Daily Drama (In American TV Shows)

Nice

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In the last period of the day, math class was going on as usual.

"Sheldon," Mrs. Ingram exclaimed, stopping the class, "are you okay?" she asked, puzzled.

Sheldon had been spacing out during class, staring ahead. I had noticed this several times over the past few days, but since he always answered or tried to answer the questions asked in class, I never really paid much attention to it.

"Yeah," Sheldon responded, confused by the sudden question.

"Okay," Mrs. Ingram said, frowning, obviously intrigued before continuing with the class.

During football practice that day, the mild muscle soreness I still had and the blisters on my hands made the training a bit more challenging.

"PJ, son, can we talk in the office for a minute?" Coach Cooper said seriously, pointing to the office door.

"Sure thing, Coach," I replied, walking behind him. At that moment, a chorus among my teammates began to grow. "What?" I asked, exclaiming, fortunately quieting the teenagers.

As I entered the coaches' office, Coach Cooper seemed worried while talking with Coach Wilkins.

"Sir?" I asked, knocking on the door frame.

"Son, is something bothering you?" Coach Cooper asked nervously, for some strange reason, slowly leaning against the corner of his desk, repeatedly touching his fingertips together.

"What? No," I quickly responded, puzzled by the question.

"It's just, you know, your game," Coach said, tilting his head slightly, "was a little bit off, you fumbled the ball a couple of times."

"Oh, that," I said, embarrassed, immediately understanding the coach's concern. "It's nothing like that, Coach, it's just that I may have overtrained yesterday," I added, showing the man my hands.

"Oh," Coach Cooper said, smiling, obviously relieved. "Just blisters, blisters," he repeated cheerfully to Coach Wilkins, who nodded, also relieved.

"Yeah, sorry about that," I said, more embarrassed, seeing the complete relief on the two coaches' faces.

"Oh no, it's fine, son," Coach Cooper said, laughing lightly. "But how quickly do you think you'll be back to 100 percent? You know the next game is coming up, right?" he added nervously again.

"Yeah, a couple more days, and my hands will be as good as new. Don't worry about it," I assured the coach.

"Well, thank God for that. We really need your arm, son," Coach Cooper said seriously, putting his hand on my shoulder. "Go hit the showers."

At the hospital, after school, when I arrived at the diagnostic lounge, only Cameron was working on what seemed like some charts. "PJ," the doctor said, smiling cheerfully.

"Hey, Cameron," I said, smiling at the woman as I hung up my things where I always leave them. "How did the surgery go, do you know?" I asked seriously.

"Oh yeah, I scrubbed in this morning, it went really well. Although Bergin was pretty upset about the ethanol," Cameron explained. "She's going to be fine, but she's going to need some chemotherapy."

"Good, that's good. And what about the copper accumulation?"

"The treatment should start showing results tomorrow or in a couple of days," Cameron responded, smiling broadly.

"That's good. By the end of this week, she'll be home with Luke," I said, relieved for the little family. "You know, I found out he's a classmate of my sister at school," I added, amused.

"Oh, so that's why he can't look you in the eyes. House really wanted to know the reason," Cameron said, amused.

"Uh, then I'm going to forget that I found out why," I said excitedly, realizing I had a way to tease House, making Cameron shake her head and laugh softly.

"By the way," Cameron said seriously, losing her smile. "Sometimes, because of the way you behave and how House treats you, I forget how impressive it is what you do at your age. That was an impressive diagnosis, you should really be proud of yourself."

"I just read a lot," I admitted, embarrassed.

"Oh, come on, we all do that, read books," Cameron explained, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "But to do what you and House do... that can't be learned just by reading books, at least not entirely," she added, smiling slightly. "So, drop the modesty and learn to accept compliments," she added sarcastically.

"You're right, thanks," I responded after a moment.

"I know I'm right," Cameron said proudly.

"Hey, Cameron, do you have the results of the uh—" Before I could respond to the kind doctor, Chase came in, interested in the papers he had in his hands, stopping when he saw me.

"Well, I'm going to the skills lab," I said, realizing the atmosphere in the room had become quite uncomfortable as I walked out of the room.

"No, PJ, wait," Chase said with some difficulty. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I was an ass to you, and you were right. I was just projecting someone I used to know onto Mrs. Palemero."

Cameron, who seemed nervous about the situation, slowly stood up from her place.

"It's fine," I said slowly.

