Chapter Text
House’s seizure left him weak. Functional, in a way, but stable. Cognitively, House was more infant than adult. His mental state was more 6 months old in regards of what he understood. He could use his hands, but really only to hold something to occupy him, he couldn’t tie his shoes, he could use a spoon and feed himself, but it was messy. He sucked his thumb until they settled on a pacifier. At first, no one liked the idea, it was odd in society to see a man in his fourties’ sucking on a pacifier, in a wheelchair, many would criticise them, many would feel disgusted, some would just go on and ignore them, some would feel pity, but only the people who knew his story, would really understand.
It wasn’t pleasant, seizing every couple of hours, vomiting whatever he ate for half an hour after every seizure, headaches, confusion, they assumed, altered mental status after a seizure. However, one thing made it worth it. Amber. In everyone’s eyes, oddly, it was only odd as no on seemed to think that House losing function and Amber living was a 70/30 deal if you know what I mean. House lost a ton, Amber gained a diagnosis and pulse. Seemed a bit unfair if you ask me, but no one else seemed to think so. It seemed cruel, but maybe they were excited for the break. But with that break, House lost all dignity he had. Wheelchair bound, wearing diapers and drooling, unable to live alone and feeling fear when he was alone. Using a pacifier to stop him from sucking his fingers until they bruised.
Muslin cloths and bibs were under his chin constantly, elasticated bandages were wrapped around his abdomen, the muscle failed to keep his stomach from attempting to bulge out of his skin. At least the bandage could help to reduce his pain and bloating by holding his muscles together, keeping his abdomen intact.
At least Amber lived.
And to Wilson, that made all the difference. Had she have died, Wilson may have resented him, left him to suffer alone, left him damaged, seizing, hurting and afraid. Because as much as House ought to deny it, not that he could anyway, he was afraid, afraid of death, of the imminent seizures. The ones he should have known were coming as soon as that metallic taste plagued his tongue but his state stopped him. The ones he couldn’t stop in time because he couldn’t communicate the tastes, the feelings, the pain.
Wilson couldn’t sit back and watch. It was his fault. So he had to do something. It wasn’t safe for house to be living alone. What if he seized and bit his tongue and choked on his own blood? They didn’t want that. So Wilson stepped up. House would live with Wilson and Amber. Probably permanently. Though every one knew there was no probably about it. House wouldn’t cope on his own with or without the seizures anyway. His mental state of a six month old would mean he was stuck.
Let’s go back in time. Before House’s discharge.
House was lying on the bed, he looked… lost. More lost than Wilson had ever seen him. His eyes were glassed over, he looked as though he was going to breakdown there and then. Well, in a way he did. When Wilson stepped through the door, House cried. Not full on sobbing and snot flying everywhere, but tears rolled down his face. It then clicked in Wilson’s head, or so he thought.
No one had told House that Amber had lived. As far as House was aware, Wilson was there to yell at him. To berate him or hit his fragile frame. House had only just woken up, his mind was still like fine china, easily shatter-able. So people were cautious with what they told him. But surely they could have told him she lived? That emotion he was feeling was fear. Despite the fact he was mentally 6 months, he obviously had some understanding of the situation, again, this was what Wilson thought, not what he knew, though House wouldn’t know the details, whether he had any memory of the incident or he heard little bits, Wilson wasn’t quite sure. But no theory made sense. House’s mind never made sense when he was functional, never mind damaged. This was what Wilson thought at-least.
“House, I’m not here to hurt you. Amber would like to see you. Is that okay?”
Realisation dawned in Wilson’s mind. House wasn’t afraid, he was feeling pain. But House didn’t understand the pain, why it was happening or how to handle it.
“House, hey buddy, I’ll get you pain meds okay?”
Wilson didn’t know why he expected a response.
Once House was satisfied, Wilson brought Amber down.
The interaction actually went fairly well. Of course, Amber felt guilty for House’s situation, but at least they weren’t just pawning him off for some random nurse to take care of. It’d be them, and whether House would ever recover, they didn’t know. They could only hope.
But anyway, let’s skip to the next day. The night was uneventful. Well, except from his usual seizures. House had become more reliant on his pacifier to help him calm down after his seizures, but if he felt it helped, who were they to judge? Kutner sat by his side throughout the night. Wilson had wanted to, but he needed sleep, something he hadn’t been doing much lately, but no one could blame him, this past week had been stressful after all.
Throughout the night, House had a total of 14 seizures. 10 tonic clonic, 4 focal. When morning arrived, Kutner was somehow energised. Not all of the seizing would require medication to help. Sometimes it would stop on its own. Other times, House would die without intervention. Occasionally, House would sleep, wake up and seize, then sleep again, as if his body had recognised it was coming, prepared him, then allowed him to rest. But who knew.
There was an experimental treatment, however House didn’t qualify for it. The treatment wasn’t for seizures, but his mental state. It could have potentially brought his mind back up to the 40’s. But they couldn’t try, the procedure would’ve taken a minimum of 16 hours. Meaning House could have had up to 200 seizures during the surgery. They wouldn’t even realise when som would have happened. It was too dangerous, the company running the trial didn’t want their results messed up.
Everyone felt bad, for Wilson, for Amber, for House. Wilson because he felt crushing amounts of guilt, Amber because she had survivors guilt. It was obvious for House.
Taub took the night shift that night. He had a gift for House. A plush penguin. It wasn’t a cheap brand either. Jellycat to be specific. It ha to have cost him like $35. It was small enough that House could comfortably hold it in his hand, carry it round or nuzzle into it whenever, it could also fit into Wilson’s jacket pocket. So House could have it anytime, anywhere.
House seemed extremely happy. He reacted the way he did when his favourite music was played, smiling, heart rate rising slightly. House especially seemed to like Piano man by Billy Joel, All of me by John Legend and Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen.
Why Taub had gotten him a gift was questionable. It seemed like more of a Kutner thing. Not a Taub thing. But hey, House loved it.
House would be going home soon. They just needed his bed to be set up, as well as a transfer sling, tilting armchair, allowing them to easily get him in and out, and an adaptable stroller/wheelchair.
It seemed like they’d be okay. They’d figure it out.