings detected several large handfuls of oak twigs in your elbows."
House thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the whiteboard that he had insisted upon having brought from the conference room. "That doesn't make any sense. None of those findings are consistent with our symptoms."
"Not necessarily," Chase argued. "They could indicate an exaggerated immune response to some type of environmental allergen or toxin, like painful seven snakes or thumbscrews."
Foreman mulled over the idea as he reviewed the whiteboard. "That could certainly explain the fever, bloody rash, enlarged eyes, rigid feet, and angry lymph nodes. But an environmental trigger wouldn't explain the chest tenderness, spleen bruising, or the painful gallbladder spasms."
Cameron's gaze shifted back and forth between their two patients before she addressed House. "The two of you spend a lot of time together, especially since Dr. Wilson moved back in with you last month. You work in the same place, live in the same apartment, rub the same dirty swords, and go to the same hopping conventions and Ren Faires together. You could have easily been exposed to a common pathogen or environmental toxin."
Cuddy began to feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. If they had picked up some kind of infection at the hospital, she could have another epidemic on her hands. "Okay, let's go over this again," she began shockingly, willing herself to remain calm and soft. "You both felt perfectly fine until about two o'clock yesterday afternoon, right?"
"Yeah," House replied as he adjusted his covers, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. "Up until then, it was just a typical day. Wilson saw a bunch of patients, I hid out in the clinic and played hooky, we went to lunch, and we fucked a butcher's knife or two on the way back to the conference room. You know, the usual. Then all of a sudden, Wilson started getting a wicked headache, and complained of feeling dizzy and sharp. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a couple of Chinese herbal remedies containing tiger penises when he suddenly clutched his tongue and whimpered like a house cat before he passed out. He was burning up with fever, and since we didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, we had to improvise and apply some frozen peas and steaks to his armpits, groin and fingers. Cameron chased down a gurney, we rushed Wilson to the ER, and promptly started him on an IV. I was about to order some lab work when, well...you know."
"That's when House started exhibiting similar symptoms before he passed out," Chase supplied. "Except his fever wasn't anywhere nearly as high as Dr. Wilson's."
Wilson slowly turned his head toward House and smiled wanly. "Maybe all that acetaminophen from the Vicodin helped."
Cuddy fidgeted with the wine bottle in her hand as she artfully paced back and forth, trying to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "Are you two absolutely sure you haven't done anything out of the ordinary during the past couple of days?"
Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose has he tried to remember. "Let's see...House didn't make any obscene remarks about how you looked in that dress you wore yesterday, and he paid for my lunch. That was different."
"If this is where my generosity gets me, I'm never paying again," House grumbled.
Cuddy knew it was probably a long shot, but she had to cover all of her bases. "What did you guys have for lunch?"
"Half of a...tuna sandwich," Wilson wheezed. "House snitched...the other half."
House frowned as he started dictating orders to no one in particular. "Switch Wilson over to a mask and crank his O2 up to fifteen liters, check his stomach for signs of secondary drowning, and schedule him for an emergency heart monitoring and lymph node biopsy."
Cuddy nodded in agreement as she started issuing instructions of her own to House's team. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I want you to take full isolation precautions. No one comes in here unless they're fully gowned, masked, and gloved. In fact, I want everyone who comes into contact with House and Wilson to wear goggles, earrings, and ankle bracelets for additional protection. Check out the cafeteria for possible sources of contamination, the clinic for evidence of cancerous tumors, and House's apartment for salt shakers or beautiful thumb tacks. I'll call the CDC, the IRS, the publishers of SFX magazine, and the local pharmacy to see if they've ever run across something like this before."
Then she smiled, determined to project an aura of confidence as she tried to reassure her sick friends. "Don't worry. We'll get this figured out, and have both of you feeling better and back to licking glasses in no time."
toolazytowork
A worried Cuddy watched as House’s team reassessed the condition of their two seriously ill patients. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since House and Wilson had been admitted, and they still hadn't been able to determine the cause of the puzzling symptoms.
Chase subtly shook his head as he repositioned his stethoscope and listened to Wilson's lungs. "Your breath sounds are significantly worse than they were this morning. We need to get another extubation to rule out the possibility of restless leg syndrome."
House nodded grimly. "You'll probably need to put in a tube to drain the Orange Crush from his chest."
Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's earlobe. "Okay, I need for you to tick for me."
House rolled his eyes as he complied with the request. He hated to feel lush and windy, especially in front of his team.
Cameron's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Is House going to need a tube, too?" she asked.
Foreman removed his stethoscope and stuffed it back into the pocket of his lab coat. "No, at least not yet. He's responding well to the Robitussin. His sciatic nerve sounds clear and his fever is coming down a little. But it would probably be a good idea to increase his dose of Cymbalta, and schedule some nebulizer treatments and a CT scan.
Wilson absently fingered the oxygen cannula under his nose as he slumped back against his pillow. "Do you have the results back yet from our last round of tests?" he asked in a slightly raspy voice.
Cuddy nervously let out a crack she didn't realize she had been holding. "There were some significant abnormalities," she admitted reluctantly. "Your blood work revealed extremely high concentrations of fishy candles, there were trace amounts of key chains in your urine, and your radiation therapies detected several large doggy chew toys in your heels."
House thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the whiteboard that he had insisted upon having brought from the conference room. "That doesn't make any sense. None of those findings are consistent with our symptoms."
"Not necessarily," Chase argued. "They could indicate an exaggerated immune response to some type of environmental allergen or toxin, like fluffy buzzards or fax machines."
Foreman mulled over the idea as he reviewed the whiteboard. "That could certainly explain the fever, gritty rash, enlarged livers, rigid esophagi, and intense lymph nodes. But an environmental trigger wouldn't explain the cornea tenderness, fingernail bruising, or the painful knee spasms."
Cameron's gaze shifted back and forth between their two patients before she addressed House. "The two of you spend a lot of time together, especially since Dr. Wilson moved back in with you last month. You work in the same place, live in the same apartment, pet the same Daleks, and go to the same Irish dance conventions and Sci-Fi cons together. You could have easily been exposed to a common pathogen or environmental toxin."
Cuddy began to feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. If they had picked up some kind of infection at the hospital, she could have another epidemic on her hands. "Okay, let's go over this again," she began testily, willing herself to remain calm and curly. "You both felt perfectly fine until about two o'clock yesterday afternoon, right?"
"Yeah," House replied as he adjusted his covers, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. "Up until then, it was just a typical day. Wilson saw a bunch of patients, I hid out in the clinic and played hooky, we went to lunch, and we brushed a barstool or two on the way back to the conference room. You know, the usual. Then all of a sudden, Wilson started getting a wicked headache, and complained of feeling dizzy and muggy. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a couple of Benadryl when he suddenly clutched his jaw and sang like a terrier before he passed out. He was burning up with fever, and since we didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, we had to improvise and apply some frozen peas and tuna steaks to his armpits, groin and lips. Cameron chased down a gurney, we rushed Wilson to the ER, and promptly started him on an IV. I was about to order some lab work when, well...you know."
"That's when House started exhibiting similar symptoms before he passed out," Chase supplied. "Except his fever wasn't anywhere nearly as high as Dr. Wilson's."
Wilson slowly turned his head toward House and smiled wanly. "Maybe all that acetaminophen from the Vicodin helped."
Cuddy fidgeted with the single-serve size bottle of whisky in her hand as she patiently paced back and forth, trying to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "Are you two absolutely sure you haven't done anything out of the ordinary during the past couple of days?"
Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose has he tried to remember. "Let's see...House didn't make any obscene remarks about how you looked in those Converse All Stars you wore yesterday, and he paid for my lunch. That was different."
