章 55: Chapter 55
This is a special chapter, one made to try to write much more than I had ever done before from a change of perspective.
I'm sorry, but this chapter can be considered a filler chapter, so there isn't really any story development (which doesn't mean it's not related to the story) but if you don't want to read it and wait until the next chapter, you are perfectly welcome to do so.
Meanwhile, those who do prefer to read this 'special' chapter.
Enjoy.
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Along with a bunch of my friends, we went, as we do every year, to a barbecue at the same camping area. We had been doing it since we were in high school, and it was a tradition I hoped would continue for a long time. I really hoped we could keep it going.
Callie was eight months pregnant, which at that time, stupidly, didn't seem like such a risky situation to me.
The day was like any other day in Texas, completely sunny and perfect for a day in the woods.
A few hours after we arrived, a small family of three men of different ages arrived in an unattractive yellow truck with ads for an exterminator company.
Bob, obviously the owner of the company because of the name on the side of the truck, the father of the two boys traveling in the car, was a pleasant person, so they easily integrated into our group after Callie and I introduced ourselves.
PJ, as his father and brother called him, was a tall teenager and, by the looks of it, physically well-built, with a pleasant attitude and a maturity far beyond what I could imagine from a teenager his age.
It was clear that the boy should be popular just for these traits, but despite this, he didn't seem arrogant at all. In fact, quite the opposite. From the moment Callie and I approached the Duncan trio, the boy eloquently and concernedly asked how many months pregnant Callie was. Thinking back, it was possibly a sign of his worry.
After the Duncans settled into the camping site and after introducing Bob to the others, we continued with the barbecue.
The younger boy, about ten years old, like any other child his age, quickly got bored with the fishing trip with his father. Fortunately, he had his older brother and a few comic books.
At some point in the afternoon, the storm began. It arrived so quickly and suddenly that it was a stressful situation for everyone. According to the hospital doctors, this could have been one of the triggers for the premature labor.
On the kind of island away from the shore where everyone else was, only Callie, PJ, and I were separated by a stroke of bad or good luck. Because of Callie's pains and the speed at which the water moved in the river channels, it was impossible to reach the other side safely.
Callie's screams and the difficulty of the situation put me in check. I didn't know what to do, and the pressure of everything happening could have been fatal if only Callie and I had been there.
"There's a tent up there still," PJ shouted, snapping me out of the horrible and useless trance I was in. Without waiting, he helped me with Callie, and we walked to one of the tents his family had set up for the night.
"How far apart are the contractions?" With incredible professionalism, the teenager, several years younger than me, asked while helping me lay Callie on the floor of the tent.
The boy seemed completely unperturbed, as if this were an everyday occurrence. Callie answered his question, and the boy continued. Due to the shock of the situation, I didn't fully understand the sentence he said after that, just the end.
"We have to deliver this baby now," preparing his clothes, the boy said with the same serious demeanor he had carried for several minutes.
"What?" I immediately asked, unable to believe what I had heard.
Showing that my disbelief was unfounded, PJ immediately took control of the situation, speaking seriously to me, ordering me to stay by Callie's side throughout the difficult procedure before he left to get what he needed for the emergency delivery.
With incredible professionalism, PJ did what I can only describe as the work of an expert, doing things I later learned doctors train for months to do, as if he had done it before, helping Callie through the process and ensuring he took care of every moment for my son and my wife.
After what seemed like hours with Callie in labor and PJ taking care of everything, my beautiful wife screamed, begging for the impossibility of what she had to do.
It seemed impossible, but once again, the teenager, making sure I was paying attention to what he was saying, "I know how to do an emergency C-section, but the baby is about to come out, and it could be dangerous right now," he affirmed, surprising me once again.
Feeling useless for all the ways I couldn't help my Callie in this process beyond staying by her side, I leaned in, "You can do this. You're Callie Wallace; there's nothing you haven't been able to do before, just one more time, honey," I said into my wife's ear, squeezing her hand, feeling her squeeze mine in response.
Nodding at the teenager, Callie pushed once more with a scream. "I've got it," PJ affirmed, lifting a weight off my shoulders.
"Why isn't he crying?" a second later, Callie, beside me, asked with extreme worry, making that weight return in an instant.
"Damn," for the first time since we entered the tent, PJ said with concern, moving quickly.
If I hadn't been so worried about my baby's health, I would have been even more impressed by the boy's 'work' in saving my child's life.
While PJ applied what felt like an eternity of CPR to the baby, which paramedics and doctors later explained to me was the proper method for a baby, I could only pray for my child's well-being, not even feeling the pressure Callie was applying to my hand.
