Daily Drama (In American TV Shows)

Chapter 13

Following House through the hospital corridors, I was thinking about what he had told me. If his intention truly is to turn me into a great doctor, learning from him and using whatever resources I have to study before returning to medical school would be the best option. In my past life, I didn't get to study within a hospital environment or work with real cases. Sure, I worked as a paramedic, helping people on the streets, but it's not the same.

Without realizing it, we arrived at an office with a glass door. "Yes, if you hear me and learn what I'm going to teach you, maybe one day you'll have an office with your name engraved on the door," House said as he pushed the door open to enter.

Gregory House, M.D.; Department of Diagnostic Medicine, I read on the door before pushing it open.

Inside the room, besides House sitting by an individual desk, there were three other people. The female doctor who had been arguing with House a few minutes ago, somehow arrived faster than us, and two other doctors—one blond and one African-American. All of them, except House, had their backs to me, so they hadn't noticed my arrival yet.

"I recognize that loopy 'G'," House said, pointing at the board where the female doctor was writing, causing her to give him a stern look. "So, what does the jerk tell us?" House asked.

"Nothing good, the brain's losing control of the body. Can't order the eyes to focus, regulate sleep patterns, or control muscle movements," the African-American doctor said, reading data from a folder.

"Yeah, not good news for the family, especially for the kid," House said ironically.

"Maybe not that bad, could be an infection," the blond doctor guessed.

"You wish," House mocked, grabbing one of the folders. "Come here, PJ, and tell Dr. Chase here why it's not an infection," he continued, surprising the other doctors who hadn't noticed my presence yet, as he extended the documents toward me.

With a bit of reluctance, I approached House and took the documents.

"Whoa, whoa, who's this kid, House?" the African-American doctor quickly said, "You can't give clinical records to just anyone, that's against the law," he continued, standing up.

"You're right," House said with false surprise, "my apologies. This is my nephew, PJ, and he'll be your replacement," House continued with sarcasm.

"Haha, very funny, House," the African-American doctor said with an obvious fake laugh.

"Alright, alright, you got me," House said with fake remorse, "I lied, he's not my nephew," he continued with a smirk of satisfaction, "he's PJ Duncan, and from now on, he'll be my assistant," House said more seriously than before, silently challenging the other doctors to say something.

Seeing that no one refuted anything, House continued, "Now that we know who you are, Duncan, tell us why it's not an infection," he said while sitting up straight with seriousness.

Looking at the other doctors in the room, I was hesitant to open the documents. The doctor was right; it's illegal for anyone to view a patient's medical history.

The female doctor who had been arguing with House in the hallway seemed intrigued by what I might say. The blond doctor sitting down appeared to be thinking about why House rejected his theory as he read the documents in his hand, and the African-American doctor, who was still standing, looked annoyed at House.

Making a decision, I opened the medical history and quickly read it.

With a sigh of resignation, the African-American doctor took his seat again, saying irritably from his place, "Why do I even bother?"