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Clinic Case: Softened Demeanor Part I [House limps into Exam Room 1,
with a patient folder in his free hand.
Inside, a man sits waiting on the exam table, and a woman sits in a
chair. She is over six feet tall,
dressed professionally in a pants-suit. While she is not especially beautiful, her
body is well proportioned for her height, and she doesn’t stand out as being
unattractive either. The man with her
is only about five feet tall, and maybe 110lbs. He appears to be her junior by about ten
years.] House: Mr. Dosta, what brings you to this fine
establishment? [Ned Dosta opens his mouth to
speak but gets out only one syllable before interrupted by his wife.] Mrs. Dosta:
[She stands up in order to address House;
she is tall enough that she is even with him eye-to-eye.] He has an itchy area on his back that seems
to come and go every six or eight weeks or so. House: [Wrinkles
his brow in contemplation, and looks her directly in the eye as he speaks.] I see, Mr. Dosta, tell me why you are here? Mrs. Dosta: [Somewhat
angry.] I told you that he has an
itchy area on his back, between his shoulder blades. Mr. Dosta: [Peeking
at House from behind his wife.]
It’s sort of like a rash. Mrs. Dosta: [She
continues to look House in the eye, and speaks dismissively.] It is not
a rash, if it were a rash, it would be all reddish
and have raised welts. Your skin looks
perfectly normal, and the only thing that makes it red is you rubbing
yourself all over the door jamb. House: [Continuing to hold Mrs. Dosta’s gaze; speaks in a loud voice, as if throwing his voice
around Mrs. Dosta.] Take off your
pants. Mrs. Dosta: Why would he need to take off his
pants? The problem is on his back. House: [Shrugs.] Who said I was talking to him? Mrs. Dosta: [Infuriated,
turns back to her husband, and grabs his hand as if he were a child.] Come on, Ned,
let’s go find a real doctor. [As she speaks, House is taking a couple of
Vicodin.] This miserable excuse
for a man is just out to start trouble between us. [Mr.
Dosta shrugs, and starts to come with her.] House: Sorry, the clinic has only one doctor
today, and that’s me. Guess they
couldn’t find anyone else as talented; if you want someone else you’ll have
to-- [He stops in mid-sentence and his focus shifts onto the man’s ear; he
grabs his ear scope and practically jams it in the guy’s ear.] Tell me, Ned, do you clean your ears
regularly with Q-Tips? Mr. Dosta: Um, well, yes. House: [Sighs
dejectedly as if he now has some very serious information. He turns to Mrs. Dosta.] Would you please excuse us, I have something
very important to discuss with my patient, and I’d prefer that you were out
of the room. Mrs. Dosta:
[Her expression turns to one of shock and
concern.] Is he going to be OK? Why do I have to leave the room? House: [Somewhat
reassuringly, but very persistent.] Please, I need to speak with my patient for
a while alone. He can tell you whatever he chooses to
afterwards, but for right now, our discussions need to be confidential. You can wait for him in the waiting room,
and I’ll call you when we’re all done.
Mrs. Dosta:
[In a concerned motherly demeanor.]
Well, I’ll
be right out in the waiting room honey.
You call me if you need anything, OK?
[She exits the room. House watches the door as it closes, and
the second it’s closed, he turns abruptly to Mr. Dosta, motioning him to sit
back on the exam table.] House: Let’s see, where were we Ned?
Oh yes, you were telling me why you’re here. Ned: What’s wrong with my ear? What’s wrong with me using Q-Tips? House: Nothing, other than you’re
at greater risk of puncturing an eardrum and should never use them. [Shrugs.]
Personally, I use them all the time – helps drown out the voices. [His face turns into a wild expression.] Ned: Then why did you— House: To get rid of mommy. Ned: Hey, she’s not— House: Relax, I don’t care what kind of warped
little relationship you two have, but I don’t like getting my patient’s
history from an interpreter. Just ask
Marlee Matlin. She heard me loud and
clear when I kicked out her handy-man.
Ned: Let’s just get this over with, OK? House: Suits me just fine. Take off your shirt. [House limps over to the
cabinet and starts to put on some gloves as Ned Dosta removes his shirt.] Ned: Like she said, it’s an itchy area that goes
all over both shoulder blades. When it
happens, I might also be itchy on the backs of my legs too, but not
always. My back can get so itchy that
I’ll scratch myself raw on the door jamb, the edge of cabinet, whatever I can
back into. [House gets a contemplative
expression on his face.] Ned: What?
House: Nothing, I was just trying to picture you
scratching your back with 165lbs of loudmouthed leggy redhead all over
it. Ned: [Turns to reach back on the exam table so he
can grab his shirt.] That’s it,
I’m out of here, I don’t have to take this— House: Wait!
Hold on a moment--
[He’s now looking at the guy’s waistline, as if he’s seen something
there that requires further investigation.
We are able to see a rim of boxer shorts peeking up underneath his
pants.] Ned: What, what’s the matter? House: [tugs
on the edge of the boxer shorts to yank them out of his pants a little
further] That’s odd, I figured you for a
jockey kind of guy. Ned: [Extremely
angry now.] This is unbelievable. How is it that you are still employed, with
being so rude to your customers? House: Customers?
I thought you were a patient? Listen, your wife was right about not
having a rash. I don’t see any other
signs of what might be causing your problem.
Take your shirt back off, and I’ll send in a
dermatologist to conduct some allergy tests.