"Waaah!" For the first time in my life, I heard my child's cry. I don't think I'll ever feel so relieved to hear anything in my life.
"Thank you," talking to my baby, I heard the teenager, who was shedding tears despite his incredible feat. "Congratulations, it's a boy," he said, laughing slightly while trying to hold back more tears. I immediately imitated him, crying with relief.
A few minutes later, when we all managed to calm our nerves, my journalist instincts kicked in. Unfortunately, Callie didn't allow me to bother the amazing teenager, so I only got a few answers to the questions flooding my mind about PJ's actions.
The paramedics and emergency services arrived not long after, and with the help of the park rangers, we crossed to the other side of the river, where an emergency helicopter was waiting to take us to the nearest hospital. PJ, once again showing his incredible knowledge, quickly and thoroughly explained the situation to one of the paramedics.
"I won't forget this, PJ. Thank you so much. I'll find you someday," I managed to say to the boy one last time before leaving in the helicopter.
At the hospital, after an entire night of ensuring Callie and our son weren't seriously harmed, I was ready to go out and investigate the story.
"Where do you think you're going?" my now much better-rested wife, mother of my child, asked, frowning and incredibly upset.
"I have to go investigate for a story," I said, embarrassed.
"Your son just got born, and you're already thinking about writing? You're forbidden from going near your typewriter for at least a month," Callie ordered furiously but quietly, not wanting to wake our baby.
"Callie, when will I ever find another story like this from a town like this? A teenager with incredible medical knowledge saved our child's life. I have to write the story," I said, preparing to beg if necessary.
"Two weeks," with little intention to negotiate further, Callie conceded after a few seconds of contemplating my words.
"Thank you," I exclaimed, relieved, hoping no one would find this incredible story before I could write it. Amazingly, I was right.
During the longest but most rewarding two weeks of my life, I lived without touching my typewriter, taking care of my wife and my newborn baby, who was fortunately in perfect health.
When my 'ban' ended, I returned to my work. I had to start with what I knew. They lived in the small town where the hospital was, Medford, only an hour and a half from Houston, where we live.
Also, thanks to Bob Duncan, I knew they had moved to Medford from Colorado a few months ago.
Spending a few hours on my first day of investigation at the city's public library, I read many local newspapers looking for any articles that might have already been published about the teenager. I was sure he had prior experiences helping people.
The most I found was an incident at the mall where someone was seriously injured, putting their life at risk, but an unidentified person saved them. I had a slight suspicion that the mysterious unidentified person was PJ.
Apart from that, there was nothing else. I was the first to write about someone I was sure would be famous one day. Even considering the type of news the small town published, my story would be known by all.
Thus, my days of investigation continued. Being such a small town, it wasn't a very difficult search. With only a couple of high schools to check and the public records of Bob Duncan's company, I had more than enough information about the boy to continue.
The first thing, since PJ was still a minor, was to obtain permission from his parents.
Although Bob owned a "company," he, his truck, and his tools were all the company had. Surprisingly, the man single-handedly worked for entire buildings around the small town where they lived.
"Bob Duncan, I don't know if you remember me," I said when I had enough information about the man's work life and approached him at the end of one of his extermination jobs.
"Of course I do, David. I'm glad to see you again. How are you? Your family, are they well?" After a few short seconds used to recall my face, the man immediately said with a big smile, removing one of his gloves to offer a handshake.
"I'm doing very well, thank you. Callie and the baby are also perfectly fine," I responded, accepting the man's handshake.
"Do you work here?" Bob Duncan asked, pointing to the building he had just exited a few minutes ago, concerned. "They have—well, had—a severe termite infestation," he added with a bit of arrogance, obviously proud of his work.
"No, actually, I'm here to meet with you," I said, mentally hoping the man wouldn't be worried that I was following him.
"Why? Do you have a pest problem that you need me to solve?" The man immediately asked seriously; he obviously took his work seriously.
"Oh no, nothing like that. I just wanted to have a conversation with you and your wife about your son PJ," I quickly explained. "I don't know if you remember, but I'm a journalist. I'd like to write an article about your son," I continued immediately, noticing the doubts on Bob's face.
"An article?" Bob asked, taken by surprise. "Do you know something about the award?" he asked again with suspicion, strangely excited.
"The award?" It was my turn to be surprised; there was no mention of an award in any local newspaper.
"It's just something Amy, my wife, mentioned," Bob explained as if it were no big deal. "How about this, I'm heading home now. The kids are at school, and Amy is probably getting ready for work. Why don't you come for a cup of coffee, and we can discuss this article?" Bob said, finishing packing his things into his yellow truck.
