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sick_wilson2013-06-06 08:32 pm
mnstrtruckslash.livejournal.com) wrote in sick_wilson2013-06-06 08:32 pm
Entry tags:
Two Big Sips (A Toddler!Wilson Fic)
Title: Two Big Sips
Rating: PG
Summary: From my “Toddler!Wilson universe. James Wilson woke up one day in the body of a three-year-old, and with the mind (he has some memories and knows who most of the people in his life are but is mostly just a kid) of a toddler. In this story, Wilson suffers from a tummy ache, and tries to give himself some medication, which unfortunately, he takes too much of.
Warnings: Alternate Universe, Out of Character, Crack fic, medical/ scientific impossibilities, also I don’t want to deal with Wilson’s parents, so I’m just leaving them out of the story/ Universe.
Words: 950-ish
A year or so after Wilson woke up in the body of a three-year-old, I started working again. I did this from our apartment. The team would email me a copy of the file, and I’d video-chat with them once I’d read it and come up with some ideas of my own. This morning, I got a call from Cuddy; the team needed my help and would be emailing me shortly. I set Wilson up with some art supplies at the kitchen table—where I could see him from the computer but where he wouldn’t be able to hear me mocking Cameron, Chase, and Foreman.
Shortly after I opened the file and started reading, Wilson wondered over to my work station. “Tummy hurts,” he whined.
“I’ll set you up on the couch with some cartoons, okay?” He nodded. I’ll come check on you in a bit. I might hafta give you some of the pink stuff later.” I helped him get comfortable and placed a bucket on the floor and went back to the computer. “If you have to throw up but can’t get to the potty, you can throw up in here.”
I don’t think more than half an hour went by between when Jimmy told me he felt sick and I came to check on him. Unfortunately, he became significantly worse in that period of time.
The poor kid was soaked in sweat, wheezing, and trembling. I could also tell—from the stink—that he’d thrown up. The barf bucket mostly contained a bright pink liquid, which I recognized instantly. When I sat down and stroked his hair, I noticed sticky pink syrup all over his face and the front of his clothes.
“Did you give yourself some medicine, Jimmy?” I asked. He turned his head away in shame. “How much did you drink?” He shook his head. “It’s okay, Buddy. I’m not mad. But I need to know.”
“Two big sips, like always.” The first few times I tried to give the kid medication of any kind, I simply handed him a little plastic cup with his dose inside. He rarely finished the full amount his first go round.
Recently I stated saying, “come on two big sips and you’re done,” when I gave him the meds. “But not from the cup, right?” Wilson looked up at me sadly. “It’s okay. I’m not angry,” I promised.
“It kept spilling when I poured,” he explained, pausing to take a deep breath between each word. He threw up again. “Can’t breathe good,” Jimmy informed me.
“You took too much medicine. Too much can make you even sicker than no medicine. We have to go to the hospital and get the extra pink stuff out of your tummy.” I quickly grabbed some pajamas and his teddy bear, and carried him (plus the stuff) out to the car. On my way to PPTH, I called Cameron.
“House, it’s been fifteen minutes. The patient hasn’t even agreed to your treatment plan yet.”
“I need you to meet me at the ER. Jimmy tried to give himself some bismuth subsalicylate but he took too much. I need you to help me pump his stomach. Well, I need you to do it while I hold his hand.”
“And why can’t one of the ER doctors handle all of this?”
“It’s still Wilson. I can’t let just anyone treat him. Has to be someone I trust, and I can’t do it, or else I’ll just become another scary grownup sticking needles and tubes into him.” Cameron met us at the door and we brought the kid over to a semi-private area where she cordoned off for us.
“It’s gonna hurt Daddy?” This wasn’t the first time he had called me Dad. It usually happened hen he as scared or upset and never bothered me, so I never tried to discourage him.
“A little bit, yeah but you can sit in my lap and I’ll let you squeeze my hand really hard until the pain stops.” He looked up at me, wheezing, a few tears trickling down his cheeks. “Plus, Dr. Cameron is really good with this kind of stuff.” Wilson doubled over, with the dry heaves, and I shot Cameron a death glare, as if warning her not to mention what I’d said to anybody.
Getting the tube down into little Jimmy’s stomach was the hardest part. He kept squirming and gagging, and he didn’t want to swallow. His throat would tense up, which only made the process more painful. But he barely even flinched when she put in the IV.
“We’re going to need to keep him overnight. I’ll make sure he gets his own room.” I nodded and watched as she walked away.
“Home,” Jimmy insisted, but I think even he understood just ho sick he still was. “Please, Daddy?”
“Sorry, Buddy but they have to keep you here so we can make sure all he extra medicine gets out of your body, and to make sure you don’t get sick in any other ways from it or whatever caused your tummy ache.”
“You gonna stay with me, right?”
“Of course, Wilson. In fact, I’ll make you a special deal.” Wilson cuddled his teddy bear. “I promise that as long as I’m alive, I will always take care of you, and you can always live with me. Plus, I will always be close by when you need me, like at night or after a bad dream. Ill either sleep in the next room at home or if we go on a vacation or if we have to come here, I’ll sleep in the same room. To keep you from being alone.”