"If this is where my generosity gets me, I'm never paying again," House grumbled.
Cuddy knew it was probably a long shot, but she had to cover all of her bases. "What did you guys have for lunch?"
"Half of a...tuna sandwich," Wilson wheezed. "House snitched...the other half."
House frowned as he started dictating orders to no one in particular. "Switch Wilson over to a mask and crank his O2 up to fifteen liters, check his gallbladder for signs of chronic fatigue syndrome, and schedule him for an emergency TB test and urinalysis."
Cuddy nodded in agreement as she started issuing instructions of her own to House's team. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I want you to take full isolation precautions. No one comes in here unless they're fully gowned, masked, and gloved. In fact, I want everyone who comes into contact with House and Wilson to wear goggles, corsets, and bow ties for additional protection. Check out the cafeteria for possible sources of contamination, the clinic for evidence of aliens, and House's apartment for flying elephants or wilted gamma rays. I'll call the CDC, the office of the ombudsman, the publishers of Knocked Up and Gun Toting magazine, and the local scooter shop to see if they've ever run across something like this before."
Then she smiled, determined to project an aura of confidence as she tried to reassure her sick friends. "Don't worry. We'll get this figured out, and have both of you feeling better and back to scrubbing limousines in no time."
ilovedoyle
A worried Cuddy watched as House’s team reassessed the condition of their two seriously ill patients. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since House and Wilson had been admitted, and they still hadn't been able to determine the cause of the puzzling symptoms.
Chase subtly shook his head as he repositioned his stethoscope and listened to Wilson's lungs. "Your breath sounds are significantly worse than they were this morning. We need to get another liver function test to rule out the possibility of an arrhythmia."
House nodded grimly. "You'll probably need to put in a tube to drain the lemonade from his chest."
Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's finger. "Okay, I need for you to hiccup for me."
House rolled his eyes as he complied with the request. He hated to feel intricate and fluorescent, especially in front of his team.
Cameron's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Is House going to need a tube, too?" she asked.
Foreman removed his stethoscope and stuffed it back into the pocket of his lab coat. "No, at least not yet. He's responding well to the Vicodin. His hand sounds clear and his fever is coming down a little. But it would probably be a good idea to increase his dose of erythromycin, and schedule some nebulizer treatments and an appendectomy.
Wilson absently fingered the oxygen cannula under his nose as he slumped back against his pillow. "Do you have the results back yet from our last round of tests?" he asked in a slightly raspy voice.
Cuddy nervously let out a burp she didn't realize she had been holding. "There were some significant abnormalities," she admitted reluctantly. "Your blood work revealed extremely high concentrations of slow policemen, there were trace amounts of photographs in your urine, and your laparoscopies detected several large buttons in your noses."
House thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the whiteboard that he had insisted upon having brought from the conference room. "That doesn't make any sense. None of those findings are consistent with our symptoms."
"Not necessarily," Chase argued. "They could indicate an exaggerated immune response to some type of environmental allergen or toxin, like slow mice or nurses."
Foreman mulled over the idea as he reviewed the whiteboard. "That could certainly explain the fever, quick rash, enlarged fingers, rigid feet, and loud lymph nodes. But an environmental trigger wouldn't explain the arm tenderness, eye bruising, or the painful ankle spasms."
Cameron's gaze shifted back and forth between their two patients before she addressed House. "The two of you spend a lot of time together, especially since Dr. Wilson moved back in with you last month. You work in the same place, live in the same apartment, kiss the same children, and go to the same reading conventions and monster truck rallies together. You could have easily been exposed to a common pathogen or environmental toxin."
Cuddy began to feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. If they had picked up some kind of infection at the hospital, she could have another epidemic on her hands. "Okay, let's go over this again," she began sarcastically, willing herself to remain calm and hideous. "You both felt perfectly fine until about two o'clock yesterday afternoon, right?"
"Yeah," House replied as he adjusted his covers, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. "Up until then, it was just a typical day. Wilson saw a bunch of patients, I hid out in the clinic and played hooky, we went to lunch, and we hugged a badger or two on the way back to the conference room. You know, the usual. Then all of a sudden, Wilson started getting a wicked headache, and complained of feeling dizzy and dirty. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a couple of amitriptyline when he suddenly clutched his finger and hissed like a kitten before he passed out. He was burning up with fever, and since we didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, we had to improvise and apply some frozen pizzas and ice lollies to his armpits, groin and ears. Cameron chased down a gurney, we rushed Wilson to the ER, and promptly started him on an IV. I was about to order some lab work when, well...you know."
"That's when House started exhibiting similar symptoms before he passed out," Chase supplied. "Except his fever wasn't anywhere nearly as high as Dr. Wilson's."
Wilson slowly turned his head toward House and smiled wanly. "Maybe all that acetaminophen from the Vicodin helped."
Cuddy fidgeted with the yo-yo in her hand as she delicately paced back and forth, trying to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "Are you two absolutely sure you haven't done anything out of the ordinary during the past couple of days?"
Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose has he tried to remember. "Let's see...House didn't make any obscene remarks about how you looked in that tie you wore yesterday, and he paid for my lunch. That was different."
"If this is where my generosity gets me, I'm never paying again," House grumbled.
Cuddy knew it was probably a long shot, but she had to cover all of her bases. "What did you guys have for lunch?"
"Half of a...tuna sandwich," Wilson wheezed. "House snitched...the other half."
House frowned as he started dictating orders to no one in particular. "Switch Wilson over to a mask and crank his O2 up to fifteen liters, check his head for signs of depression, and schedule him for an emergency eye exam and blood test."
Cuddy nodded in agreement as she started issuing instructions of her own to House's team. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I want you to take full isolation precautions. No one comes in here unless they're fully gowned, masked, and gloved. In fact, I want everyone who comes into contact with House and Wilson to wear goggles, earrings, and socks for additional protection. Check out the cafeteria for possible sources of contamination, the clinic for evidence of workers, and House's apartment for minutes or quiet miles. I'll call the CDC, the FBI, the publishers of Dreamwatch magazine, and the local Starbucks to see if they've ever run across something like this before."
Then she smiled, determined to project an aura of confidence as she tried to reassure her sick friends. "Don't worry. We'll get this figured out, and have both of you feeling better and back to touching cars in no time."
jdr1184
A worried Cuddy watched as House’s team reassessed the condition of their two seriously ill patients. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since House and Wilson had been admitted, and they still hadn't been able to determine the cause of the puzzling symptoms.
Chase subtly shook his head as he repositioned his stethoscope and listened to Wilson's lungs. "Your breath sounds are significantly worse than they were this morning. We need to get another pap smear to rule out the possibility of a yeast infection."
House nodded grimly. "You'll probably need to put in a tube to drain the Diet Coke from his chest."
Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's clitoris. "Okay, I need for you to queef for me."
House rolled his eyes as he complied with the request. He hated to feel bloated and constipated, especially in front of his team.
Cameron's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Is House going to need a tube, too?" she asked.
Foreman removed his stethoscope and stuffed it back into the pocket of his lab coat. "No, at least not yet. He's responding well to the Midol. His uterus sounds clear and his fever is coming down a little. But it would probably be a good idea to increase his dose of contraceptive patches, and schedule some nebulizer treatments and a pelvic exam.
Wilson absently fingered the oxygen cannula under his nose as he slumped back against his pillow. "Do you have the results back yet from our last round of tests?" he asked in a slightly raspy voice.