"Perfect, thank you very much," I said before heading back to where my car was parked.
The drive back to the Duncan's house didn't take long as I followed Bob in his truck.
Inside their house in a middle-class neighborhood, I saw many photographs of a happy family. I could recognize two of the children in most of the pictures, while there was another girl I had never seen before.
"Hello, I'm Amy Duncan, PJ Duncan's mother. Bob says you want to write an article about our son. We're completely on board," suddenly said a not very tall woman with a high-pitched voice, obviously excited, as she shook my hand.
"Oh yes, do you know what PJ did for my family and me a few weeks ago?" I asked, taking the seat on the sofa the woman was offering, relieved by how easily I had obtained PJ's parents' approval.
"Of course, I know. Bob told me everything," the woman responded, striking poses as if I were holding a camera. "PJ is quite the hero, something he clearly inherited from me," she continued proudly. "You can put that in the article," she added excitedly.
Bob, sitting on the other side of the sofa with his own cup of coffee, strangely nodded at his wife's words while sipping his coffee.
"Okay," I said, taking a big gulp of coffee, trying to avoid showing the discomfort the woman's posing and profile showing was causing me.
"The title could be something like 'Mother of the Century, Her Son a Hero,'" the woman said with a big smile, moving her hands as if the title appeared in front of her face.
"Honey, why don't you sit down and let David talk," Bob said, finally rescuing me from the discomfort by guiding his peculiar wife to sit beside him on the sofa.
"Thank you," I couldn't help but say. "As I'm sure Bob mentioned, I'd like to write an article as a token of gratitude about PJ. While we were in the forest, I had a brief conversation with PJ about his knowledge in medicine."
"Well, I'm a nurse. PJ gets his interest in medicine from me," the woman quickly explained, almost immediately interrupted by Bob.
"No, that's actually interesting. So, you're a nurse, which is why PJ is so knowledgeable about medicine? He learned from a young age?" I asked, taking notes.
"Yeah," the woman responded immediately, puffing her chest with pride. "No," Bob corrected her right away.
"No?" I asked.
"Well, PJ wasn't the most, how to put it," Bob paused to think, "brilliant," he finally said.
"That's one way to put it," Amy Duncan said, nodding slightly after being corrected.
"I don't understand," I said. Not the most brilliant—that didn't sound at all like the teenager I met a couple of weeks ago.
"Back in Colorado, PJ wasn't very 'brilliant,'" Amy commented, nodding towards Bob, "until the day we arrived in Texas and the accident happened," she continued, nodding slightly, corroborating with her husband.
"Accident?" I asked, intrigued, while taking notes on what the woman was narrating.
"Yes, while we were unpacking our belongings from the moving truck, PJ tripped and hit his head. It was quite scary," adding theatricality to her narration, Amy continued. "He lost consciousness for a few seconds. Bob wasn't there yet, so I had to take him to the hospital by myself," the woman continued, still overacting.
"I was in the bathroom," Bob responded, embarrassed.
"Anyway, at the hospital, they immediately did dozens of medical exams. Fortunately, his health was perfect," Amy quickly said. "Unfortunately, the blow caused amnesia. The doctor who attended him believed it would pass, but so far, nothing has come back," the woman continued, still overacting.
"Amnesia," I said, surprised, continuing to write in my notes.
"And from then on, it was as if a curtain had been lifted, and PJ started to be 'brilliant,'" Bob continued for his wife.
"So, your son went from not remembering anything to having incredible knowledge in medicine in just a few short months?" I asked, incredulous.
"Basically," Bob and Amy responded in unison, nodding.
"I spoke with some of the doctors at the hospital where I work. There are documented cases where brain trauma, like a blow to the head, can cause cognitive changes. The usual outcome is negative, but in very few and rare cases, they can do wonders," Amy explained cheerfully.
"And you think your son is one of those cases?" I asked, noting ideas for the article.
"All parents think their children are special," Amy sincerely affirmed, and I completely agreed with her. "I don't think the knowledge just appeared in his head, you know?" the woman continued. "I think it simply made it easier for him to absorb information, but PJ still studies a lot. His room is almost always full of books."
It was obvious they were both proud of the teenager. Who wouldn't be?
"He also told me something about the hospital. Is that where he gets all these books?" I asked, making more notes in my small notebook.
"Oh yes, ever since he started studying under Dr. House, the number of books he's brought home has only increased. His grades are perfect, and my nurse colleagues at the hospital always talk about his study hours at the clinic," Amy proudly affirmed, smiling.
