In which they deal with an itchy wrist.
Kutner tossed his completed file in one of the bins on the nurse's death, taking a deep breath as he went through for the next one. Clinic duty was still part of his job, even though he wasn't working for House in diagnostics anymore, and he still had a little over a half-hour to go before he was done for the day. Then it was back to the PT department for his usual patients.
It wasn't that he didn't like sports medicine. It was his field, after all. He just missed the rush of diagnostics. The rush that had burned him out before he even really had a chance to get started. He knew he had rushed in too hard and fast, and he needed to step back before he ran himself into the ground. So back to sports medicine, where he got to know his patients, and handle things the way he was used to.
But for this particular moment, he was still stuck in the clinic. He moved through the other files, trying to find something that was at least remotely interesting for the time being, and hoped that it might, possibly, keep him entertained for a little bit longer than usual.
It wasn't that he didn't like sports medicine. It was his field, after all. He just missed the rush of diagnostics. The rush that had burned him out before he even really had a chance to get started. He knew he had rushed in too hard and fast, and he needed to step back before he ran himself into the ground. So back to sports medicine, where he got to know his patients, and handle things the way he was used to.
But for this particular moment, he was still stuck in the clinic. He moved through the other files, trying to find something that was at least remotely interesting for the time being, and hoped that it might, possibly, keep him entertained for a little bit longer than usual.