"No, it's not. You're a teenager, a really smart one, but just a teenager, and it wasn't my job to treat you the way I did with Sister Augustine. My job was to teach you how to deal with the situation, and I didn't live up to it," Chase admitted, seemingly disappointed in himself.

"It's not really your job," I murmured.

"It's not, but since you're the future of medicine," he said exaggeratedly, "you'd better be well-trained," he added playfully. "Just wanted to say I'm sorry," he added seriously after a moment.

"Okay," I said, nodding calmly.

"Great, are we fine?" Chase asked, relieved, raising his hand for a handshake.

"Sure," I replied, shaking the doctor's hand.

"No way that's enough," Cameron exclaimed, seemingly upset. "Just one 'I'm sorry,' and that's enough?" she asked, exasperated.

"Well, yeah," I said, not understanding her incredulity.

"We're men; this is how we solve things between us. I mean, we punch each other once or twice, and then we're fine. In a better scenario, we just say we're sorry, like this," Chase explained ironically.

"Well, I almost broke your wrist," I said, amused.

"Right," Chase said, remembering. "That was a great move, by the way. I was distracted, though," he added, surprised.

"No, you weren't," I declared, amused.

"This is so unfair," Cameron exclaimed, annoyed, as she furiously walked out of the room.

"What's wrong with her?" Chase asked, intrigued.

"No clue," I replied, equally intrigued. She seemed upset about the way Chase and I resolved the situation.

"That's a first, you genius kid," Chase declared sarcastically. "Well, I'm glad we solved this; you're a great guy," he said, kindly patting my shoulder.

Genius kid?

"You too, and now at least I'm two out of three," I said triumphantly.

"Oh, don't worry about Foreman. He's just really proud," the now friendly doctor assured me.

"Yeah, I can see that," I said sarcastically.

"I could have freed my hand," Chase declared after a few seconds.

"Yeah, sure," I said sarcastically.

"I really could," Chase said, slightly offended.

"Keep telling yourself that," I declared, teasing the doctor. I could keep Tim in a hold for minutes if I wanted, and he was basically three times Chase's size.

Although I had planned to go to the skills lab to continue practicing, House, who still owed several clinic hours despite all the time we had been there in the past weeks, dragged me along to send home a lot of class one patients. Unfortunately, no one interesting... until a patient with hiccups came in, for some reason, hitting himself.

"Maybe if he does it crosswise, first with the left and then with the right," House said while I pretended to take notes.

"Maybe upside down. I read an interesting study about it," I said, making House nod stiffly, seemingly trying to avoid smiling.

A moment later, following my suggestion, the man lay down on the bed, letting his head hang off the edge, keeping the rhythm of the hits. Surprisingly, after a couple of hits, his hiccups suddenly stopped.

"Wow, that actually worked," the man said, surprised, his face flushed and slightly swollen. "Thank you so much," he added excitedly, shaking House's hand emphatically and then mine.

"Oh, no need to thank us," House said, putting his hand on his chest with absolute false humility. "But, if it happens again, you really should come back here. No matter what time it is, I'll make sure to come in," he added emphatically, making the man nod, obviously grateful for House's 'interest' in his health.

"I feel bad for the man," I said to House as we watched the patient leave the clinic. House was smiling like I had never seen him smile before. "I really hope he never gets sick with anything more serious than hiccups."

"Yeah, what would happen if he got a stomach infection," House said, amused.

The rest of the day, when House released me from the clinic, I returned to the skills lab, where I practiced and studied surgical videos for the rest of the day.

That day, I arrived several minutes before the training with Case started, even before Tim arrived, which

 had never happened before.

The next day everything went normally. After the daily run with Gabe and the first periods of class, having a couple of books from the school library that I needed to return, during lunch and after enduring the always awkward interaction with Miss Hutchins, like the last time I was in the library, I found Tam and Sheldon at one of the tables.

"PJ Duncan, my friend," Tam said excitedly, immediately upon seeing me approach their table, putting down the chopsticks he was using to eat his food.

"Tam, just PJ, remember?" I asked, smiling at the excited boy.

"I can't do that," Tam declared, smiling strangely, proud.

"Okay," I said slowly, not really understanding the reason behind his statement. "What are you reading, Sheldon?" I asked, focusing my attention on my other friend present, seeing a small red book that didn't seem academic, like something Sheldon would read.

"I've decided to learn self-defense," Sheldon said formally, showing me the cover of the book.

The cover was of a martial artist doing a perfect roundhouse kick.

"From a book?" I asked with some sarcasm.