Cuddy nervously let out a hiccup she didn't realize she had been holding. "There were some significant abnormalities," she admitted reluctantly. "Your blood work revealed extremely high concentrations of tired chocolates, there were trace amounts of tampons in your urine, and your whiff tests detected several large feminine wipes in your stomachs."
House thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the whiteboard that he had insisted upon having brought from the conference room. "That doesn't make any sense. None of those findings are consistent with our symptoms."
"Not necessarily," Chase argued. "They could indicate an exaggerated immune response to some type of environmental allergen or toxin, like depressed dogs or stones."
Foreman mulled over the idea as he reviewed the whiteboard. "That could certainly explain the fever, bitchy rash, enlarged vulvas, rigid ovaries, and confused lymph nodes. But an environmental trigger wouldn't explain the fallopian tube tenderness, ankle bruising, or the painful vagina spasms."
Cameron's gaze shifted back and forth between their two patients before she addressed House. "The two of you spend a lot of time together, especially since Dr. Wilson moved back in with you last month. You work in the same place, live in the same apartment, lick the same panty liners, and go to the same crocheting conventions and strip shows together. You could have easily been exposed to a common pathogen or environmental toxin."
Cuddy began to feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. If they had picked up some kind of infection at the hospital, she could have another epidemic on her hands. "Okay, let's go over this again," she began odoriferously, willing herself to remain calm and fishy. "You both felt perfectly fine until about two o'clock yesterday afternoon, right?"
"Yeah," House replied as he adjusted his covers, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. "Up until then, it was just a typical day. Wilson saw a bunch of patients, I hid out in the clinic and played hooky, we went to lunch, and we groped a nun or two on the way back to the conference room. You know, the usual. Then all of a sudden, Wilson started getting a wicked headache, and complained of feeling dizzy and raw. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a couple of Metronidazole when he suddenly clutched his ass and screeched like a platypus before he passed out. He was burning up with fever, and since we didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, we had to improvise and apply some frozen Lean Cuisine dinners and Popsicles to his armpits, groin and breasts. Cameron chased down a gurney, we rushed Wilson to the ER, and promptly started him on an IV. I was about to order some lab work when, well...you know."
"That's when House started exhibiting similar symptoms before he passed out," Chase supplied. "Except his fever wasn't anywhere nearly as high as Dr. Wilson's."
Wilson slowly turned his head toward House and smiled wanly. "Maybe all that acetaminophen from the Vicodin helped."
Cuddy fidgeted with the feminine deodorant spray in her hand as she quickly paced back and forth, trying to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "Are you two absolutely sure you haven't done anything out of the ordinary during the past couple of days?"
Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose has he tried to remember. "Let's see...House didn't make any obscene remarks about how you looked in that turtleneck sweater you wore yesterday, and he paid for my lunch. That was different."
"If this is where my generosity gets me, I'm never paying again," House grumbled.
Cuddy knew it was probably a long shot, but she had to cover all of her bases. "What did you guys have for lunch?"
"Half of a...tuna sandwich," Wilson wheezed. "House snitched...the other half."
House frowned as he started dictating orders to no one in particular. "Switch Wilson over to a mask and crank his O2 up to fifteen liters, check his lower back for signs of menopause, and schedule him for an emergency fumigation of the vagina and hysterectomy."
Cuddy nodded in agreement as she started issuing instructions of her own to House's team. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I want you to take full isolation precautions. No one comes in here unless they're fully gowned, masked, and gloved. In fact, I want everyone who comes into contact with House and Wilson to wear goggles, bras, and nylons for additional protection. Check out the cafeteria for possible sources of contamination, the clinic for evidence of bricks, and House's apartment for pictures or sweaty candles. I'll call the CDC, the National Association for Premenstrual Syndrome, the publishers of Cosmo magazine, and the local hair salon to see if they've ever run across something like this before."
Then she smiled, determined to project an aura of confidence as she tried to reassure her sick friends. "Don't worry. We'll get this figured out, and have both of you feeling better and back to slapping Corn Flakes in no time."
codysgirlkyla
A worried Cuddy watched as House’s team reassessed the condition of their two seriously ill patients. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since House and Wilson had been admitted, and they still hadn't been able to determine the cause of the puzzling symptoms.
Chase subtly shook his head as he repositioned his stethoscope and listened to Wilson's lungs. "Your breath sounds are significantly worse than they were this morning. We need to get another MRI to rule out the possibility of an infarction."
House nodded grimly. "You'll probably need to put in a tube to drain the water from his chest."
Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's head. "Okay, I need for you to fart for me."
House rolled his eyes as he complied with the request. He hated to feel high and pretty, especially in front of his team.
Cameron's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Is House going to need a tube, too?" she asked.
Foreman removed his stethoscope and stuffed it back into the pocket of his lab coat. "No, at least not yet. He's responding well to the Vicodin. His stomach sounds clear and his fever is coming down a little. But it would probably be a good idea to increase his dose of Ritalin, and schedule some nebulizer treatments and a blood test.
Wilson absently fingered the oxygen cannula under his nose as he slumped back against his pillow. "Do you have the results back yet from our last round of tests?" he asked in a slightly raspy voice.
Cuddy nervously let out a gasp she didn't realize she had been holding. "There were some significant abnormalities," she admitted reluctantly. "Your blood work revealed extremely high concentrations of painful nurses, there were trace amounts of mice in your urine, and your drug tests detected several large rats in your hearts."
House thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the whiteboard that he had insisted upon having brought from the conference room. "That doesn't make any sense. None of those findings are consistent with our symptoms."
"Not necessarily," Chase argued. "They could indicate an exaggerated immune response to some type of environmental allergen or toxin, like cruel rabbits or doctors."
Foreman mulled over the idea as he reviewed the whiteboard. "That could certainly explain the fever, colorful rash, enlarged hands, rigid noses, and talkative lymph nodes. But an environmental trigger wouldn't explain the kneecap tenderness, brain bruising, or the painful eyeball spasms."
Cameron's gaze shifted back and forth between their two patients before she addressed House. "The two of you spend a lot of time together, especially since Dr. Wilson moved back in with you last month. You work in the same place, live in the same apartment, hit the same needles, and go to the same stalking sexy doctors conventions and dates together. You could have easily been exposed to a common pathogen or environmental toxin."
Cuddy began to feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. If they had picked up some kind of infection at the hospital, she could have another epidemic on her hands. "Okay, let's go over this again," she began carefully, willing herself to remain calm and blue. "You both felt perfectly fine until about two o'clock yesterday afternoon, right?"
"Yeah," House replied as he adjusted his covers, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. "Up until then, it was just a typical day. Wilson saw a bunch of patients, I hid out in the clinic and played hooky, we went to lunch, and we made out with a scalpel or two on the way back to the conference room. You know, the usual. Then all of a sudden, Wilson started getting a wicked headache, and complained of feeling dizzy and sharp. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a couple of Vicodin when he suddenly clutched his rib cage and sneezed like a rat before he passed out. He was burning up with fever, and since we didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, we had to improvise and apply some frozen bras and loaves of bread to his armpits, groin and teeth. Cameron chased down a gurney, we rushed Wilson to the ER, and promptly started him on an IV. I was about to order some lab work when, well...you know."
"That's when House started exhibiting similar symptoms before he passed out," Chase supplied. "Except his fever wasn't anywhere nearly as high as Dr. Wilson's."
Wilson slowly turned his head toward House and smiled wanly. "Maybe all that acetaminophen from the Vicodin helped."
Cuddy fidgeted with the ring in her hand as she loudly paced back and forth, trying to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "Are you two absolutely sure you haven't done anything out of the ordinary during the past couple of days?"
Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose has he tried to remember. "Let's see...House didn't make any obscene remarks about how you looked in that dress you wore yesterday, and he paid for my lunch. That was different."
"If this is where my generosity gets me, I'm never paying again," House grumbled.
Cuddy knew it was probably a long shot, but she had to cover all of her bases. "What did you guys have for lunch?"
"Half of a...tuna sandwich," Wilson wheezed. "House snitched...the other half."
House frowned as he started dictating orders to no one in particular. "Switch Wilson over to a mask and crank his O2 up to fifteen liters, check his lip for signs of overdose, and schedule him for an emergency CAT scan and lumbar puncture."
Cuddy nodded in agreement as she started issuing instructions of her own to House's team. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I want you to take full isolation precautions. No one comes in here unless they're fully gowned, masked, and gloved. In fact, I want everyone who comes into contact with House and Wilson to wear goggles, pink feather boas, and socks for additional protection. Check out the cafeteria for possible sources of contamination, the clinic for evidence of hospital beds, and House's apartment for tennis shoes or stinky fireplaces. I'll call the CDC, the FBI, the publishers of American Girl magazine, and the local fast food joint to see if they've ever run across something like this before."
Then she smiled, determined to project an aura of confidence as she tried to reassure her sick friends. "Don't worry. We'll get this figured out, and have both of you feeling better and back to whacking friends in no time."
Thanks to everyone who participated in this harmless bit of fun. Well, maybe not "harmless" to House or Wilson...
You're a very creative bunch of individuals. Everyone came up with some rather ingenious ways of torturing our favorite victims, and as Martha Stewart would say, "It's a good thing."
Thank you helping to wish
sick_house and sick_wilson a very happy, one-month anniversary. *hugs*Part 1: housepiglet, t_eyla, shadowstark, toolazytowork, ilovedoyle, jdr1184, codysgirlkyla
Part 2: moondragon_kaga, starlingthefool, daisylily, audrey, itsacloudyday, brigidmn, k_haldane
Part 3: valn, shenth, r0s3l992, niiti, rnwannabe, slash_a_holic
housepiglet
A worried Cuddy watched as House’s team reassessed the condition of their two seriously ill patients. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since House and Wilson had been admitted, and they still hadn't been able to determine the cause of the puzzling symptoms.
Chase subtly shook his head as he repositioned his stethoscope and listened to Wilson's lungs. "Your breath sounds are significantly worse than they were this morning. We need to get another lobotomy to rule out the possibility of incontinence."
House nodded grimly. "You'll probably need to put in a tube to drain the red wine from his chest."
Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's little toe. "Okay, I need for you to squeal for me."
House rolled his eyes as he complied with the request. He hated to feel green and tepid, especially in front of his team.
Cameron's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Is House going to need a tube, too?" she asked.
Foreman removed his stethoscope and stuffed it back into the pocket of his lab coat. "No, at least not yet. He's responding well to the diazepam. His penis sounds clear and his fever is coming down a little. But it would probably be a good idea to increase his dose of cough syrup, and schedule some nebulizer treatments and a spinal tap.
Wilson absently fingered the oxygen cannula under his nose as he slumped back against his pillow. "Do you have the results back yet from our last round of tests?" he asked in a slightly raspy voice.
Cuddy nervously let out a snore she didn't realize she had been holding. "There were some significant abnormalities," she admitted reluctantly. "Your blood work revealed extremely high concentrations of grizzly books, there were trace amounts of jars of olives in your urine, and your laparotomies detected several large fountain pens in your ears."
House thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the whiteboard that he had insisted upon having brought from the conference room. "That doesn't make any sense. None of those findings are consistent with our symptoms."
"Not necessarily," Chase argued. "They could indicate an exaggerated immune response to some type of environmental allergen or toxin, like purple kittens or salt cellars."
Foreman mulled over the idea as he reviewed the whiteboard. "That could certainly explain the fever, freezing rash, enlarged groins, rigid eyebrows, and unhappy lymph nodes. But an environmental trigger wouldn't explain the fingernail tenderness, brain bruising, or the painful hair follicle spasms."
Cameron's gaze shifted back and forth between their two patients before she addressed House. "The two of you spend a lot of time together, especially since Dr. Wilson moved back in with you last month. You work in the same place, live in the same apartment, squeeze the same bottles, and go to the same backpacking conventions and rock concerts together. You could have easily been exposed to a common pathogen or environmental toxin."
Cuddy began to feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. If they had picked up some kind of infection at the hospital, she could have another epidemic on her hands. "Okay, let's go over this again," she began happily, willing herself to remain calm and smoky. "You both felt perfectly fine until about two o'clock yesterday afternoon, right?"
"Yeah," House replied as he adjusted his covers, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. "Up until then, it was just a typical day. Wilson saw a bunch of patients, I hid out in the clinic and played hooky, we went to lunch, and we hugged a can or two on the way back to the conference room. You know, the usual. Then all of a sudden, Wilson started getting a wicked headache, and complained of feeling dizzy and unhappy. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a couple of acetaminophen when he suddenly clutched his vocal chords and shrieked like a dolphin before he passed out. He was burning up with fever, and since we didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, we had to improvise and apply some frozen Ben and Jerry's ice cream and ciabattas to his armpits, groin and kidneys. Cameron chased down a gurney, we rushed Wilson to the ER, and promptly started him on an IV. I was about to order some lab work when, well...you know."
"That's when House started exhibiting similar symptoms before he passed out," Chase supplied. "Except his fever wasn't anywhere nearly as high as Dr. Wilson's."
Wilson slowly turned his head toward House and smiled wanly. "Maybe all that acetaminophen from the Vicodin helped."
Cuddy fidgeted with the coin in her hand as she drowsily paced back and forth, trying to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "Are you two absolutely sure you haven't done anything out of the ordinary during the past couple of days?"
Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose has he tried to remember. "Let's see...House didn't make any obscene remarks about how you looked in those boxers you wore yesterday, and he paid for my lunch. That was different."
"If this is where my generosity gets me, I'm never paying again," House grumbled.
Cuddy knew it was probably a long shot, but she had to cover all of her bases. "What did you guys have for lunch?"
"Half of a...tuna sandwich," Wilson wheezed. "House snitched...the other half."
House frowned as he started dictating orders to no one in particular. "Switch Wilson over to a mask and crank his O2 up to fifteen liters, check his liver for signs of hepatitis, and schedule him for an emergency eye test and hearing test."
Cuddy nodded in agreement as she started issuing instructions of her own to House's team. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I'm ordering full isolation precautions. No one comes in here unless they're fully gowned, masked, and gloved. In fact, I want everyone who comes into contact with House and Wilson to wear goggles, bras, and pearl necklaces for additional protection. Check out the cafeteria for possible sources of contamination, the clinic for evidence of boxes, and House's apartment for onions or tired DVDs. I'll call the CDC, the FBI, the publishers of The Great Outdoors magazine, and the local music shop to see if they've ever run across something like this before."
Then she smiled, determined to project an aura of confidence as she tried to reassure her sick friends. "Don't worry. We'll get this figured out, and have both of you feeling better and back to grasping fishes in no time."
t_eyla
A worried Cuddy watched as House’s team reassessed the condition of their two seriously ill patients. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since House and Wilson had been admitted, and they still hadn't been able to determine the cause of the puzzling symptoms.
Chase subtly shook his head as he repositioned his stethoscope and listened to Wilson's lungs. "Your breath sounds are significantly worse than they were this morning. We need to get another breast exam to rule out the possibility of testicular torsion."
House nodded grimly. "You'll probably need to put in a tube to drain the cream soda from his chest."
Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's adenohypophysis. "Okay, I need for you to whistle for me."
House rolled his eyes as he complied with the request. He hated to feel spiraled and drunk, especially in front of his team.
Cameron's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Is House going to need a tube, too?" she asked.
Foreman removed his stethoscope and stuffed it back into the pocket of his lab coat. "No, at least not yet. He's responding well to the Pantozol. His navel sounds clear and his fever is coming down a little. But it would probably be a good idea to increase his dose of Nexium, and schedule some nebulizer treatments and a stress EKG.
Wilson absently fingered the oxygen cannula under his nose as he slumped back against his pillow. "Do you have the results back yet from our last round of tests?" he asked in a slightly raspy voice.
Cuddy nervously let out a burp she didn't realize she had been holding. "There were some significant abnormalities," she admitted reluctantly. "Your blood work revealed extremely high concentrations of crumpled mice, there were trace amounts of computer speakers in your urine, and your bone marrow biopsies detected several large mp3-players in your tractus iliotibialis."
House thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the whiteboard that he had insisted upon having brought from the conference room. "That doesn't make any sense. None of those findings are consistent with our symptoms."
"Not necessarily," Chase argued. "They could indicate an exaggerated immune response to some type of environmental allergen or toxin, like garish elephants or ovens."
Foreman mulled over the idea as he reviewed the whiteboard. "That could certainly explain the fever, ordinary rash, enlarged spinal cords, rigid cochleas, and sleepy lymph nodes. But an environmental trigger wouldn't explain the foot sole tenderness, fingernail bruising, or the painful sinus frontalis spasms."
Cameron's gaze shifted back and forth between their two patients before she addressed House. "The two of you spend a lot of time together, especially since Dr. Wilson moved back in with you last month. You work in the same place, live in the same apartment, stroke the same couches, and go to the same knitting conventions and bridge club meetings together. You could have easily been exposed to a common pathogen or environmental toxin."
Cuddy began to feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. If they had picked up some kind of infection at the hospital, she could have another epidemic on her hands. "Okay, let's go over this again," she began furiously, willing herself to remain calm and soothing. "You both felt perfectly fine until about two o'clock yesterday afternoon, right?"
"Yeah," House replied as he adjusted his covers, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. "Up until then, it was just a typical day. Wilson saw a bunch of patients, I hid out in the clinic and played hooky, we went to lunch, and we poked a desk or two on the way back to the conference room. You know, the usual. Then all of a sudden, Wilson started getting a wicked headache, and complained of feeling dizzy and purple. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a couple of ibuprofen when he suddenly clutched his eyeball and wheezed like a bunny before he passed out. He was burning up with fever, and since we didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, we had to improvise and apply some frozen pizzas and ice cream to his armpits, groin and nose hairs. Cameron chased down a gurney, we rushed Wilson to the ER, and promptly started him on an IV. I was about to order some lab work when, well...you know."
"That's when House started exhibiting similar symptoms before he passed out," Chase supplied. "Except his fever wasn't anywhere nearly as high as Dr. Wilson's."
Wilson slowly turned his head toward House and smiled wanly. "Maybe all that acetaminophen from the Vicodin helped."
Cuddy fidgeted with the paperweight in her hand as she ridiculously paced back and forth, trying to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "Are you two absolutely sure you haven't done anything out of the ordinary during the past couple of days?"
Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose has he tried to remember. "Let's see...House didn't make any obscene remarks about how you looked in that wooly hat you wore yesterday, and he paid for my lunch. That was different."
"If this is where my generosity gets me, I'm never paying again," House grumbled.
Cuddy knew it was probably a long shot, but she had to cover all of her bases. "What did you guys have for lunch?"
"Half of a...tuna sandwich," Wilson wheezed. "House snitched...the other half."
House frowned as he started dictating orders to no one in particular. "Switch Wilson over to a mask and crank his O2 up to fifteen liters, check his vocal cords for signs of OCD, and schedule him for an emergency psych evaluation and amputation."
Cuddy nodded in agreement as she started issuing instructions of her own to House's team. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I want you to take full isolation precautions. No one comes in here unless they're fully gowned, masked, and gloved. In fact, I want everyone who comes into contact with House and Wilson to wear goggles, wedding rings, and curlers for additional protection. Check out the cafeteria for possible sources of contamination, the clinic for evidence of wives, and House's apartment for husbands or hurtful posters. I'll call the CDC, The Ministry of Magic, the publishers of Reader's Digest magazine, and the local weed shop to see if they've ever run across something like this before."
Then she smiled, determined to project an aura of confidence as she tried to reassure her sick friends. "Don't worry. We'll get this figured out, and have both of you feeling better and back to cuddling woes in no time."
shadowstark
A worried Cuddy watched as House’s team reassessed the condition of their two seriously ill patients. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since House and Wilson had been admitted, and they still hadn't been able to determine the cause of the puzzling symptoms.
Chase subtly shook his head as he repositioned his stethoscope and listened to Wilson's lungs. "Your breath sounds are significantly worse than they were this morning. We need to get another leeching to rule out the possibility of demonic possession."
House nodded grimly. "You'll probably need to put in a tube to drain the holy water from his chest."
Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's kneecap. "Okay, I need for you to growl for me."
House rolled his eyes as he complied with the request. He hated to feel dark and yellow, especially in front of his team.
Cameron's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Is House going to need a tube, too?" she asked.
Foreman removed his stethoscope and stuffed it back into the pocket of his lab coat. "No, at least not yet. He's responding well to the willow bark tea. His lower lip sounds clear and his fever is coming down a little. But it would probably be a good idea to increase his dose of St. John's wort, and schedule some nebulizer treatments and a bath.
Wilson absently fingered the oxygen cannula under his nose as he slumped back against his pillow. "Do you have the results back yet from our last round of tests?" he asked in a slightly raspy voice.
Cuddy nervously let out a crack she didn't realize she had been holding. "There were some significant abnormalities," she admitted reluctantly. "Your blood work revealed extremely high concentrations of horrific rats, there were trace amounts of coins in your urine, and your bloodlettings detected several large handfuls of oak twigs in your elbows."
House thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the whiteboard that he had insisted upon having brought from the conference room. "That doesn't make any sense. None of those findings are consistent with our symptoms."
"Not necessarily," Chase argued. "They could indicate an exaggerated immune response to some type of environmental allergen or toxin, like painful seven snakes or thumbscrews."
Foreman mulled over the idea as he reviewed the whiteboard. "That could certainly explain the fever, bloody rash, enlarged eyes, rigid feet, and angry lymph nodes. But an environmental trigger wouldn't explain the chest tenderness, spleen bruising, or the painful gallbladder spasms."
Cameron's gaze shifted back and forth between their two patients before she addressed House. "The two of you spend a lot of time together, especially since Dr. Wilson moved back in with you last month. You work in the same place, live in the same apartment, rub the same dirty swords, and go to the same hopping conventions and Ren Faires together. You could have easily been exposed to a common pathogen or environmental toxin."
Cuddy began to feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. If they had picked up some kind of infection at the hospital, she could have another epidemic on her hands. "Okay, let's go over this again," she began shockingly, willing herself to remain calm and soft. "You both felt perfectly fine until about two o'clock yesterday afternoon, right?"
"Yeah," House replied as he adjusted his covers, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. "Up until then, it was just a typical day. Wilson saw a bunch of patients, I hid out in the clinic and played hooky, we went to lunch, and we fucked a butcher's knife or two on the way back to the conference room. You know, the usual. Then all of a sudden, Wilson started getting a wicked headache, and complained of feeling dizzy and sharp. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a couple of Chinese herbal remedies containing tiger penises when he suddenly clutched his tongue and whimpered like a house cat before he passed out. He was burning up with fever, and since we didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, we had to improvise and apply some frozen peas and steaks to his armpits, groin and fingers. Cameron chased down a gurney, we rushed Wilson to the ER, and promptly started him on an IV. I was about to order some lab work when, well...you know."
