G. Holmes, MD

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i_blues_joo is the fictitious journal of Greg House, MD. It may contain spoilers up through the latest episode aired; read at your own risk.

Current Month

Nov. 18th, 2006 @ 01:32 pm What?

Now Playing: : Rory McCloud - Singing Copper

Okay, somebody had better tell me what Slash is and why someone's been writing it about General Hospital on the office computer. I'm not going to look it up because the last time the internet gave me any information at all outside of the medical databases there were people who dressed up in animal costumes and had sex, and I'm not going through that again.

It's definitely not Black Duckling because he doesn't use the office computer and it's probably not Chick Duckling because when would she have the time between answering my email and Caring About Everyone. That leaves Watson or Pretty Duckling, and Watson has his own computer where he can write all the porn he wants.

Seriously, there are soap opera doctors having sex on my office computer. I want to know why.

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Oct. 11th, 2006 @ 08:32 pm (no subject)

Hey, who's bored with baseball? I am.

And bored with people, and bored with my CD collection and bored with Watson's CD collection. I'm thinking of raiding Pretty's CD collection but can you imagine the boy bands? It pains the soul.

Let's play a game.

Which earworm's in your head?

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Jul. 12th, 2006 @ 08:23 pm The Holmes in the Hat

Now Playing: : Wolf Parade - Shine a Light

I have cases. They take time. Updating is for the puny.

I don't think my team's slept at all in the last two weeks. We had two cases running simultaneously, which is pretty much unheard-of in Fourth Circle's department of Diagnostics. Here, we're all about craftsmanship, and craftsmanship is incompatible with mass production. We are as Christie's to Wal Mart.

Either that or we're just lazy. You be the judge.

Anyway, we had two cases and a lot of labs and I have my daily "long lunch" with Dragon Lady, so I haven't been updating. No more respiratory episodes. Maybe I really am allergic to hot tattoo'd chicks. How much would that suck?

Thing One has been healed and sent off, however, and we're just waiting for some labs on Thing Two before we heal her and tell her to go and sin no more. Venerial disease can be so tricky. Still, I don't judge.

Actually I totally judge, that's a lie in every respect.

My sneetches have been hard at work and I suppose they want to be patted on the head and allowed to get a decent night's sleep. I'm going to order Chinese and watch reruns of Mystery Science Theatre 3000 (they're such amateurs, but it's fun to criticize their technique) and crank call all three of them at two in the morning pretending to be some enraged Italian. French is the language of love, Italian is the language of fury. Don't believe me, ask the Romans.

I must be cracking under all this pressure. Chick Sneetch brought me dinner tonight and I actually thanked her. Well, I told her she could have a Star upon Hars, but she knew what I meant.

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Jun. 27th, 2006 @ 09:54 pm Denial

Now Playing: : O-Zone - Dragostea Din Tei

No. No, no, no.

I will not go through this again -- the tests and the denials and the suspicion. I will not wait three days, until I am dying, before someone figures out what this is. My head isn't clouded this time; I'm in the least amount of pain I've felt in six years. I will not fight club with Death again. He's a nasty motherfucker and he cheats.

I had one respiratory episode. One. I shouldn't care, everyone says I shouldn't care, even Chick, and she cares about everything. If I had one heart attack I'd be on eight kinds of medication before the damn thing had ended. Nobody seems to care about the fact that I stopped breathing. I'm sort of addicted to oxygen, I get really cranky without it. Watson believes me but unless I have brain cancer, which I don't, there's not much he can do.

I backtrack through it a hundred times an hour. I was listening to The Hitman Blues Band at the bar. I was supposed to do a set in an hour with Burke on trumpet and this stunning redhead, Allison, with a fiddle, and Crandall on the electric guitar. Crandall's an idiot, but he can whale on the electric guitar. So I was at the bar, I'd had a whiskey neat, no drugs all day. Some cigarette smoke, not enough to choke on. I said I wanted to dance, Crandall bet me ten bucks I wouldn't ask the hot blond with the tattoos. That was just taking his money, so I left my cane with Burke and walked across the floor, testing the leg a little, and sidled up, trying to get next to her near the window.

Clinically, my temperature was slightly high just from being in the bar, and my pulse and heart-rate both increased. My throat closed up halfway through a breath. I had some dizziness and just -- for this one moment I thought I still hadn't left the hospital, like it was some kind of hallucination I was stuck in. I asphyxiated and passed out, knocking my head on the way down. As you do.