"Well, yeah," Sheldon said immediately, as if it were obvious. "It's a great book about Jiu-Jitsu. How else could I learn some form of self-defense?"

"You're absolutely right," I said, nodding slowly, with a bit of sarcasm. "But why do you want to learn self-defense?" I asked seriously as I took the seat next to my small friend. "Is someone messing with you?"

My question obviously surprised Sheldon, and incidentally, Tam as well. It was difficult for someone at school to mess with either of them, because from what I've heard, whenever something like that happened, either of them would shield themselves with the excuse of having the protection of the football team.

"Yes," Sheldon responded after a few seconds, with his inability to lie.

"Who?" Tam asked nervously, snatching the question from me.

"I'd rather not talk about it," Sheldon responded, strangely embarrassed, and for some reason, making Tam even more nervous.

"Is it someone from school?" I asked calmly. I doubted that anyone at school could mess with Sheldon without at least Alan knowing about it, but if somehow it had escaped my calm friend's knowledge, I would have to pay more attention to Sheldon.

"No, it's not happening at school," Sheldon quickly responded, this time immediately relieving Tam.

I get it, he was scared of anyone daring to mess with Sheldon, even knowing he was 'protected.'

"Look, Sheldon, I can't help you if you don't ask for help. There's absolutely nothing to be ashamed of," I said seriously.

"I know, thanks, PJ," Sheldon said, nodding seriously. "But I'd like to try to solve it on my own. I think it will be a great learning opportunity," he declared excitedly.

"Okay, as you wish," I said after waiting a few seconds for the boy to rethink his response, "if you want some advice on Jiu-Jitsu, maybe I can help you. I'm not an expert, but I definitely have more experience than you."

"Of course you do," Tam said, smiling excitedly. "Everyone talked about the party where you knocked out Josh Bradford. I wish I had seen that; I was there too."

"Yes, Tam, but that was just a punch, not Jiu-Jitsu."

"But a really cool punch," Tam said again, more excited than he should be.

"Just the book is more than enough. Besides, your clear physical superiority wouldn't help me in this specific case, so thanks, but no thanks," Sheldon replied formally, as always.

"Well, if you need anything, just let me know, okay, buddy?" I said, making Sheldon nod seriously. "See you later, Tam," I added, also saying goodbye to my Vietnamese friend.

"Sure thing, PJ Duncan, my friend. If I ever need anything, I'll let you know too," Tam said completely innocently, smiling broadly.

"Good," I said, nodding and trying not to laugh before walking out of the library, avoiding looking in Miss Hutchins' direction.

The way she smiled at me really made me unpleasantly nervous.

When I returned to the cafeteria, my friends were in a heated argument about some kind of motorcycle on a magazine page.

"The Yamaha Sportbike is definitely way better than the Harley. In fact, any sportbike is perfectly better than a cruiser," David practically shouted, supported by Brock beside him.

"No, it's not," Georgie said, offended. "Oh, PJ, come here. Finally, someone on my side. Alan doesn't want to get involved in this," he said, dragging me to his side as I arrived.

Leaning in slightly, I saw Alan shaking his head subtly. "Sure, Georgie, what's up?" I asked.

"Tell them how the Harley is much better than any other motorcycle," he said proudly, relieved to have someone on his side.

"The Harley is much better than any other motorcycle," I repeated after my friend.

"Do you even know what a Harley or a Yamaha is?" Brock asked arrogantly, obviously imagining what my answer would be.

"Yeah... no, I don't," I replied slowly, watching as Georgie lost any confidence he had gained from my support.

"Come on, you have a great car. How is it possible that you have no idea about motorcycles?" Georgie asked, exasperated.

"Well, my car has four wheels for starters," I responded sarcastically.

"Don't tell me you've never thought about buying a motorcycle. You're going to be a doctor—hell, you already are one—and you're going to have like, a lot of money," David said, annoyed. "Do you really know nothing about bikes?"

"There are many things I have no idea about," I admitted, and surprisingly, my friends seemed especially incredulous. "What? I'm human, not perfect."

"Oh, shut up," Brock exclaimed, offended, sarcastically smiling.

"Hey, Porker, come sit with us. What do you have for lunch?" Behind us, the two guys, Michael Johnson and David Smith, said, surprising Georgie and me. Alan didn't react at all as he continued eating his lunch.

"Hey, guys," Brock said, his smile fading for a moment before returning, obviously with a fake smile, slightly nervous.

"Yeah, 'hey,'" one of the two hooligans said, looking arrogantly at the rest of the table. "Come on, Porker."

