After lunch, House went back to his room to have a nap. His meds had been upped in dosage a couple of days previous, reigniting the side effects he'd had when he first started them, though to a lesser degree. He was sleepy and a little dizzy, and felt a little weak all over his body. Naps during the day were easier to slip into than sleeping at night; he fell straight to sleep within five minutes of lying down and was prodded awake by a nurse what seemed like only five minutes later, though it had turned out he'd been asleep for almost an hour and a half.
"Your therapy session with Megan is in ten minutes," the nurse told him.
House quietly groaned, rolling onto his back. He felt lethargic and his mouth was dry. And then he remembered, as he licked his lips in attempt to bring moisture back into his mouth, that Cuddy was going to be here any minute, to accompany him in the therapy session. Anxiety suddenly gripped his stomach. He didn't know how he managed to be talked into agreeing for Cuddy to attend one of his sessions. Megan, his doctor, had been the one to suggest it. He'd adamantly said no at first. But after she talked him through it, she managed to drag a reluctant agreement out of him, using words like, 'speedier recovery' and 'get out of here sooner' as a means of persuasion.
"Is Cuddy here yet?" he asked the nurse in a sleepy, croaky voice.
"Not yet. But I'll send her to your room when she arrives." The nurse left the room and House rolled over onto his other side with a yawn while he reached for a tissue on the nightstand. His nose was still congested from the prazosin. That particular drug hadn't been increased in dosage but it still had an effect on the blood vessels in his nose, making it run and seem like he had a cold. After blowing and wiping his nose, he crumpled the tissue up in his hand and just lay slack on his side, barely without much energy or drive to get up. He hated this deadened, heavy feeling so much. He hated feeling so lifeless and weighed down like the world was resting right on top of him.
Slowly, he pushed himself to a sitting position, cringing slightly as a small dizzy spell hit him. The spell passed quickly but he made no further move to stand or do anything except sit on the edge of his bed with his shoulders slumped, bleary-eyed, in his sleep-rumpled clothes, hair mussy from sleep and one side of his face with faint pillow lines down it. He cracked a wide yawn just as he heard a sharp knock on the door and despite how sleepy and unkempt he was, he instantly brightened a little when the nurse announced that Cuddy had arrived. Even if he was dreading the therapy session with her, he'd been looking forward to seeing her all week. It was the one bright spot in his week, at least.
"Not really," he replied, his voice still scratchy with sleepiness, as Cuddy opened the door. The moment he saw her face, he was instantly filled with gladness and all the feelings he'd had of missing her since he saw her last came rushing forth and squeezed his chest with an ache. The corners of his lips tugged up into a small smile. "When am I ever decent?"
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"Your therapy session with Megan is in ten minutes," the nurse told him.
House quietly groaned, rolling onto his back. He felt lethargic and his mouth was dry. And then he remembered, as he licked his lips in attempt to bring moisture back into his mouth, that Cuddy was going to be here any minute, to accompany him in the therapy session. Anxiety suddenly gripped his stomach. He didn't know how he managed to be talked into agreeing for Cuddy to attend one of his sessions. Megan, his doctor, had been the one to suggest it. He'd adamantly said no at first. But after she talked him through it, she managed to drag a reluctant agreement out of him, using words like, 'speedier recovery' and 'get out of here sooner' as a means of persuasion.
"Is Cuddy here yet?" he asked the nurse in a sleepy, croaky voice.
"Not yet. But I'll send her to your room when she arrives." The nurse left the room and House rolled over onto his other side with a yawn while he reached for a tissue on the nightstand. His nose was still congested from the prazosin. That particular drug hadn't been increased in dosage but it still had an effect on the blood vessels in his nose, making it run and seem like he had a cold. After blowing and wiping his nose, he crumpled the tissue up in his hand and just lay slack on his side, barely without much energy or drive to get up. He hated this deadened, heavy feeling so much. He hated feeling so lifeless and weighed down like the world was resting right on top of him.
Slowly, he pushed himself to a sitting position, cringing slightly as a small dizzy spell hit him. The spell passed quickly but he made no further move to stand or do anything except sit on the edge of his bed with his shoulders slumped, bleary-eyed, in his sleep-rumpled clothes, hair mussy from sleep and one side of his face with faint pillow lines down it. He cracked a wide yawn just as he heard a sharp knock on the door and despite how sleepy and unkempt he was, he instantly brightened a little when the nurse announced that Cuddy had arrived. Even if he was dreading the therapy session with her, he'd been looking forward to seeing her all week. It was the one bright spot in his week, at least.
"Not really," he replied, his voice still scratchy with sleepiness, as Cuddy opened the door. The moment he saw her face, he was instantly filled with gladness and all the feelings he'd had of missing her since he saw her last came rushing forth and squeezed his chest with an ache. The corners of his lips tugged up into a small smile. "When am I ever decent?"