There's no medical evidence as to why it happened. My scans are clean, blood's normal, nothing's wrong with me beyond the usual.

There must be a reason. Dehydration or heatstroke or something. There's probably a stupid reason. But I will know what it is before it risks me another limb. I haven't got any to spare.

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Jun. 25th, 2006 @ 10:09 pm Filtered: Oncologeewhiz

So. I'm in the hospital. I mean not THE hospital, A hospital.

No, it's cool. You know how I miss wearing gappy bathrobes and having needles stuck in the back of my hand when I haven't been hospitalized in a while. I should do a tour of American hospitals, like those Fodor's Guide people. PPTH is NOT in the Zagat book.

Last night I was at this concert and I may or may not have encountered a little respiratory distress, and I may or may not have passed out and had to have EMS called out. So I may or may not have spent the night in the hospital and had a couple of blood tests and an MRI done to me. But it's cool, okay, don't freak out about this like you do. It's just a respiratory problem, probably some tissue damaged that got missed when they worked on me after I got shot. Maybe some scarring and I was just overdoing it.

So I'm in the hospital but I'm fine and I'll be out tomorrow morning for the end of the festival and then I'm catching an airplane home. I'm paying this drummer I met $100 plus expenses to drive the bike back. My leg's okay, I'm just a little bruised up where I fell.

All I need is a ride from the airport tomorrow night. I'll call you. Bring Steve.

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Jun. 24th, 2006 @ 08:57 am This Doesn't Suck.

Now Playing: : Jesse Baker - Delta Deliverance

Well, I'm here.

I arrived late on Thursday evening, checked in and went out. New Orleans may have more music, but nobody has better blues than Memphis. I've been back to the hotel for about five hours total since I got here -- two to sleep on Thursday night and another three to sleep just now.

The festival is awesome. Most of it's being held in various bars, so nobody's brought their kids, and nobody under the age of thirty is really interested in blues, or if they are they keep the hell quiet when they're not playing. We jammed last night around two am and blues-reinvented a handful of old hymns so hard even God shouted amen.

John Henry Giles is here and I jammed with him. He introduced me to this classical trumpeter, too, smooth player -- guy named Burke. You can't really get the blues if you live in Seattle, but he adds a good sound.

They're doing a tent breakfast this morning with rotating bands playing what are clearly the I Ain't Got No Goddamned Coffee Blues, then concerts in the park until three. And then I've been invited to a crawdad feed. Hey Watson, how come we don't have crawdad feeds in Jersey?

After we eat, we go home and sleep until it's decently dark outside and then there's blues and dancing.

And then we get up on Sunday and do it again, except tomorrow morning there's some kind of pass-the-hat concert for New Orleans.

I could dance this year. If I'm careful today and don't walk too much, I could dance tonight.

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Jun. 21st, 2006 @ 11:12 am He was famous for his bluegrass piano.

Now Playing: : Rachmaninoff - Trio Elegiaque for Piano, Violin, and Cello

Yesterday's journey.

I was going to finish the trip and get to Memphis today, but I got a late start and the war wound is giving me grief, so I'm trapped in Knoxville until tomomrrow. The blues festival doesn't start until Friday anyway. I'm walking it off, ogling the legs at the Womens' Basketball Hall of Fame. Then I'm going to buy some popcorn and watch the crippled kids. Good times.

My hotel looks out on the World's Fair Park, including a big fucking statue of Rachmaninoff. No. I don't know why. Rach-fucking-maninoff. In Knoxville.

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Jun. 19th, 2006 @ 09:03 pm Day One

Now Playing: : Andy Irvine - Never Tire of the Road

I'm up for the night in Charlottesville, not too far from Shenandoah National Park. I took the scenic route.

I stopped in DC around noon, since I once treated a Senator and I figured it was time he returned the favor. If you pay taxes, I just lunched on your dime. Too bad I don't put out on a first date, Taxpayers of America.

Before I left I set up a webcam on Steve, who's living on Watson's dining room table. Watson, stop walking around your apartment in your boxers, I don't need a peep show when I'm trying to make sure my rat isn't wasting away.

There isn't a lot to do in Charlottesville, unless you count the motel's pay-per-view channels. The motel owner sized me up and said he thought Club 216 was what I was looking for, but if I wanted to spend my nights crammed in a dark room full of sweaty twentysomethings I'd just go to the gym sauna more often.

I asked about music; he said French Quarter was the place to go. The name's about right.

The motel room has ESPN.

GO OILERS.