"His name is Brock," Georgie said, frowning, gathering all the courage he had.

"Do you need your boyfriend to defend you, Porker?" one of the two idiots asked, emphasizing the insult.

"Hey—" I stood up immediately being followed only by Alan.

"Come on, guys, stop fucking with me," Brock quickly interrupted me. "I'll stay here to eat my lunch. I'll hang with you later, fine?" my friend said with a certain degree of nervousness.

"Yeah, fine, Porker," one of the two hooligans arrogantly nodded, along with his friend, studying me while completely ignoring Alan, who was somehow already sitting again.

"See you later, Porker," the other idiot said, elbowing his friend as they walked away from our table, laughing obnoxiously.

"Come on, Brock," Georgie said, surprisingly mature and disappointed.

"What? They're a bit rough, but they're my friends," Brock quickly said defensively. "The Yamaha is way better," he added, obviously not wanting to continue the topic.

At the end of the school day in the parking lot, before getting into my car, I saw Brock walking with the two hooligans toward the school's field. The two idiots were laughing, pushing each other, even shoving Brock, who laughed falsely.

On the school field, the cheerleading team was practicing.

At the hospital, remembering what both Dr. Cuddy and the university president had promised me days ago, I headed to the surgery wing.

"I knew you'd come eventually. I bet Fryday that it would be this month," the head nurse of the surgery wing, an older woman named Nurse Alison, said excitedly. "Ever since Dr. Cuddy informed us that you might come and that you had observer privileges, I knew I'd see you in my wing."

"I'm glad you won, what ten dollars?" I asked playfully.

"Fifty," the nurse said, winking.

"Sounds like I can get a juice from the cafeteria," I said, smiling at the woman, amused.

"Of course you can, sugar," the woman said, smiling sweetly and squeezing my arm. "So, what surgery do you want to watch? We have OR one and two preparing for an appendectomy and, uh, a circumcision," the woman said cheerfully.

"Yeah, I think the appy is calling me more," I murmured.

"Of course it is. You men and your fears about... your things," she said sarcastically, gesturing vaguely toward my genital area. "You would have gotten along well with Dr. Robbins. She's an incredible teacher."

"Thanks, Alison, but I don't see myself becoming a urologist in the near future. Maybe someday I'll change my mind," I said calmly.

"Obviously, you'd think that," the woman said, squeezing my arm and smiling. "You're a hot shot. You're going into cardio, ortho, or trauma—yeah, trauma, definitely trauma," she added, nodding slowly with narrowed eyes.

"I don't know yet," I said, amused. "In fact, I don't even know if I want to be a surgeon. I'm just here to learn, for now."

"I can recognize surgical material when I see it," the woman said, ignoring my words and walking confidently. "Come on, let's find your teacher for today."

Following the woman, we arrived at a break room where several doctors were quietly resting. "Dr. Bergin."

"Yeah, nurse?" one of the doctors asked, reluctantly pulling his attention away from a magazine.

"I have another brilliant mind for your OR," Nurse Alison said, placing her hand on my shoulder.

Frowning, the doctor studied me. "And this is?" he asked slowly, with little enthusiasm.

"PJ Duncan... sir," I said, noticing the doctor's eyes widen slightly as he seemed to recognize my name.

"Ah, House junior. So I'm the lucky one who has to put up with you for your first OR observation," the doctor declared, leaning back in his seat.

"I assure you, Doctor, that the only thing PJ has in common with House is his medical talent," Nurse Alison said proudly, winking at me.

"Ah, perfect, 'medical talent' certified by a nurse," Dr. Bergin said ironically to the other doctors present, who didn't react much to his words.

Yes, this was exactly how I remembered doctors.

Before I could say anything, Alison stopped me, smiling kindly.

"Well, I suppose I'll have to check that for myself. That's all, nurse, thank you," the doctor said, reopening his magazine.

"Good luck," Alison said, giving me a one-armed hug.

"Thanks," I said as the kind woman left the room, even though I really wasn't going to do anything.

"So, House junior, do I need to have someone teach you the hygiene procedures to enter my OR?" Dr. Bergin asked, not moving his attention from his magazine.

"No, sir, and my name is PJ," I clarified.

"Good," the doctor said disinterestedly, with no intention of addressing my name. "What are you waiting for?" he asked after a moment, slightly glancing up from his magazine.

"Sorry?" I asked, confused.

"Just because all the big shots at the hospital and the university think you're special doesn't mean I'll treat you like you are," the doctor said seriously. "If you enter my OR to observe, I will make sure to ask you questions. You have ten minutes to catch up. I appreciate the Socratic method."