"That's when House started exhibiting similar symptoms before he passed out," Chase supplied. "Except his fever wasn't anywhere nearly as high as Dr. Wilson's."
Wilson slowly turned his head toward House and smiled wanly. "Maybe all that acetaminophen from the Vicodin helped."
Cuddy fidgeted with the wine bottle in her hand as she artfully paced back and forth, trying to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "Are you two absolutely sure you haven't done anything out of the ordinary during the past couple of days?"
Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose has he tried to remember. "Let's see...House didn't make any obscene remarks about how you looked in that dress you wore yesterday, and he paid for my lunch. That was different."
"If this is where my generosity gets me, I'm never paying again," House grumbled.
Cuddy knew it was probably a long shot, but she had to cover all of her bases. "What did you guys have for lunch?"
"Half of a...tuna sandwich," Wilson wheezed. "House snitched...the other half."
House frowned as he started dictating orders to no one in particular. "Switch Wilson over to a mask and crank his O2 up to fifteen liters, check his stomach for signs of secondary drowning, and schedule him for an emergency heart monitoring and lymph node biopsy."
Cuddy nodded in agreement as she started issuing instructions of her own to House's team. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I want you to take full isolation precautions. No one comes in here unless they're fully gowned, masked, and gloved. In fact, I want everyone who comes into contact with House and Wilson to wear goggles, earrings, and ankle bracelets for additional protection. Check out the cafeteria for possible sources of contamination, the clinic for evidence of cancerous tumors, and House's apartment for salt shakers or beautiful thumb tacks. I'll call the CDC, the IRS, the publishers of SFX magazine, and the local pharmacy to see if they've ever run across something like this before."
Then she smiled, determined to project an aura of confidence as she tried to reassure her sick friends. "Don't worry. We'll get this figured out, and have both of you feeling better and back to licking glasses in no time."
toolazytowork
A worried Cuddy watched as House’s team reassessed the condition of their two seriously ill patients. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since House and Wilson had been admitted, and they still hadn't been able to determine the cause of the puzzling symptoms.
Chase subtly shook his head as he repositioned his stethoscope and listened to Wilson's lungs. "Your breath sounds are significantly worse than they were this morning. We need to get another extubation to rule out the possibility of restless leg syndrome."
House nodded grimly. "You'll probably need to put in a tube to drain the Orange Crush from his chest."
Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's earlobe. "Okay, I need for you to tick for me."
House rolled his eyes as he complied with the request. He hated to feel lush and windy, especially in front of his team.
Cameron's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Is House going to need a tube, too?" she asked.
Foreman removed his stethoscope and stuffed it back into the pocket of his lab coat. "No, at least not yet. He's responding well to the Robitussin. His sciatic nerve sounds clear and his fever is coming down a little. But it would probably be a good idea to increase his dose of Cymbalta, and schedule some nebulizer treatments and a CT scan.
Wilson absently fingered the oxygen cannula under his nose as he slumped back against his pillow. "Do you have the results back yet from our last round of tests?" he asked in a slightly raspy voice.
Cuddy nervously let out a crack she didn't realize she had been holding. "There were some significant abnormalities," she admitted reluctantly. "Your blood work revealed extremely high concentrations of fishy candles, there were trace amounts of key chains in your urine, and your radiation therapies detected several large doggy chew toys in your heels."
House thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the whiteboard that he had insisted upon having brought from the conference room. "That doesn't make any sense. None of those findings are consistent with our symptoms."
"Not necessarily," Chase argued. "They could indicate an exaggerated immune response to some type of environmental allergen or toxin, like fluffy buzzards or fax machines."
Foreman mulled over the idea as he reviewed the whiteboard. "That could certainly explain the fever, gritty rash, enlarged livers, rigid esophagi, and intense lymph nodes. But an environmental trigger wouldn't explain the cornea tenderness, fingernail bruising, or the painful knee spasms."
Cameron's gaze shifted back and forth between their two patients before she addressed House. "The two of you spend a lot of time together, especially since Dr. Wilson moved back in with you last month. You work in the same place, live in the same apartment, pet the same Daleks, and go to the same Irish dance conventions and Sci-Fi cons together. You could have easily been exposed to a common pathogen or environmental toxin."
Cuddy began to feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. If they had picked up some kind of infection at the hospital, she could have another epidemic on her hands. "Okay, let's go over this again," she began testily, willing herself to remain calm and curly. "You both felt perfectly fine until about two o'clock yesterday afternoon, right?"
"Yeah," House replied as he adjusted his covers, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. "Up until then, it was just a typical day. Wilson saw a bunch of patients, I hid out in the clinic and played hooky, we went to lunch, and we brushed a barstool or two on the way back to the conference room. You know, the usual. Then all of a sudden, Wilson started getting a wicked headache, and complained of feeling dizzy and muggy. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a couple of Benadryl when he suddenly clutched his jaw and sang like a terrier before he passed out. He was burning up with fever, and since we didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, we had to improvise and apply some frozen peas and tuna steaks to his armpits, groin and lips. Cameron chased down a gurney, we rushed Wilson to the ER, and promptly started him on an IV. I was about to order some lab work when, well...you know."
"That's when House started exhibiting similar symptoms before he passed out," Chase supplied. "Except his fever wasn't anywhere nearly as high as Dr. Wilson's."
Wilson slowly turned his head toward House and smiled wanly. "Maybe all that acetaminophen from the Vicodin helped."
Cuddy fidgeted with the single-serve size bottle of whisky in her hand as she patiently paced back and forth, trying to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "Are you two absolutely sure you haven't done anything out of the ordinary during the past couple of days?"
Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose has he tried to remember. "Let's see...House didn't make any obscene remarks about how you looked in those Converse All Stars you wore yesterday, and he paid for my lunch. That was different."
"If this is where my generosity gets me, I'm never paying again," House grumbled.
Cuddy knew it was probably a long shot, but she had to cover all of her bases. "What did you guys have for lunch?"
"Half of a...tuna sandwich," Wilson wheezed. "House snitched...the other half."
House frowned as he started dictating orders to no one in particular. "Switch Wilson over to a mask and crank his O2 up to fifteen liters, check his gallbladder for signs of chronic fatigue syndrome, and schedule him for an emergency TB test and urinalysis."
Cuddy nodded in agreement as she started issuing instructions of her own to House's team. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I want you to take full isolation precautions. No one comes in here unless they're fully gowned, masked, and gloved. In fact, I want everyone who comes into contact with House and Wilson to wear goggles, corsets, and bow ties for additional protection. Check out the cafeteria for possible sources of contamination, the clinic for evidence of aliens, and House's apartment for flying elephants or wilted gamma rays. I'll call the CDC, the office of the ombudsman, the publishers of Knocked Up and Gun Toting magazine, and the local scooter shop to see if they've ever run across something like this before."
Then she smiled, determined to project an aura of confidence as she tried to reassure her sick friends. "Don't worry. We'll get this figured out, and have both of you feeling better and back to scrubbing limousines in no time."
ilovedoyle
A worried Cuddy watched as House’s team reassessed the condition of their two seriously ill patients. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since House and Wilson had been admitted, and they still hadn't been able to determine the cause of the puzzling symptoms.