"He studies at the hospital?" I asked, surprised once more.
"Oh yes, it's something 'unofficial.' He studies with Dr. House, who is a very renowned diagnostician specializing in difficult cases," Amy continued, even prouder, if possible.
"So, PJ learns by watching Dr. House work?" I asked, jotting down the new and interesting name.
"Yes, something like that. In fact, he helps quite a bit with the cases, obviously just giving opinions. Anything more than that would be irresponsible," Amy responded, maintaining her proud smile.
While drinking the coffee the proud couple had given me, I listened to dozens of stories about their eldest son. Most of them were not particularly relevant for the article I wanted to write, but overall, the love these two parents had for their boy was evident.
"So, when will we be able to read this article?" Amy Duncan asked several minutes after we had arrived at the Duncan house. The two adults had to continue with their daily duties, marking the end of our conversation.
"If all goes as planned, possibly in one or two weeks, maybe on a Saturday," I replied, putting away my small notebook filled with interesting information.
"I can't wait to see PJ's face when he reads the article. It will be an incredible surprise," Amy said excitedly as she and Bob guided me out of their house.
"I hope so," I said, shaking hands again and thanking the couple as I left the Duncan's home.
With the help of the Duncans, I had obtained the phone number of the principal of the high school where PJ attended to continue my investigation. The next day, outside of school hours, I had managed to schedule an appointment with the principal.
"Yes, Duncan is undoubtedly one of the brightest students we have at the school," Principal Peterson responded excitedly, beginning the interview after I had properly introduced myself.
"One of the brightest? PJ isn't the one with the best grades?" I asked, writing in my small notebook, taking the man by surprise as I discovered him in what seemed to be a slight exaggeration.
"Well," the man elongated the word nervously, "we have a student who is only nine years old and is undoubtedly a genius," he continued, straightening his posture. For some reason, talking about this peculiar child made him nervous. "But about the grades, I think the teachers have more information on that. I know they share many classes together."
The man's partial ignorance of the boy's grades left little to ask about.
"I think I have everything I need. Is it possible to speak with some of PJ's teachers?" I said with a small smile, seeing the few notes I had from my conversation with Principal Peterson.
"Of course, the teachers are in the teachers' lounge. I asked them to wait a few minutes because you might have questions for them as well," the man said excitedly as he stood up, placing his hand on my shoulder to guide me out of his office.
"The school is completely proud to have people like PJ in its halls," Principal Peterson said as we walked towards what I assumed was the teachers' lounge. "Maybe the article could include a mention of the support the school provides for his extracurricular activities," he hinted as we reached the door of the lounge.
"Of course, I will write about the support PJ receives from this school," I assured immediately, though at the moment, there wasn't much to write about.
Inside the lounge, the smell of cigarettes and coffee was the first thing I noticed. Four obviously exhausted teachers were waiting inside the room.
"Everyone, this is David Wallace. He's writing an article in the newspaper about PJ Duncan," Principal Peterson introduced me as some of the teachers extinguished their lit cigarettes.
"I knew it was only a matter of time before someone wrote an article about the boy," one of the present teachers, a fat man, said amusedly. "What did he do now?" he asked.
"George Cooper, the football team's coach," Principal Peterson said, smiling cheerfully as he introduced the man.
"He saved my baby's life," I responded, smiling at the amused teachers.
"Obviously," one of the present teachers said, amused. "Victoria McElroy, I teach English," the woman introduced herself.
"I'm telling you, that boy should be in some university right now," another teacher present, a lanky and balding man, affirmed.
"But if he goes, we won't have anyone to balance out Cooper," another teacher, a woman of color, immediately disagreed, causing Coach Cooper to press his lips in embarrassment and the lanky teacher to nod in agreement with relief.
"Evelyn Ingram, math, and Hubert Givens, science," Principal Peterson said, giving the last two teachers a stern look as they were introduced.
"I'll leave you with them, David. It was a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to reading the article," the principal said, shaking my hand once more.
"Thank you," I said as we watched the man leave the lounge.
"So, what would you like to know about the boy?" Coach Cooper asked, breaking the silence caused by the principal's departure.
"You don't seem very surprised that the boy saved a life," I stated, taking my notebook out of my jacket. "Is that common?" I asked.
"Obviously, it's not common for a teenager to save a life," Ms. Ingram stated matter-of-factly.
"But when it comes to PJ Duncan, many things are not common," Mr. Givens said, amused.
"Besides, it has happened before," Ms. McElroy said, looking at her colleagues. "Remember that time, everyone was talking about it, PJ saved a barista's life?" she said, trying to recall.