I was pretty sure that if I talked to Dr. Cuddy, the doctor would be forced to treat me like a king... but I'm much better than that.

"Got it," I said calmly, smiling. "I just need to read the patient's chart."

"Just the patient's chart," Dr. Bergin said, raising his eyebrows, obviously skeptical. "Suit yourself," he added, lifting a file but not without first removing some pages from it.

Taking the offered chart, I began to read it, taking a seat on one of the free chairs in the room. After a few seconds of reading the chart, I could feel the doctors staring at me, even whispering among themselves, making me immediately feel like I was back in high school—unpleasant.

"It's time, ready or not," Dr. Bergin said, standing up with a big sigh. "Did you find the reading amusing?" the man asked sarcastically. "House junior, tell me why my appendectomy isn't an emergency surgery," he asked again, emphasizing the last part before I could respond to the first question.

I quickly noticed that the pages the man had removed from the chart were the notes from the doctors responsible for the patient. I only had the raw data without the comments.

"All signs point to a subacute appendicitis," I replied.

"The signs?" the doctor asked, unimpressed.

"The patient is afebrile and in good general condition. He has tenderness on palpation in the right iliac fossa, with possible weak or absent rebound tenderness, and no marked muscle guarding," I quickly said, making the doctor raise one of his eyebrows at me.

"Just with tha—" the man was saying.

"In the lab results, the blood count shows his white blood cells are in the upper normal range, as well as moderate neutrophilia, and a CRP that's not drastically elevated, indicating a chronic or subacute inflammatory process. Renal and liver functions are within normal limits," I quickly said, interrupting the doctor.

"Okay, you know how to read lab results—" the man was trying to press me again.

"The abdominal ultrasound shows a visible, dilated appendix with a diameter greater than six millimeters, no significant free fluid in the abdominal cavity, and the appendix wall is thickened with no clear signs of perforation," I said, interrupting him a second time. "Lastly, the CT scan confirms an inflamed appendix with no abscess or perforation and moderate periapendicular fat infiltration, indicating chronic or subacute appendicitis."

"Correct," Dr. Bergin said after a moment of silence, speaking with difficulty. "What are we waiting for? Let's go, Anderson. Go prep the patient," he ordered seriously, making one of the doctors present stand up and leave the room, looking at me in obvious surprise as he did.

Like that doctor, I noticed the others present were looking at me like some kind of phenomenon. It seemed there were doctors who ignored or doubted the article in the newspaper.

Following the doctor out of the room, we arrived with other doctors, possibly residents, at the scrub room. "House junior scrub in, I want you close by, you're not going to touch anything obviously," the man said, stopping to watch me go through the process, clearly looking for any flaws in my handwashing technique.

"Oh no no, this time House junior will be in your place," the doctor Bergin said, stopping one of the doctors from entering the OR. "If you may," he added, gesturing with his palm to the spot where the other doctor was going to stand.

Before I knew it, the doctor, along with one of the nurses present, presented the case.

"Scalpel," Dr. Bergin ordered. "Tell me, House junior, where is the incision made?" he asked, holding the scalpel in his hand.

"Depending on the type of incision, but for an open incision, McBurney's point and Lanz's line are used; generally, the cut is five to ten centimeters," I replied quickly, causing the doctor to nod rigidly and begin the cut.

"Depending on the incision," the doctor repeated slowly, working on his patient.

"It could also be a laparoscopic incision, using the umbilical port and auxiliary ports," I quickly responded to his unasked question.

"Laparoscopic," Dr. Bergin repeated, amused.

"Well, yeah," I said, puzzled. "Dr. Grey—" I was saying.

"Dr. Grey, Ellis Grey?" the doctor interrupted me. "Suction," he ordered his assistant before returning to me. "What do you know about possibly the brightest mind of our generation, one of the best surgeons possibly in history, Dr. Grey?" The man added, shaking his head in amusement.

"A few weeks ago when I was in Boston at Dr. Donnall Thomas's house celebrating the new year, Dr. Grey told me that in a few years, all appendectomies will be done laparoscopically," I said, watching the man's expression change to one of complete disbelief, trying with all my might not to show how amused I was by his silence.

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Author Thoughts:

As always, I'm not American, not a doctor, and not a fighter.

With that said,

I think that's all. As always, if you find any errors, please let me know, and I'll correct them immediately.

Thank you for reading! :D

PS: PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW.