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WIP: stabbed!Wilson; Part 7
AND I wrote part 7. Hope you like!
- 6 hours
"Ativan didn't take!"
The nurse's yell cut through the hectic noise of the commotion in the trauma room, and House felt another surge of adrenaline rush through him. "Give him another round!"
His right hand was holding onto to Wilson's shoulder while he steadied himself on the railing of the bed as the violent jerks that were running through Wilson's body threatened to throw him off-balance. "What's the damn glucose level?"
Another nurse appeared with a quick test device while the first nurse pushed the Ativan. After a few breathless moments, the movements of Wilson's body relented before they stopped altogether, and House felt something in his throat unclench. "Get him on a glucose drip," he ordered; then he backed away from the exam table to give the ER staff more room to do their job. They moved swiftly and efficiently, reconnecting the ventilator and hooking up the IV.
House reached behind himself, and when his fingers found the wall, he leaned back against it. His heart was beating way too fast.
Over the last hour, Wilson's BP had been fluctuating despite the dopamine, and the labs they had been doing every forty-five minutes each had brought back a lower crit than the one before. All the plasmaphoresis had done about the hemolysis was slowing it down a little. 'A little' didn't get them anywhere, though.
And now, a hypoglycemic seizure. First sign of renal failure.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
House ran his free hand over his face and closed his eyes for a brief moment; then he pushed himself off the wall and limped over to the door, intending to find Cuddy to inform her about what had happened. He stepped outside and turned his head, only to pull back in surprise as Cuddy almost ran into him.
"They found one!" Cuddy's face was flushed, and she was breathing rather heavily as if she'd run all the way from wherever she'd been.
House squinted at her, momentarily thrown off-track. "They found what?"
"A match! There's one frozen unit in a blood bank somewhere up in Buffalo."
House only stared at her for a moment, feeling a knot just below his chest first tighten and then resolve, leaving him feeling kind of weak and breathless. He swallowed and briefly looked away. "Thank God," he muttered quietly.
"They're flying it in," Cuddy said, her tone a little calmer now. "Should be here within the hour."
House nodded, and for a moment, the two of them just stood there. House wasn't looking at Cuddy but staring at the floor, trying to adjust to the emotional uproar the news had caused. Blood for Wilson. Finally. Only one unit, though. And they might be too late already.
"What's going on?"
Cuddy had stepped up to the trauma room doors to look through the window and had noticed the congregation of nurses still gathered around the exam table. House raised his head. "He had a seizure," he said. "A hypoglycemic seizure." He paused, but then couldn't keep himself from adding, "His kidneys will go next."
Cuddy turned around to look at him, and at the crushed expression on her face, House felt like simply turning around and leaving. Leaving this whole fucking mess for her and the nurses to sort out. Leaving to go to his office and watch mindless late night porn. Or maybe leaving to go home and to bed and hope that when he woke up, this would be over. One way or the other.
He didn't, though. Instead, he gripped his cane a little harder and shifted his feet. "With the blood, maybe we can get his crit up high enough so the surgeons will take him," he said.
Cuddy nodded. "It's only one unit, but it should do at least that much," she said. She turned her head back to resume looking through the window and kept silent for a moment. "Only six more hours," she said then. "He needs to hold on for six more hours, then he'll be alright."
"Or not."
She closed her eyes but didn't utter any protest. House almost wished she would. Playing the devil's advocate and shooting down her optimism with well-founded arguments would have felt normal. Her agreeing with him made him feel even less in control than he already did.
"I should probably try and reach his parents again," she said finally. "I can only imagine what they must be going through." She turned to him. "Wanna come with? Get a coffee, or something?"
House started to shake his head, but then stopped. It was late, almost midnight by now, and his leg hurt; a steady, pounding throb that had triggered a headache that was pulsing along in the same rhythm. Sitting down on a bench in a corridor, sipping coffee and being somewhere that wasn't the ER didn't sound all that bad. And there were enough nurses and ER docs on duty who would alert him if something happened. "Alright," he said and nodded.
Cuddy led the way down the corridor and House followed her closely on her heels. He noticed that she was slowing her pace on purpose so he could keep up, but for once, he couldn't think of any snarky remark to make. Even if he had been able to come up with one, somehow he had a feeling that it wouldn't have sounded as terribly witty and clever and funny as it should have. Somehow he thought it would merely have sounded tired and miserable.