"Not just that time," Coach Cooper said, nodding. "The Duncans are our neighbors, and a couple of months ago, I had an attack," he continued, pointing to his chest. "The boy gave me an aspirin before his parents helped my wife and me get to the hospital," he narrated. "The doctors said the aspirin was a great idea. I don't remember why," he finished, laughing slightly.
"I didn't know you were a neighbor of the Duncans," I said, writing down the truly interesting information the teachers had given.
"Oh yes, you must have met Amy and Bob. Obviously, you can't write about PJ without their consent," the coach said. "We live next door to them," he continued with strange pride.
"Yes, I met the Duncans yesterday, in fact," I affirmed. "But back to the topic, PJ stands out for his exceptional medical knowledge at his age?" I asked.
"Not just for that," Ms. McElroy immediately disagreed. "Long before anyone knew about his 'brilliant' medical knowledge, PJ stood out on his own," the woman affirmed with strange affection.
"Yes, PJ is the image of the ideal student," Ms. Ingram affirmed. "Intelligent and hardworking, he currently has perfect grades. He's at the top of my class," she continued proudly.
"And even though his knowledge may surpass many of his classmates and possibly us at times, he doesn't rub it in your face," Mr. Givens affirmed with strange resentment.
"He's also a great athlete," Coach Cooper, not wanting to be left behind, affirmed. "He's the quarterback of the team. Without him, we probably wouldn't have won many of the games this season."
"Good grades and star athlete, sounds like a combination enough for a teenager to get lost in himself," I said while writing more notes, studying the faces of those present. I had already met enough people, and none had said anything bad about the boy, not even the smallest thing.
"Oh yes, that would be a dangerous combination for any teenager, but PJ is different," Professor Givens said, amused, while shaking his head.
"Yes, PJ is a great person. During class, he makes our work much easier," affirmed Ms. MacElroy.
"So easy," agreed Ms. Ingram, "he finishes his work so quickly that he has time to do anything else, but instead, he helps his classmates, not just his friends, anyone who needs it."
"He's an excellent captain, he's like a third coach when things go wrong in games, always knowing what to say to encourage his teammates," Coach Cooper said proudly.
"So, he must be quite popular among his peers," I said, concentrating on writing notes, immediately hearing amused snorts from the teachers.
"Mr. Wallace, something the students don't realize is that we can usually hear most of what is said in the hallways," Ms. MacElroy said, "PJ is undoubtedly the most popular boy in school; there isn't a month that goes by without the hallways being full of whispers about him," she continued, amused.
"One of the latest was his breakup with Regina George," Ms. Ingram said, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "There must be a limited number of girls I haven't heard talking about their plans regarding it," she continued, snorting.
"Sadly for them, PJ quickly got attached to the Stratford girl," Ms. MacElroy affirmed, amused, "another brilliant student, she always has opinions in class," she continued.
The teachers continued talking for several more minutes about their impressions of the boy in their classes and outside of them. In general, PJ Duncan continued to be nothing less than what his parents had painted him to be.
With a much fuller notebook of information for the article, I returned home for the day.
I had one more place to visit before I could start the article: the hospital.
I knew it was the same hospital where the rescue helicopter had taken us, a surprisingly modern hospital to be on the outskirts of a small town like Medford.
The dean of medicine didn't have any openings in her schedule for an interview until the next day, so I had time to organize the notes I already had.
Two days later, in my reliable car, I drove back along the road I had taken several times in the previous days to the Medford Teaching Hospital.
"David, glad to see you. How are your wife and baby?" Dr. Cuddy, the dean of medicine at the hospital, asked while offering me a seat in front of her desk.
"They are very well, thank you. I didn't know you knew about my wife," I said, puzzled, while taking out my small notebook.
"I am the dean of medicine; it's my job to know," she said with a professional smile, clasping her hands on the desk. "What can I do for you?" she asked.
"I'm writing an article," I said, studying the gleam in her eyes.
"It must be about PJ," she said with a big smile, surprising me before I could continue. "If I remember correctly, he was the one who helped your wife and baby in the accident, right?" she said, surprising me again.
"I didn't know PJ had mentioned it," I said, noting that detail. Apparently, the boy had talked about it with someone other than his family.
"It was by mistake. We received the news, and when I called him, he thought it was about how he had helped your family," she clarified as if she could read my thoughts, making me cross out a small note I had taken about the boy.
"News?" I asked, trying not to show my surprise.
"You don't know?" it was her turn to be surprised. Seeing the lack of knowledge on my face, she stood up and walked to a wall where she had various recognitions hanging.