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Jun. 17th, 2006 @ 02:50 pm Whole different Blues

Now Playing: : Kanye West feat. Miri Ben Ari - Heavy Hitters

I'm not sure whether to be pleased or annoyed that Chick noticed the new saddlebags on the Repsol.

The paperwork is in, thanks to Stan the Mole Man, and I'm leaving town on Monday. As I do not yet trust my Ducklings to keep Steve McQueen alive, let alone a patient, he's been placed in Uncle Watson's custody while I find ways of entertaining the kids. Pretty's been packed off for another stint in NICU, Black's going to a Surgical Neurology course in Massachusetts, and Chick is being lent out to the CDC for two weeks. If nothing else, the CDC will teach her proper appreciation for the speed and efficiency of the Fourth Circle diagnostics office.

Dragon Lady, I expect you to babysit them when necessary. They're ducklings, they can't survive in the wild on their own.

First one to correctly guess where I'm going gets to lord it over everyone else:

(Watson is not allowed to play.)

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Jun. 14th, 2006 @ 06:58 pm (no subject)

OOC Note: I almost forgot I'd written this!

In House's "privatelocked" self-analysis he mentions Wilson witnessing him disposing of his bottle of morphine. It inspired a little fic in the ibluesjoo-universe, which I thought I'd share with House's loyal readers. *grin* Enjoy!

Title: Everything Changes
Rating: PG
Summary: Sometimes you need a witness.

( The metal box clattered as House set it on the coffee table... )

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Jun. 14th, 2006 @ 06:36 pm No Reverse Gear

Now Playing: : Roger Miller - King of the Road

I've spent the past two days wrapping up the paperwork for Spinal Tab and meeting with a hospital lawyer about the Wrongful Health suit, which is being settled out of court by means of us not informing everyone he knows and the handicapped-placard officials that he is no longer handicapped.

Inbetween times, I've been watching the Ducklings watch me.

I know that Chick once asked Herself what I was like before the infarction, and Herself said I was essentially the same, though Watson has been less charitable than Herself on that score, and perhaps accurately so. Regardless, the way I think is not the product of an injury, unless birth counts. I'm not some kinder, gentler Holmes because the cane is an aide and not a necessity now. People have this idea that you can't have a physical change without a mental one, which is very Roman, but not necessarily true. So the Ducklings are waiting and watching. And every so often Chick looks triumphantly at the other two, which makes me wonder if I'm losing my edge, because the only time she wins against the boys is when someone reaffirms her faith in humanity.

Change does not exist on a scale of better-to-worse. Change exists on a scale of same-to-different, and there's no reverse gear. So, if I don't go backwards to who I was before the infarction, and I'm not idling at who I've been the past five years -- does it make me different? Which part? Knowing I trust my team professionally? Having been shot? Being able to go five, ten, fifteen hours without the drugs?

My mind is intact. I'm not incapable of shouting to get what I want. I don't believe that I've lost perspective. I'm proven.

My mind rebels at stagnation, as said my namesake. I know I can solve his abstruse cryptograms and intricate analyses, but a sensible man looks to his own house first. And it may be past time.

Hey

oncologeewhiz, how do I put in for vacation time? I don't think I've ever done it at Fourth Circle before.

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Jun. 12th, 2006 @ 09:50 pm Crank it up to eleven.

Now Playing: : Ringside - Struggle

Done.

I haven't done actual surgery since the infarction made it impossible. I can't -- couldn't -- stand still for that long without having tremors in my leg. Today I scrubbed in on exploratory spinal surgery and took over when the surgeon quit, because he didn't want to cripple the guy for life.

You and I both know how worried I was about that.

The surgeon walked away because he didn't want to fuck around with anything that close to the spinal cord. We could see it there, pushing into the cartilage between vertebrae, distorting everything around it as the body calcified the tissue protecting it. What we didn't know was whether it was a bone growth that needed cutting, or some kind of freak embolism, or what. Just because it comes up on the metal detector, children, doesn't mean it's a bullet.

And he wouldn't mess with it. Just jiggle the cord a little and see what happens, I said, and he said Holmes, human beings aren't television antennas, which is stupid because if you hook us up right we're actually really good antennas.

So he left, and his assistant went to close, and I said no, let me have a whack at it first. Nice of the ducklings to run interference and block off the assistant while I gave the thing a few easy taps.

It came right out into my hand. Light. Just dropped like snow.

"Now," I said, "You can close."

We ran a biopsy needle into the mass, but it -- well, it hit metal. And I'd had just about enough of not knowing what the hell was wrong with this guy. So, while my ducklings were off running tests on the tissue, I decided to get rid of the rest of it. A pal of mine once walked me through the process of removing tissue from a bullet, and while I didn't have specialized enzymatic fluid on hand, I do have access to a vibrating water bath in the lab. It was all very exciting, watching the tissue shred up into little tiny pieces and reveal the metal underneath.

I'm not sure how a person actually gets an aluminum pop-top tab stuck in their back without noticing. I think I may need to contact the Mythbusters, in fact.

I may not always have all the answers, but I do know one thing.

This...

Is Spinal Tab.

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Jun. 11th, 2006 @ 08:53 pm Testing for The Gay

Now Playing: : The Androids - I Wanna Do It With Madonna

I had clinic today, despite my best efforts to be incarcerated for theft.

A woman brought her underage son in to see if I could circumcise him. So that he wouldn't be gay anymore. Apparently foreskins make you gay. There's a winning family situation.

I told her we can test for gay now. Very simple test, she didn't even need to leave the room. I drew a square in marker pen on her kid's arm and dropped some Betadine onto it.

"Oh, it's orange," I said. The kid looked like he thought I was nuts.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"He definitely has gay," I told her. "But it's the surgically resistant kind. There's nothing we can do, I'm afraid. Still, many people manage to live very fulfilling lives while gay. You should get your other kids tested..."

I can't believe she bought it. God, that was more fun than crushing her soul. I should have told her I had "the gay" too. That would have been awesome. I wish I'd thought of it.

Mr. Wheels goes into surgery tomorrow. There's something in his spine. We'll see what there is to see.

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Jun. 11th, 2006 @ 08:52 am Hell on Wheels

Now Playing: : The Bobs - Purple Haze

Okay, so preliminary surgery didn't find anything. I bet Jesus had to practice a few times before he made cripples walk too.

We're on the right track, I know we are. It's got to be some kind of growth inside the spinal column. It's compressing the nerves and the body's finally decided to attack it. But it belongs to the body, so we're getting the immunological symptoms. It's there. Just because we can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there. And I am not nuts for thinking it's there.

Mr. Wheels needs a psych consult, but I'm not going to inflict a psychiatrist on anyone who isn't actively trying to kill themselves. You need to meet this guy to believe him. He likes having no function below his waist, including sexual, because it means people are nice to him. You know what, I may be an asshole but at least I'm not an asshole who also craves society's approval. You can't have both. Actually you can, as long as you have a wheelchair, but you trade in sex and independent bowel function for it, and I'm not buying that bridge.

If he could walk again he'd be normal. Unoriginal, not particularly noticeable. I will never be normal. Which at least means I don't have to be afraid of not being crippled anymore.

If he'd been shot, now, we wouldn't be asking these questions. We'd know his handicap was probably bullet related.

I wonder. He's certainly the type...

not_cuddly, if anyone asks, I am not the one who stole security's metal-detector wand.

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Jun. 10th, 2006 @ 11:36 pm Bore on Wheels

Now Playing: : Louis Armstrong - Ain't Misbehavin

Filtered:

oncologeewhiz

Okay, you don't need to actually reply, just pretend you read this so that I can feel like I'm throwing ideas off at someone else.

His body acts like it has AIDS. Some form of immunodeficiency condition, anyway. The tests are all negative, but tests fail. I'm re-running them. And that doesn't explain the "hysterical paraplegia" which I don't think is hysterical at all, as much as he enjoys his wheels. He says he doesn't want to be cured -- not of the paraplegia. I was treated to a ten minute monologue on the subject of how great it is to be a cripple. This is what I want to hear, yo. Preach it, brother.

I hate patients.

I've never hear of cancer presenting with AIDS-like symptoms, but it's possible the paraplegia is some kind of compressed nerve damage done by a tumor at the same density as

You know what, forget it. I know what's wrong with him. I'll be at the hospital tonight if you get this message and want to come see me make the lame walk.

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Jun. 9th, 2006 @ 12:04 pm Case Notes: Future Reference

Now Playing: : John Henry Giles - Sunday Variations

Security Level: Private

Case notes
G. House, Primary Physician

"Physician, Heal Thyself"

Patient is a forty-five year old male in good health, moderate drinker, nonsmoker, on a long-term course of opiate painkillers for nerve damage to the right quadricep muscle caused by embolism (c 5yrs ago). During previous surgery, Patient reports vivid hallucinations of leg injuries, ranging in severity from full amputation to full rehabilitation.

Patient was involved in an altercation where he was shot twice at point blank range (through and through abdomen, graze jugular). Patient experienced momentary loss of consciousness, approx. 5 mins.

Patient reports that while unconscious he experienced a series of vivid hallucinations. ( Outline Follows )

Resolution of Hallucination:
Patient determined that entire experience was hallucination. Could not escape without altering "his" reality in such a way as to make it nonsensical/surreal. Patient chose to achieve this goal through drastic measure. No real surprise. Patient makes use of surgical robot to eviscerate/murder Harpo. Harpo, deceased, drops bullet from fingers.
Destruction of old self-corollary. Purge -- re-reference to trash/sanitation metaphor. Destruction of "old, crippled" self? Rebirth via death.

Desire for meaning.

Post-Operative:
Ketamine treatment requested on awakening from hallucination, administered with no negative side effects. Patient's older trauma improved (see NEJM); reduction of pain/reliance on opiates. Patient has ceased to use walking aides during mornings and early afternoons. Claims to have poured morphine down the sink; confirmed by JW.

Physical and neurological exams show no signs of lasting damage from trauma or Ketamine treatment. Patient is still experiencing self-doubt re: mental abilities, but is obsessed with the idea of testing this through his work. Expect positive results shortly.

From time of recent trauma, no noticeable alteration in patient's behavior has been observed. Patient claims that one life-threatening surgery in life makes the next one boring. Patient has refused professional rehab, supervising private rehab personally. Patient was eager to return to work. Showing no acute signs of depression or grief.

Relative to mental/physical/emotional status pre-trauma, patient appears to be improved.

Conclusion: More people should be shot.

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Jun. 8th, 2006 @ 12:42 pm My Destiny To Be The King

Now Playing: : Singin In The Rain Soundtrack - Moses Supposes

The one consolation for being the king of the baffled is when you look around the room and realize that everyone else is more baffled and thinks you're just waiting for the right moment to reveal how brilliant you are.

I'm going to have to take a history from him myself. He's a mean sumbitch, nearly made Black Duckling cry.

This is gonna be fun!

I love mean patients. They're so much easier to goad.

To-do list:
1. Replace icons now that I've found them again.
2. Vengeance upon Watson.

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Jun. 7th, 2006 @ 04:03 pm (no subject)

Now Playing: : New Zealand Dixieland Jazz Band - Anything For You

I have a case.

Oh shit.

I've had my examination by Watson for general health and Black Duckling for neurological health and the rest of my team and Dragon Lady when they thought I wasn't looking and I've shown off the scar to the nurses. And now I have a case and I have to try not to kill my patient. Or make his testicles explode.

Forty year old male presenting with symptoms of immunodeficiency disorder but without underlying evidence. Tests are clean. Nonsmoker, moderate drinker. Paraplegic, cause unknown.

Yeah, let's repeat that part. Paraplegic. Cause unknown. He's in a wheelchair and nobody knows why.

Let the real exam begin.

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Jun. 5th, 2006 @ 07:19 pm I'm pretty sure this Yanni At The Acropolis CD is yours.

Now Playing: : Eight Hours of Tivo'd "A Bit Of Fry And Laurie" episodes.

Wow. You should have been here for the fight this morning, Watson. You think you and I are loud. I might actually get evicted for that one. Which figures, he's a Marine. He's louder, but I know bigger words.

So, my parents are gone.

I'm bored. I've done crosswords until I'm blue in the face. What's a six letter word for "asshole who took my car keys"? Starts with a W. You dent my car, I'll fracture your parietal plate.

I've sorted and catalogued my entire CD collection, gone through and properly re-jacketed the LPs, built a jungle gym for Steve out of popsicle sticks and jello pudding cups that he's now gleefully chewing to shreds, and cleaned out my Tivo.

Can I come back to work now?

No wait, let me put it this way: If you don't let me come back to work, I'll sue. I'm looking at YOU, Dragon Lady.

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Jun. 1st, 2006 @ 11:07 pm I don't get either of them, actually.

Now Playing: : Girlyman - St. Peter's Bones

I came home this afternoon. I walked into my apartment under my own power. Mom started crying. ( I don't get her. )

Mom invited my ducklings and Watson to breakfast out somewhere tomorrow morning. I'm a sick man. I shouldn't be forced to witness that horror.

At least there will be waffles. And Mom will make Chick eat something, which should be fun to watch.

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G. Holmes, MD

The Most Curious Man in the World

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