Rating: PG
Summary: From my “Toddler!Wilson universe. James Wilson woke up one day in the body of a three-year-old, and with the mind (he has some memories and knows who most of the people in his life are but is mostly just a kid) of a toddler. In this story, Wilson suffers from a tummy ache, and tries to give himself some medication, which unfortunately, he takes too much of.
Warnings: Alternate Universe, Out of Character, Crack fic, medical/ scientific impossibilities, also I don’t want to deal with Wilson’s parents, so I’m just leaving them out of the story/ Universe.
Words: 950-ish
A year or so after Wilson woke up in the body of a three-year-old, I started working again. I did this from our apartment. The team would email me a copy of the file, and I’d video-chat with them once I’d read it and come up with some ideas of my own. This morning, I got a call from Cuddy; the team needed my help and would be emailing me shortly. I set Wilson up with some art supplies at the kitchen table—where I could see him from the computer but where he wouldn’t be able to hear me mocking Cameron, Chase, and Foreman.
Shortly after I opened the file and started reading, Wilson wondered over to my work station. “Tummy hurts,” he whined.
“I’ll set you up on the couch with some cartoons, okay?” He nodded. I’ll come check on you in a bit. I might hafta give you some of the pink stuff later.” I helped him get comfortable and placed a bucket on the floor and went back to the computer. “If you have to throw up but can’t get to the potty, you can throw up in here.”
I don’t think more than half an hour went by between when Jimmy told me he felt sick and I came to check on him. Unfortunately, he became significantly worse in that period of time.
The poor kid was soaked in sweat, wheezing, and trembling. I could also tell—from the stink—that he’d thrown up. The barf bucket mostly contained a bright pink liquid, which I recognized instantly. When I sat down and stroked his hair, I noticed sticky pink syrup all over his face and the front of his clothes.
“Did you give yourself some medicine, Jimmy?” I asked. He turned his head away in shame. “How much did you drink?” He shook his head. “It’s okay, Buddy. I’m not mad. But I need to know.”
“Two big sips, like always.” The first few times I tried to give the kid medication of any kind, I simply handed him a little plastic cup with his dose inside. He rarely finished the full amount his first go round.
Recently I stated saying, “come on two big sips and you’re done,” when I gave him the meds. “But not from the cup, right?” Wilson looked up at me sadly. “It’s okay. I’m not angry,” I promised.
“It kept spilling when I poured,” he explained, pausing to take a deep breath between each word. He threw up again. “Can’t breathe good,” Jimmy informed me.
“You took too much medicine. Too much can make you even sicker than no medicine. We have to go to the hospital and get the extra pink stuff out of your tummy.” I quickly grabbed some pajamas and his teddy bear, and carried him (plus the stuff) out to the car. On my way to PPTH, I called Cameron.
“House, it’s been fifteen minutes. The patient hasn’t even agreed to your treatment plan yet.”
“I need you to meet me at the ER. Jimmy tried to give himself some bismuth subsalicylate but he took too much. I need you to help me pump his stomach. Well, I need you to do it while I hold his hand.”
“And why can’t one of the ER doctors handle all of this?”
“It’s still Wilson. I can’t let just anyone treat him. Has to be someone I trust, and I can’t do it, or else I’ll just become another scary grownup sticking needles and tubes into him.” Cameron met us at the door and we brought the kid over to a semi-private area where she cordoned off for us.
“It’s gonna hurt Daddy?” This wasn’t the first time he had called me Dad. It usually happened hen he as scared or upset and never bothered me, so I never tried to discourage him.
“A little bit, yeah but you can sit in my lap and I’ll let you squeeze my hand really hard until the pain stops.” He looked up at me, wheezing, a few tears trickling down his cheeks. “Plus, Dr. Cameron is really good with this kind of stuff.” Wilson doubled over, with the dry heaves, and I shot Cameron a death glare, as if warning her not to mention what I’d said to anybody.
Getting the tube down into little Jimmy’s stomach was the hardest part. He kept squirming and gagging, and he didn’t want to swallow. His throat would tense up, which only made the process more painful. But he barely even flinched when she put in the IV.
“We’re going to need to keep him overnight. I’ll make sure he gets his own room.” I nodded and watched as she walked away.
“Home,” Jimmy insisted, but I think even he understood just ho sick he still was. “Please, Daddy?”
“Sorry, Buddy but they have to keep you here so we can make sure all he extra medicine gets out of your body, and to make sure you don’t get sick in any other ways from it or whatever caused your tummy ache.”
“You gonna stay with me, right?”
“Of course, Wilson. In fact, I’ll make you a special deal.” Wilson cuddled his teddy bear. “I promise that as long as I’m alive, I will always take care of you, and you can always live with me. Plus, I will always be close by when you need me, like at night or after a bad dream. Ill either sleep in the next room at home or if we go on a vacation or if we have to come here, I’ll sleep in the same room. To keep you from being alone.”