"I don't know if you know it, but JAMA is one of the best medical journals," she said, handing me what seemed like a complicated medical article. "As far as I know, that article is on the short list for the Nobel Prize," she affirmed, smiling strangely.
I didn't understand much of what was written in the scientific article until Dr. Cuddy pointed to the acknowledgments at the end.
"It's unheard of," she affirmed. "Never before has someone his age, without previous higher education, achieved something similar."
Now I remembered Bob mentioning something about an award; apparently, the couple had completely forgotten to mention it. This was much bigger.
"This hospital is quite grateful to PJ for this. Just being mentioned in an article like this means a lot to any hospital," Dr. Cuddy affirmed, taking the frame from my hands before rehanging it on the wall.
"What kind of contribution did he have to make to be mentioned in the acknowledgments?" I asked, still surprised by what she had just revealed.
"Oh, it had to be something significant. Given the relatively short time he had contact with Dr. Thomas, it's likely something related to the end of the article," Dr. Cuddy explained.
"Contact with Dr. Thomas, was it provided by the hospital?" I asked.
"You could say that, yes," she said immediately with a professional smile.
"Okay," I said, suspicious. "Could you tell me how a hospital decides to allow a teenager access to its facilities? I understand it had something to do with Dr. House," I continued, reading my past notes.
The professional smile Dr. Cuddy maintained was lost for a second, quickly managing her expression as she nodded.
"Sure, PJ had a conversation with House one day, demonstrating he was a brilliant young man. So, with my permission and under certain conditions, PJ was allowed to come to the hospital to accompany Dr. House's team and learn from their work," she calmly said.
"Then, what kind of work does Dr. House and his team do? I understand he is a 'diagnostician'?" I asked, reading again from my notes.
"Yes, Dr. House specializes in cases that are, in short, difficult," Dr. Cuddy began to explain. "Dr. House has a great talent for diagnosing patients, so we allowed him the first diagnostic department in the country. Many people from other cities come here for Dr. House to work on their case."
"And where does PJ fit into all this?" I asked, interested.
"PJ shares House's ability to diagnose people, so they basically brainstorm while the other team members try to provide reasons why the diagnoses are incorrect. His team could tell you more about it," she assured.
"Very well, besides 'working' on House's diagnostic team, does PJ do anything else in the hospital? Does he deal with patients?" I asked.
"When appropriate, PJ accompanies House in his clinic work to observe how the doctor works," she admitted with a strange forced smile.
"I also wondered, PJ mentioned to me that he had access to the hospital library. Is he allowed much more beyond that?" I continued with my questions.
"Yes, the hospital offers him access to almost everything he needs to continue his prior education. PJ spends most of his free time in the hospital in any of the skills labs, he has plenty of material to practice whatever he needs," she said, much more excited to leave a good impression of the hospital.
"How would you describe PJ Duncan?" seeing that Dr. Cuddy really wouldn't have many more answers, I asked.
"I'd say he's astute, pleasant, and has an innate talent for medicine. I'm excited to see what the future holds for him," she said with a small smile.
"Thank you," I said while writing down her words. "I was wondering if I could have a conversation with Dr. House and his team," I said, noticing how Dr. Cuddy's smile soured for a second.
"Yes," after a few moments of silence, Dr. Cuddy finally responded, "I'll take you to the diagnostic department," she said, guiding me out of the office.
As we walked through the hospital corridors, she talked to me about the wings we passed and the renovations they had done over the years, as well as the achievements the department heads had accomplished, obviously seeking another story for her hospital.
"We're here," she said in front of an office with glass walls, with Dr. House's name written on the glass door. We entered, and I followed her.
Inside the office, like a déjà vu, three other people were sitting around a table, each doing their own thing, between writing on a pile of papers and reading books.
"These are Drs. Cameron, Foreman, and Chase. This is David Wallace, and he's here to ask some questions for a newspaper article," Dr. Cuddy said, making our presence known to the distracted doctors while introducing each doctor by name.
"A pleasure," Dr. Cameron, the first to come out of the surprise of seeing her boss and a complete stranger, was the first to greet me.
Dr. Foreman, a black man, slightly nodded in a silent greeting.
"An article?" the last of the doctors, Dr. Chase, asked with a friendly smile. "We haven't had interesting cases lately, the last one was the babies, but that was a couple of weeks ago, right?" he asked his colleagues, who nodded.
"Actually, I'm writing about PJ Duncan," I clarified, immediately seeing the doctors' reactions. Dr. Foreman seemed, for some reason, immediately disinterested in the topic, rolling his eyes and returning to his reading, while Dr. Chase and Dr. Cameron shared a few seconds of surprise before Dr. Cameron, disappointed, pulled a bill out of her pocket and handed it to the other doctor, who took it.
"We knew it would happen at some point. I bet it would be within this year; Cameron thought he would have to attract the attention of someone really important or study with House a bit longer for it to happen," Dr. Chase said, amused.
"That was before his name appeared in an article that might win a Nobel Prize," Dr. Cameron said, defeated.
"Or that he saved the life of the son of the person writing the articles," I joked, seeing how my words surprised the three doctors for the second time.
"Wait a moment, David Wallace," apparently having heard my name before, Dr. Chase said, laughing. "So it was PJ, that's why House was bothering him so much," he continued, amused.
"Did he really help with a premature birth in the middle of a storm?" Dr. Foreman asked incredulously, frowning as he leaned back in his chair.
"As far as I can remember, yes," I replied, "and I was there. He was even prepared to perform an emergency C-section," I continued, still incredulous at my own words.
Snorting while shaking his head, Dr. Foreman continued his reading.
"That sounds like PJ," Dr. Chase said, amused.
"Yeah," Dr. Cameron said, ironically, while nodding.
"David is here to ask some questions about PJ and his role here. I'll go find Dr. House, I'll leave you for a moment," behind me, Dr. Cuddy suddenly said, cutting the doctors' interesting conversation before leaving.
"So, what do you need to know about PJ?" Dr. Chase asked with a kind smile.
"What do you think about him?" I asked.
"At first, it was strange," Dr. Chase was the first to respond, "he was a teenager who suddenly arrived and helped with differential diagnoses."
"I was the first to meet him," Dr. Cameron said, "after Dr. House, of course," she clarified. "Dr. House brought him to a patient's family, and PJ easily diagnosed a Myoclonic Jerk and explained it immediately. It was surprising; I hadn't seen it until PJ said it."
"Is it normal for PJ to approach the patient's family?" I asked, surprised.
"Oh no, it's just something House did very few times. PJ doesn't have direct contact with patients or their families, only when he has to learn something, like seeing us deliver bad news or things like that," Dr. Chase said.
"So, having PJ here is like being in medical school much earlier?" continuing with my notes, I asked again.
"In a way, yes," Dr. Cameron said, nodding.
"Actually, PJ has knowledge and skills that would easily place him in the later years of medical school, even the first years of a doctor's residency. I've seen how he does sutures, and I doubt I could do it better than him in some cases," Dr. Chase added, ironically.
"He spends hundreds of hours a week in the hospital library; he's just building his career. With what he's achieved in this short time, he has guaranteed entry into any medical school, and when the time comes for his residency, any hospital will be more than happy to have him," Dr. Cameron continued.
"Yes, I can't even imagine the moment he has to do his fellowship, the number of gifts he'll receive to choose the hospital he'll go to," Dr. Chase said, laughing, amused.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Foreman, I haven't heard your opinion of PJ," I said, looking at the only other doctor in the office who hadn't spoken the entire time.
Dr. Foreman, who was reading completely focused, took a few seconds to respond, "He has a great talent for medicine," he admitted dryly before returning to his reading.
Perplexed by the doctor's behavior when talking about PJ, I continued with my notes; there was possibly something here. "Aside from medical knowledge and skills, does PJ have any issues with his attitude?" I asked, studying the doctors' reactions. Dr. Cameron immediately smiled and shook her head, while Dr. Chase and Foreman both sighed with different tones.
"PJ is like a mini House," Chase explained. "He observes everything; it's like always being under someone's scrutiny," he continued, noticing my confusion.
"PJ is kind and funny; I can't see anyone disliking him," Dr. Cameron remarked, glancing at Dr. Foreman significantly.
"All the hospital nurses adore him," Dr. Chase added with a smile. "They always ask about him."
"His mother is a nurse, do you think that's the reason?" I asked.
"I don't think so. I've seen him talking to the janitor, the library attendant, volunteers—almost everyone. They seem like friends," Dr. Cameron quickly added.
"We're here!" suddenly, from the office entrance behind me, Dr. Cuddy's voice cheerfully announced.
Turning, I found Dr. Cuddy accompanied by a well-groomed man in a hospital gown—the infamous Dr. House, as I read on his gown.
"You must be David Wallace. Dr. Cuddy told me about you. Pleasure to meet you, Gregory House," Dr. House said with a friendly smile, extending his hand for a firm handshake.
"Pleasure. I've heard a lot about you, Dr. House," I greeted the friendly man. "I was just talking with your team about PJ," I continued, turning to the other doctors, pausing for a moment as I noticed their puzzled expressions, which immediately changed—strange.
"Ah, PJ, my protege!" strangely excited, Dr. House exclaimed with a broad smile. "Tell me, what can I tell you about my fabulous apprentice, of whom I, Dr. House, am utterly proud?" he said, still maintaining a playful smile.
"I just want to know your thoughts on PJ," I said, amused by the man's excitement to talk about the boy.
"Of course, follow me to my office," Dr. House said cheerfully, walking briskly to a room separate from the main office.
Inside the room, there was a bookshelf filled with books and a desk where Dr. House cheerfully took a seat, offering me one of the vacant chairs in front of him.
"What do I think about PJ?" Folding his hands on his desk, the cheerful doctor said thoughtfully, "I see myself in PJ. He's a medical prodigy, and it makes me proud to be the one giving him his introduction to medicine."
Dr. House seemed like a very kind person, entirely in line with what Amy Duncan had said about him.
"What do you think his future holds?" I wrote down what the man had said and asked.
"I think PJ will achieve remarkable things. The other day, upon hearing the news that PJ was acknowledged in an article as important as Dr. Thomas's, some tears escaped my eyes, thinking that I could help him reach that," Dr. House said, nodding slightly.
After that, Dr. House briefly recounted the cases he had worked on with the teenager and how he was an essential part of his team.
"Would you like to add a few more words for the article?" I asked, feeling I had more than enough to start writing.
"Of course, I, Gregory House, not only see in PJ Duncan an image of my younger self or an apprentice, but I see a son whom I respect and even admire. I'm proud of him," the man said, smiling broadly.
"Perfect." Finishing writing down what the doctor said, I stood up next to the man, shaking his hand once again before returning to where everyone else was.
"The article may take another week to be published. I'd like everything to be kept secret, to work as a surprise for PJ," I said, thanking the doctors in the office.
"Of course," Dr. Cameron immediately said with a big smile, while the other doctors simply nodded.
"It won't just be a surprise for PJ," Dr. House amusingly ominously remarked, making the other three doctors nod in amusement.
"I'll let you all continue with your work." Bidding farewell to the people present, I said as Dr. Cuddy accompanied me through the hallways toward the exit.
"We'll all be looking forward to reading the article. PJ deserves it," the doctor said with a smile as we reached one of the hospital doors.
"I hope to meet everyone's expectations. I have to start writing," I said, shaking the woman's hand once again.
"Excuse me, am I interrupting something?" sarcastically asked a voice from the hospital door, causing Dr. Cuddy's hand to tighten for a moment.
"Not at all, come in," the doctor gently guided me slightly out of the way, signaling the man to enter the hospital.
"That's a great shirt," passing by us, focusing on Dr. Cuddy, the strange man walking with a cane said dryly.
As the man walked into the hospital, disappearing down the hallway, I looked at Dr. Cuddy, who had a furrowed brow upon seeing the man. "Do you know him?" I asked.
"He's just Dr. Wilson, our oncologist," the woman said, forcing a smile.
Back home, I began to write the article. I wanted it to be perfect; I had more than enough information and opinions from others to write a comprehensive piece about PJ and his achievements.
As the days went by, the following week arrived. I had a significant section in the article specifically reserved for when the Nobel Prize winners would be announced, which according to the hospital doctors, would be on December 10th.
The day after the award ceremony, since the awards were given in the early hours, I found out that the article where PJ had given his support had won, giving me much more to write about.
The next day, I had enough to send it along with a photograph that the Duncans had provided to the editor and wait for it to be published on Saturday.
On Friday night, as I reread my work one last time, completely satisfied with what I had written, all I could do was save it again and hope that PJ would enjoy my gift.
Turning off the lights in my study suddenly, from my son's nursery, the baby's crying began.
Taking the small and fragile creature in my arms, gently rocking and stroking his little face, I could only be grateful once again to the teenager who had saved his life. "Sleep tight, little PJ," with a soft kiss on my son's forehead, once he stopped crying, I returned him to his crib.
---
Author Thoughts:
As always, I'm not American, not a doctor, and not a fighter.
I have to admit that I didn't quite like this chapter. With my schedule packed with school and the novelty of starting a job search, I didn't really have the time to fully develop some of the opinions about the MC as I would have liked.
I also feel like I missed out on the opinions of PJ's teenage friends, siblings, etc.
But I would like to know your thoughts on the chapter.
Another chapter has passed, so new thanks are in order. I would like to especially thank:
- keyakedo
- RandomPasserby96
- 11332223
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.
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