You’ll have the results immediately for some of them, but others
you’ll have to come back for in a couple of days. Luckily for you, I only work on
Mondays. [Picks up the file and turns toward the door.] Ned: That’s it?
That’s all, you’re not even going to examine
me? House: You
wanted to leave, remember? Ned: Well, it’s like you’re going to treat me,
but you don’t even know what’s wrong with me.
House: Oh, I think I know what’s wrong with you
all – [Ned gets an angry look on his
face again, grabs his shirt, and tries to rush past House toward the
door. House puts out his cane to stop
him.] House: All right, all right, I’m leaving. The allergy tests will help tell us what’s
wrong with you. Without those, there’s
nothing much we can do. If you haven’t
tried calamine lotion already, give that a whirl. You can pick some up at the pharmacy. [House leaves the exam room. As he is coming out of the door, the wife
rushes up to him.] Mrs. Dosta: Is he going to be OK? House: [In
an exaggerated but fake grave tone] Go be with
him. He needs you now more than ever. [Mrs. Dosta’s face turns to
anguish, as if she’s about to cry, and she rushes
into the room. House makes a speedy
departure to the nurse’s area and pass the chart to
one of them.] End Scene. Clinic Case: Softened Demeanor Part II [The following Monday, House is in
Exam Room 1 hiding with a small television set. A nurse brings in a file for him.] House: Oh no, Mutt and Jeff again? Twenty bucks says
he’s allergic to wearing a bra. Nurse:
[shrugs and smiles] No bet here. [The nurse leaves the exam room,
while Mr. and Mrs. Dosta enter. House
doesn’t look away from the television set, but does hold up a three fingers
at them.] House: Be with you in three more minutes. Nurse Cutler is about to find out the guy
she’s been dating is really a woman. Mrs. Dosta: Dr. House, the allergy tests have all come
up negative, and we’re still at a loss as to what Ned’s problem is. House: [grudgingly
turns away from the television, and looks directly at Ned] And
you picked Monday to come back to the clinic.
Mrs. Dosta: Unfortunately, we were informed by the
allergy specialist that we should see the head of the diagnostics department
for further investigation into the problem.
Imagine our extreme displeasure when we should find out that it was-- House: [shuts
off the television] Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get
it. [Opens up the file and motions for Ned to
sit on the exam table.] Take off
your shirt. [Ned starts taking off his
shirt. His lower back has lots of
permanent marker on it, where the patch tests were applied.] House: So, you were tested for all the standard
allergens, and negative on all of them.
Mrs. Dosta: A very very mild
reaction to cat dander, but we have no cats, nor any friends— House: Really?
Amazing! I would’ve thought
you’d have lots and lots of friends with that sunny disposition of
yours. Mrs. Dosta: --with cats. House: [Turns back to Ned.] I’ll bet you work in the manufacturing
industry? Ned: I’m a CPA.
House: And your office is where? Ned: What difference does that make? House: Just trying to get a feel for what kind of
exposure you might have to industrial chemicals, either direct contact or
airborne. Do you work near any industrial plants,
railroads, shipyards, anything like that? Ned: No. House: Where do you live? Ned: Out near Monmouth Junction, we have— House: [He’s been looking around the room a little
as he talks and thinks. His eyes
settle on Ned’s pants.] How often do
you wash your clothes? Ned: What?
Why would you— House: Every single time you wear them? Every other time? Once a week, what? Mrs. Dosta: We are both very neat and tidy people, we
wash our clothes every single time we wear them. Why would you need— House: [picks
up Mr. Dosta’s trousers] Who does the
laundry? Ned: [sheepishly] I
do. House: Do you get lumps of detergent like that
very often? [points to a patch of white on the dark pants] Ned: Sometimes, not too often. Usually happens when I wash a really big
load, and things are packed so tight, the detergent doesn’t get a chance to
dissolve. House: [looks
back in the file] The allergy specialist doesn’t
mention detergents – you weren’t tested for them? Ned: No, I wasn’t. But I haven’t changed detergents recently,
and even if I did, that wouldn’t explain why I go through these itchy spells
off and on, every few weeks. It’s not
like I change detergents that often. House: But you have been very itchy recently,
right? Mrs. Dosta: Why else would you think we were here? House: Because you just love my witty bedside
manner? [Grabs his prescription pad, scribbles it out and hands it to Ned.] Ned: [reading] Twenty pounds of Norton’s
System Saver? Isn’t that like a
computer antivirus? House: [grabs
the sheet from him] That’s an “M,” you nitwit. Twenty pounds of “Morton’s” salt. Not to be taken orally – or any other kind
of way for that matter -- it’s for your water softener. Mrs. Dosta: How did you know we have a water
softener? House: The lumps of un-dissolved
soap on your clothes was a pretty big clue. The fact that you’re getting itchy on the
places that you might not reach well with a towel after showering was
another. Your itchiness is from soap
residue on your skin. Install the salt
tonight and give your water softener a few days to cycle on the new
salt. If the itching doesn’t go away
in the next week, come back for more allergy testing. Any day except Monday. Mrs. Dosta: You mean to tell me that his itchiness just
means we need to add more salt to the water softener? House: Were you in the same room with us just a
minute ago? Mrs. Dosta: I mean, that sounds so simple, so – [her voice trails off, and she moves in
to hug House] House: [stands
there stiffly for the embrace; over her shoulder he says] Non-medical? Ned: Thank you, Dr. House. Thank you so much. House: You two go run along now, I’m sure there
are bound to be at least some
people in the waiting room who are actually sick. |