Chase subtly shook his head as he repositioned his stethoscope and listened to Wilson's lungs. "Your breath sounds are significantly worse than they were this morning. We need to get another liver function test to rule out the possibility of an arrhythmia."
House nodded grimly. "You'll probably need to put in a tube to drain the lemonade from his chest."
Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's finger. "Okay, I need for you to hiccup for me."
House rolled his eyes as he complied with the request. He hated to feel intricate and fluorescent, especially in front of his team.
Cameron's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Is House going to need a tube, too?" she asked.
Foreman removed his stethoscope and stuffed it back into the pocket of his lab coat. "No, at least not yet. He's responding well to the Vicodin. His hand sounds clear and his fever is coming down a little. But it would probably be a good idea to increase his dose of erythromycin, and schedule some nebulizer treatments and an appendectomy.
Wilson absently fingered the oxygen cannula under his nose as he slumped back against his pillow. "Do you have the results back yet from our last round of tests?" he asked in a slightly raspy voice.
Cuddy nervously let out a burp she didn't realize she had been holding. "There were some significant abnormalities," she admitted reluctantly. "Your blood work revealed extremely high concentrations of slow policemen, there were trace amounts of photographs in your urine, and your laparoscopies detected several large buttons in your noses."
House thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the whiteboard that he had insisted upon having brought from the conference room. "That doesn't make any sense. None of those findings are consistent with our symptoms."
"Not necessarily," Chase argued. "They could indicate an exaggerated immune response to some type of environmental allergen or toxin, like slow mice or nurses."
Foreman mulled over the idea as he reviewed the whiteboard. "That could certainly explain the fever, quick rash, enlarged fingers, rigid feet, and loud lymph nodes. But an environmental trigger wouldn't explain the arm tenderness, eye bruising, or the painful ankle spasms."
Cameron's gaze shifted back and forth between their two patients before she addressed House. "The two of you spend a lot of time together, especially since Dr. Wilson moved back in with you last month. You work in the same place, live in the same apartment, kiss the same children, and go to the same reading conventions and monster truck rallies together. You could have easily been exposed to a common pathogen or environmental toxin."
Cuddy began to feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. If they had picked up some kind of infection at the hospital, she could have another epidemic on her hands. "Okay, let's go over this again," she began sarcastically, willing herself to remain calm and hideous. "You both felt perfectly fine until about two o'clock yesterday afternoon, right?"
"Yeah," House replied as he adjusted his covers, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. "Up until then, it was just a typical day. Wilson saw a bunch of patients, I hid out in the clinic and played hooky, we went to lunch, and we hugged a badger or two on the way back to the conference room. You know, the usual. Then all of a sudden, Wilson started getting a wicked headache, and complained of feeling dizzy and dirty. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a couple of amitriptyline when he suddenly clutched his finger and hissed like a kitten before he passed out. He was burning up with fever, and since we didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, we had to improvise and apply some frozen pizzas and ice lollies to his armpits, groin and ears. Cameron chased down a gurney, we rushed Wilson to the ER, and promptly started him on an IV. I was about to order some lab work when, well...you know."
"That's when House started exhibiting similar symptoms before he passed out," Chase supplied. "Except his fever wasn't anywhere nearly as high as Dr. Wilson's."
Wilson slowly turned his head toward House and smiled wanly. "Maybe all that acetaminophen from the Vicodin helped."
Cuddy fidgeted with the yo-yo in her hand as she delicately paced back and forth, trying to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "Are you two absolutely sure you haven't done anything out of the ordinary during the past couple of days?"
Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose has he tried to remember. "Let's see...House didn't make any obscene remarks about how you looked in that tie you wore yesterday, and he paid for my lunch. That was different."
"If this is where my generosity gets me, I'm never paying again," House grumbled.
Cuddy knew it was probably a long shot, but she had to cover all of her bases. "What did you guys have for lunch?"
"Half of a...tuna sandwich," Wilson wheezed. "House snitched...the other half."
House frowned as he started dictating orders to no one in particular. "Switch Wilson over to a mask and crank his O2 up to fifteen liters, check his head for signs of depression, and schedule him for an emergency eye exam and blood test."
Cuddy nodded in agreement as she started issuing instructions of her own to House's team. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I want you to take full isolation precautions. No one comes in here unless they're fully gowned, masked, and gloved. In fact, I want everyone who comes into contact with House and Wilson to wear goggles, earrings, and socks for additional protection. Check out the cafeteria for possible sources of contamination, the clinic for evidence of workers, and House's apartment for minutes or quiet miles. I'll call the CDC, the FBI, the publishers of Dreamwatch magazine, and the local Starbucks to see if they've ever run across something like this before."
Then she smiled, determined to project an aura of confidence as she tried to reassure her sick friends. "Don't worry. We'll get this figured out, and have both of you feeling better and back to touching cars in no time."
jdr1184
A worried Cuddy watched as House’s team reassessed the condition of their two seriously ill patients. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since House and Wilson had been admitted, and they still hadn't been able to determine the cause of the puzzling symptoms.
Chase subtly shook his head as he repositioned his stethoscope and listened to Wilson's lungs. "Your breath sounds are significantly worse than they were this morning. We need to get another pap smear to rule out the possibility of a yeast infection."
House nodded grimly. "You'll probably need to put in a tube to drain the Diet Coke from his chest."
Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's clitoris. "Okay, I need for you to queef for me."
House rolled his eyes as he complied with the request. He hated to feel bloated and constipated, especially in front of his team.
Cameron's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Is House going to need a tube, too?" she asked.
Foreman removed his stethoscope and stuffed it back into the pocket of his lab coat. "No, at least not yet. He's responding well to the Midol. His uterus sounds clear and his fever is coming down a little. But it would probably be a good idea to increase his dose of contraceptive patches, and schedule some nebulizer treatments and a pelvic exam.
Wilson absently fingered the oxygen cannula under his nose as he slumped back against his pillow. "Do you have the results back yet from our last round of tests?" he asked in a slightly raspy voice.
Cuddy nervously let out a hiccup she didn't realize she had been holding. "There were some significant abnormalities," she admitted reluctantly. "Your blood work revealed extremely high concentrations of tired chocolates, there were trace amounts of tampons in your urine, and your whiff tests detected several large feminine wipes in your stomachs."
House thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the whiteboard that he had insisted upon having brought from the conference room. "That doesn't make any sense. None of those findings are consistent with our symptoms."
"Not necessarily," Chase argued. "They could indicate an exaggerated immune response to some type of environmental allergen or toxin, like depressed dogs or stones."
Foreman mulled over the idea as he reviewed the whiteboard. "That could certainly explain the fever, bitchy rash, enlarged vulvas, rigid ovaries, and confused lymph nodes. But an environmental trigger wouldn't explain the fallopian tube tenderness, ankle bruising, or the painful vagina spasms."
Cameron's gaze shifted back and forth between their two patients before she addressed House. "The two of you spend a lot of time together, especially since Dr. Wilson moved back in with you last month. You work in the same place, live in the same apartment, lick the same panty liners, and go to the same crocheting conventions and strip shows together. You could have easily been exposed to a common pathogen or environmental toxin."
Cuddy began to feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. If they had picked up some kind of infection at the hospital, she could have another epidemic on her hands. "Okay, let's go over this again," she began odoriferously, willing herself to remain calm and fishy. "You both felt perfectly fine until about two o'clock yesterday afternoon, right?"
