This week’s update started out as a challenge: Describe a person through the conversation of two other people.
“She needs surgery,” Wilson said the second he stepped inside House’s office.
House gave him an annoyed look from over the top of his book. “Then perhaps,” he suggested drily. “You shouldn’t be in here telling me about it rather than out there scheduling it. I’m your supervisor. Not your nanny.”
“She doesn’t want it.”
House paused; finally putting down the book. “What?”
“She refuses to let us operate.”
“Well, did you ask her why?”
Wilson sent him an annoyed look. “Of course I did! She called it blasphemy.”
House closed his eyes. God, he hated fanatics. “Blasphemy. It’s a simple heart surgery. We usually only have this problem, when they need blood or someone else’s organs. How the bloody hell is getting a heart surgery blasphemy?”
“She says it goes against the Will of God. If He wants her to die, it’s His choice. She says that she’ll just have to trust that He’ll protect her.”
“That is without a doubt the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” In House’s opinion the worst thing about being a doctor was stupid people. Mother’s who wouldn’t vaccinate their children. People with lung cancer, who refused to give up smoking. And, apparently, now also women refusing to get surgery because it was against the Will of God.
“It’s a different view than what we’re used to,” Wilson said, as always more diplomatic than House.
“It’s stupid. Go tell her it’s stupid.”
“I can’t do that! I’m her doctor, not a relative.”
“You’re always so bloody correct,” House muttered. “Fine, I’ll tell her.”
Wilson sighed, regretting he’d come in the first place. “You can’t go call a patient stupid.”
“Why not? She is.”
“She’s religious. We haven’t all abandoned God.”
“Then don’t call her stupid. Remind her of her husband or friends or kids or whatever.”
“The husband agrees.”
Wilson hesitated. “They have a daughter.”
“Then use her. Tell her how much her daughter will miss her, if she dies.”
“I don’t think that’ll work. The daughter… she did ask her mother for surgery.”
“The mother said no?”
Wilson grimaced. “She told her daughter she’d go to hell if she speaks like that.”
House whistled. “Damn, not a good relationship, huh? Let me guess. Rebellious teenager?”
“Actually the daughter’s six.”
House was starting to get a headache. “What about her priest. We could contact him, or is he as… dedicated to their faith as she is?”
Wilson gave him a relieved look. He obviously hadn’t looked forward sending a woman home with a dysfunctional heart. “I’ll see if I can get his number,” he said, finally leaving.
House picked up his book again.
“Damn, how I wish the patients weren’t necessary for the job.”