I never thought I'd say this, but...
...there are some days I'm glad she told them to do the surgery.
Because honestly, I was being an idiot. A very intelligent idiot, but I was still being stubborn. Sure, I wanted to keep my damn leg the way it was, even if I knew that it meant I was never going to wake up from that coma. I knew that when Cuddy put me under, it was the last thing I was going to see, and that I'd get an infection that would take over my body and I would be toast. But at least I wouldn't feel it, and I wouldn't feel the pain of surgery or amputation, or the humiliation of going through physical therapy.
I didn't want to suffer anymore, even if that meant dying.
I wanted to stand for something, I wanted her to listen to me, to respect my wishes...
...but I also wanted her to stand up for herself for once.
Don't get me wrong, Stacy was the woman from hell if you pissed her off or if you got in her way, those two inch Prada spikes really hurt when you got hit with them from across the living room, but I wanted her to stand up for herself and stop letting me run the whole show. I wanted to test her. Test her loyalty. Test how much she loved me.
Because if she loved me, really, honest to God loved me, she would have told them to do the surgery. People who love each other are supposed to do that. Support their significant other no matter what...and also not be afraid to smack them upside the head and tell them they're being a goddammed idiot.
Things never worked out between Stacy and myself. There was too much bad water under the bridge after I woke up, and after I went through rehab. She couldn't stop crying when she saw me. She never wanted to touch my leg. I couldn't deal with that.
...though, I am glad she did the surgery. Sometimes. More often than not.
Dr. Greg House
House
Word Count: 337
Because honestly, I was being an idiot. A very intelligent idiot, but I was still being stubborn. Sure, I wanted to keep my damn leg the way it was, even if I knew that it meant I was never going to wake up from that coma. I knew that when Cuddy put me under, it was the last thing I was going to see, and that I'd get an infection that would take over my body and I would be toast. But at least I wouldn't feel it, and I wouldn't feel the pain of surgery or amputation, or the humiliation of going through physical therapy.
I didn't want to suffer anymore, even if that meant dying.
I wanted to stand for something, I wanted her to listen to me, to respect my wishes...
...but I also wanted her to stand up for herself for once.
Don't get me wrong, Stacy was the woman from hell if you pissed her off or if you got in her way, those two inch Prada spikes really hurt when you got hit with them from across the living room, but I wanted her to stand up for herself and stop letting me run the whole show. I wanted to test her. Test her loyalty. Test how much she loved me.
Because if she loved me, really, honest to God loved me, she would have told them to do the surgery. People who love each other are supposed to do that. Support their significant other no matter what...and also not be afraid to smack them upside the head and tell them they're being a goddammed idiot.
Things never worked out between Stacy and myself. There was too much bad water under the bridge after I woke up, and after I went through rehab. She couldn't stop crying when she saw me. She never wanted to touch my leg. I couldn't deal with that.
...though, I am glad she did the surgery. Sometimes. More often than not.
Dr. Greg House
House
Word Count: 337