Just Another Day at the Office
by Julie Barrett

“I believe you had a commitment at the clinic today.”

Dr. Gregory House looked up from his portable television. “Ten minutes. I'm on lunch.” Hospital administrator Lisa Cuddy reached across the desk to grab the TV, which House pulled away teasingly at the last second. “Let's try that again, shall we? When you lean over the desk, I swear I can see clear down to . . .”

His supervisor stepped back from the desk and instinctively buttoned her blazer. “Clinic. Now.”

The door to House's office swung open before he could articulate a response.

“We've got a patient.”< p class="copy"> House scowled at the younger doctor. “Treat him.”

Dr. Robert Chase glanced at Cuddy, and then at House. “This one's checked herself in.”

“Doesn't she need doctor's orders for that? No, let me guess: She's a doctor.” He fixed his gaze on the hospital administrator, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Or she's a big donor.”

“Let me see that.” Dr. Lisa Cuddy scanned the chart. “No one I've ever heard of. But she might have written a large check this morning, just so she could see you.” She tossed the folder on the desk. “The clinic is overflowing today.”

“Send her to the ER.”

“That's for emergencies.” Cuddy glanced at her watch. “And they're packed as well. You'd think it was Friday night.”

“Oh, all right.” House switched off the television and placed it in one pocket of his coat. The moment was lost, but there was another good show on in an hour and a half. “What's wrong with her?”

“Symptoms of pneumediastinum,” Chase stated. “Or to be precise, this is what she insists she has.”

“Insists. You should know better than that.” House skimmed the chart. “What did you find out from the CAT scan?”

“She's got one scheduled for 2:00.”

“Does she have asthma?” Dr. Chase shook his head. “A cold? Recent coughing spells? Oh, I know: Maybe she has IBS.” Cuddy wrinkled her nose. “Either that, or she's just given birth. If she's been pushing real hard, that might have ruptured a number of small sacs in the lung, which in turn caused gas to escape into the chest. It hurts, but it will go away on its own. You'll see it on the CAT scan.”

“I can't see any cause, but she seems quite certain that it's pneumediastinum.”

“Ever surfed the Internet? It's a font of information.”

“She's having panic attacks as well.”

House licked his lips and took a deep breath. Well, let's see. Does she have chest pains, especially when she takes a deep breath?” Chase nodded. “What about her heart?”

“Elevated pulse rate. But the EKG is negative.”

“How about some Xanax, then?”

Cuddy let out an exasperated breath. “It's tempting.”

House shot her a look. “You've run blood work?”

“Just got the results back.”

“And the answer is . . .?” Dr. House waved his hand in a gesture of expectation.

“Blood work is clear.”

“Then she's having trouble breathing and that's bringing on a panic attack. If there's nothing in her history that will contraindicate its use, try .25 mg of Xanax. It might even help the IBS. They do it all the time in Doctors in Love. See, Cuddy? I was working when you so rudely interrupted me.” He pushed the file back across the desk.

“Right.” Dr. Chase shook his head as though to clear out unwanted thoughts. “But there's something about her that just doesn't add up.”

House grabbed a pill bottle and slipped it into his pants pocket. “It's panic attack. How much do you want to bet?”

“You haven't even seen the patient.”

“Are you asking me for consult?” House glanced expectantly at the younger doctor. Anything to get out of clinic duty.

“All right.” She raised her arms in a gesture of futility. “If you're not at the clinic in twenty minutes, then I'll come drag you there myself.”

“Is that a promise?”

Dr. Cuddy turned and stalked out of the office, fervently wishing the architects had specified proper doors that slam.

Dr. House stopped in front of an occupied room on the third floor. “This one?” Chase nodded and handed over the file, which House slapped against his good leg for emphasis as he spoke. “Let's see. . . . Thirty-nine. Two kids. A husband. That's enough to give someone panic attacks right there.” He peered through the vertical blinds at the patient. “She's lying to you. Either she's had breast implants, or she's hiding two perfectly-formed cantaloupes spaced about . . .” House glanced back at the patient. “Three inches apart. Nature didn't provide those, unless Sunkist is now in the implant business. Damn, I should read JAMA more often.”

Dr. Chase blushed ever so slightly. “She told me they're real. She also told me she's an archaeologist. No mention of a husband or kids.”

“She certainly had the Lara Croft job done.” House handed the still unopened folder back to his colleague. “She's pushing the big four-oh, trying to keep her husband – hence the boob job - and she's stressed out raising kids. Ten bucks says it's panic attacks. Either that, or it's the crushing weight of those implants.” He pushed the door open and let Chase into the room first.

“This is Dr. House.”

“I know.”

Dr. House coughed slightly. “Hmm . . . A one-night stand back in med school?”

She raised an eyebrow seductively. “Try again.” Chase buried his face in the patient file in hopes that no one would catch him blushing again.

“Not med school? That conference on kidney disease back in '88. The cheap whiskey, the heady discussions of Renal Osteodystrophy . . ..”

“Come on, you can do better than that.”

“You're certainly familiar with pneumediastinum. That must make you a doctor. Or . . .”

House studied her face. A cascade of raven hair framed a heart-shaped face with a flawless complexion. Green eyes flecked with bits of silver twinkled in the fluorescent light. He moved in to get a closer look at her eyes. No doubt about it: Contact lenses. Superficial, just like the rest of her. “Or perhaps you just play one on TV. I know I've seen that bosom on Doctors in Love. I know: You found a cure for the disease that nearly killed the hunky specialist's mother and you got off with him as a reward for a job well done.”

“Dr. House . . . can I call you Greg?”

“No, but if I told you I believed in a strict doctor-patient relationship, you'd probably take it the wrong way.” He looked to the ceiling in thought. “Now, where have I seen you before – if I've seen you before? You obviously seem to think you know me . . .”

The heart rate monitor began to ping wildly. “Dr. House, I . . . can't breathe. Help.”

Gregory House stood up straight and folded his arms against his chest. “No, I don't know you at all. I know your type, though.”

“For Gods' sake, what are you doing?” Chase moved in with an oxygen mask which he placed over her mouth and nose. “Breathe slowly.” Her vitals began to stabilize. Chase glared at his boss.

House picked up his cane and stalked to the door. “Outside.” He reached for the cord to control the blinds and closed them. “Well, don't just stand there,” he ordered.

“What in the hell was that?” Chase stood in the hallway, fuming.

“You don't know, do you?” House produced his TV and began to turn the tuning dial with his thumb. “I know it's here somewhere.”

“I certainly don't know what you think you're doing . . .”

“Got it.” House held up his TV so Chase could see the tiny screen.

“It's a pirate movie. For God's sake . . .”

“Nothing wrong with your observation skills. Take this in. Whisper the words 'Orlando Bloom' lovingly in her ear.” Watch the symptoms return. Then give her some Xanax and send her home.” House took off down the hall. “Oh.” He stopped and turned. “Refer her to the practice of Drs. Howard and Fine, why don't you? And bring my TV back.”

For once, clinic duty looked good.

“Two scraped knees, a bad case of sunburn from a tanning bed, too many colds to count, and the usual number of patients who insist that the drug they see advertised on late night television is right for them.” Greg House looked across his desk to Dr. James Wilson. “All in all, just another day at the office. How about you?”

“Spent the last two hours tweaking a paper for an oncology journal.”

“The fun never ends.”

“Unlike you, I'd rather spend time with patients.”

“Unlike you . . . .” His reply was cut short by the buzz of his pager. Dr. House read the message, tossed the device on the desk, and smiled. “I knew it.”

Wilson read the display. “Checked out before CAT scan. What does that mean?”

“My bedside manner won over another one.”

“Cuddy isn't going to like this.”

“Of course she will. The patient had nothing wrong with her in the first place, and yet she paid for hospital resources so she could be told what she already knew. And if she doesn't pay the bill, that's not my problem. I think your friend in billing can deal with that.” He turned to his computer and opened the Intranet link to the hospital paging system. His mouse selected the name Dr. Robert Chase. In the text box he typed, “Maria Susanna nimius. Ten bucks.” and clicked on the SEND button. “How about a drink?”

“I thought you'd never ask.”

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