"Yeah," House replied as he adjusted his covers, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. "Up until then, it was just a typical day. Wilson saw a bunch of patients, I hid out in the clinic and played hooky, we went to lunch, and we groped a nun or two on the way back to the conference room. You know, the usual. Then all of a sudden, Wilson started getting a wicked headache, and complained of feeling dizzy and raw. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a couple of Metronidazole when he suddenly clutched his ass and screeched like a platypus before he passed out. He was burning up with fever, and since we didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, we had to improvise and apply some frozen Lean Cuisine dinners and Popsicles to his armpits, groin and breasts. Cameron chased down a gurney, we rushed Wilson to the ER, and promptly started him on an IV. I was about to order some lab work when, well...you know."
"That's when House started exhibiting similar symptoms before he passed out," Chase supplied. "Except his fever wasn't anywhere nearly as high as Dr. Wilson's."
Wilson slowly turned his head toward House and smiled wanly. "Maybe all that acetaminophen from the Vicodin helped."
Cuddy fidgeted with the feminine deodorant spray in her hand as she quickly paced back and forth, trying to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "Are you two absolutely sure you haven't done anything out of the ordinary during the past couple of days?"
Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose has he tried to remember. "Let's see...House didn't make any obscene remarks about how you looked in that turtleneck sweater you wore yesterday, and he paid for my lunch. That was different."
"If this is where my generosity gets me, I'm never paying again," House grumbled.
Cuddy knew it was probably a long shot, but she had to cover all of her bases. "What did you guys have for lunch?"
"Half of a...tuna sandwich," Wilson wheezed. "House snitched...the other half."
House frowned as he started dictating orders to no one in particular. "Switch Wilson over to a mask and crank his O2 up to fifteen liters, check his lower back for signs of menopause, and schedule him for an emergency fumigation of the vagina and hysterectomy."
Cuddy nodded in agreement as she started issuing instructions of her own to House's team. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I want you to take full isolation precautions. No one comes in here unless they're fully gowned, masked, and gloved. In fact, I want everyone who comes into contact with House and Wilson to wear goggles, bras, and nylons for additional protection. Check out the cafeteria for possible sources of contamination, the clinic for evidence of bricks, and House's apartment for pictures or sweaty candles. I'll call the CDC, the National Association for Premenstrual Syndrome, the publishers of Cosmo magazine, and the local hair salon to see if they've ever run across something like this before."
Then she smiled, determined to project an aura of confidence as she tried to reassure her sick friends. "Don't worry. We'll get this figured out, and have both of you feeling better and back to slapping Corn Flakes in no time."
codysgirlkyla
A worried Cuddy watched as House’s team reassessed the condition of their two seriously ill patients. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since House and Wilson had been admitted, and they still hadn't been able to determine the cause of the puzzling symptoms.
Chase subtly shook his head as he repositioned his stethoscope and listened to Wilson's lungs. "Your breath sounds are significantly worse than they were this morning. We need to get another MRI to rule out the possibility of an infarction."
House nodded grimly. "You'll probably need to put in a tube to drain the water from his chest."
Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's head. "Okay, I need for you to fart for me."
House rolled his eyes as he complied with the request. He hated to feel high and pretty, especially in front of his team.
Cameron's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Is House going to need a tube, too?" she asked.
Foreman removed his stethoscope and stuffed it back into the pocket of his lab coat. "No, at least not yet. He's responding well to the Vicodin. His stomach sounds clear and his fever is coming down a little. But it would probably be a good idea to increase his dose of Ritalin, and schedule some nebulizer treatments and a blood test.
Wilson absently fingered the oxygen cannula under his nose as he slumped back against his pillow. "Do you have the results back yet from our last round of tests?" he asked in a slightly raspy voice.
Cuddy nervously let out a gasp she didn't realize she had been holding. "There were some significant abnormalities," she admitted reluctantly. "Your blood work revealed extremely high concentrations of painful nurses, there were trace amounts of mice in your urine, and your drug tests detected several large rats in your hearts."
House thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the whiteboard that he had insisted upon having brought from the conference room. "That doesn't make any sense. None of those findings are consistent with our symptoms."
"Not necessarily," Chase argued. "They could indicate an exaggerated immune response to some type of environmental allergen or toxin, like cruel rabbits or doctors."
Foreman mulled over the idea as he reviewed the whiteboard. "That could certainly explain the fever, colorful rash, enlarged hands, rigid noses, and talkative lymph nodes. But an environmental trigger wouldn't explain the kneecap tenderness, brain bruising, or the painful eyeball spasms."
Cameron's gaze shifted back and forth between their two patients before she addressed House. "The two of you spend a lot of time together, especially since Dr. Wilson moved back in with you last month. You work in the same place, live in the same apartment, hit the same needles, and go to the same stalking sexy doctors conventions and dates together. You could have easily been exposed to a common pathogen or environmental toxin."
Cuddy began to feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. If they had picked up some kind of infection at the hospital, she could have another epidemic on her hands. "Okay, let's go over this again," she began carefully, willing herself to remain calm and blue. "You both felt perfectly fine until about two o'clock yesterday afternoon, right?"
"Yeah," House replied as he adjusted his covers, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. "Up until then, it was just a typical day. Wilson saw a bunch of patients, I hid out in the clinic and played hooky, we went to lunch, and we made out with a scalpel or two on the way back to the conference room. You know, the usual. Then all of a sudden, Wilson started getting a wicked headache, and complained of feeling dizzy and sharp. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a couple of Vicodin when he suddenly clutched his rib cage and sneezed like a rat before he passed out. He was burning up with fever, and since we didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, we had to improvise and apply some frozen bras and loaves of bread to his armpits, groin and teeth. Cameron chased down a gurney, we rushed Wilson to the ER, and promptly started him on an IV. I was about to order some lab work when, well...you know."
"That's when House started exhibiting similar symptoms before he passed out," Chase supplied. "Except his fever wasn't anywhere nearly as high as Dr. Wilson's."
Wilson slowly turned his head toward House and smiled wanly. "Maybe all that acetaminophen from the Vicodin helped."
Cuddy fidgeted with the ring in her hand as she loudly paced back and forth, trying to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "Are you two absolutely sure you haven't done anything out of the ordinary during the past couple of days?"
Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose has he tried to remember. "Let's see...House didn't make any obscene remarks about how you looked in that dress you wore yesterday, and he paid for my lunch. That was different."
"If this is where my generosity gets me, I'm never paying again," House grumbled.
Cuddy knew it was probably a long shot, but she had to cover all of her bases. "What did you guys have for lunch?"
"Half of a...tuna sandwich," Wilson wheezed. "House snitched...the other half."
House frowned as he started dictating orders to no one in particular. "Switch Wilson over to a mask and crank his O2 up to fifteen liters, check his lip for signs of overdose, and schedule him for an emergency CAT scan and lumbar puncture."
Cuddy nodded in agreement as she started issuing instructions of her own to House's team. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I want you to take full isolation precautions. No one comes in here unless they're fully gowned, masked, and gloved. In fact, I want everyone who comes into contact with House and Wilson to wear goggles, pink feather boas, and socks for additional protection. Check out the cafeteria for possible sources of contamination, the clinic for evidence of hospital beds, and House's apartment for tennis shoes or stinky fireplaces. I'll call the CDC, the FBI, the publishers of American Girl magazine, and the local fast food joint to see if they've ever run across something like this before."
Then she smiled, determined to project an aura of confidence as she tried to reassure her sick friends. "Don't worry. We'll get this figured out, and have both of you feeling better and back to whacking friends in no time."
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*trots off to read the rest*
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This whole line amuses me way too much: [Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's clitoris. "Okay, I need for you to queef for me."]
So absurd.
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LOL!! I haven't a clue why but I seriously can't stop laughing at that! *giggles* Good Stuff!
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I like this sentence particularly. :D
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