The Dope Box TV Blog

We’re always treated to disgusting symptoms. In fact, nary an episode goes by that we don’t see blood being hacked up or spit out or mixed with urine in a catheter. This time, the patient of the week at Princeton Plainsboro has a smorgasbord of bloody unpleasantness. Her belly swells with blood; she sleepily scratches a hole through her head all the way to brain matter; she oozes blood out every facial orifice. Her problem? A super gnarly period.

Despite bringin’ the grossness, the patient also inspired rage, guilt, and introspection in those around her. She had been a brilliant doctor, close to curing kiddie cancer, when she decided she wasn’t happy and became a chef’s assistant instead. She essentially gave the “greater good” the finger so she could chop onions beside pretentious guys in funny hats.

The abandonment of such a noble cause makes Taub question his wife’s decision to forgo having offspring and makes Wilson pissy. Taub eventually decides he’s cool with no kids and Wilson fesses up to being haunted by Amber’s stuff. More specifically, Wilson is haunted by Amber’s mug that has been sitting next to the sink, growing botulism since her death. Its ultimate washing symbolizes a healthy move forward. Sidebar: Seeing Wilson wash dishes makes me so zen.

Foreman and Thirteen are doing it. When they’re in bed together, Foreman makes a verbal observation about her pillow-full of nighttime saliva: “You drool.” He doesn’t say it in a playful way either, but it succeeds in making her giggle and look coyly at her spitty pillow. Later, he tells her about the totally unethical switcheroo he pulled and she responds by saying she’s not comfortable with him being that into her. Turns out she has some kind of ocular tumor which magically sprouted in less than a week of being on the real trial meds. After an MRI, Foreman goes to visit her and she has the big “My leg is bleeding and I’m blind!” reveal, making me snicker uncontrollably. House and Foreman perform radiation on her, resulting in an “I can see!” moment. This time my snicker turned to a full-blown belly laugh. Even though she’s better and there is absolutely no valid reason, Foreman rats on himself to the trial doctor. Oh, and we get another slice of Foreteen pillowtalk: “You snore.”

The most enjoyable part of the episode was Cuddy’s ongoing revenge on House. Due to the fact that no one else is capable of dealing with his tomfoolery, Cuddy has to leave Rachel with a nanny so she can resume her duties. Interestingly, all her pranks involve causing him harm or discomfort on a physical level, readily taking advantage of the fact that he’s gimpy. In a particularly amusing moment, House’s cane is stolen so he snatches the janitor’s mop and bucket for support. He wheels his way in to see Cuddy who looks up and says, “I don’t remember demoting you.”

House does not retaliate, claiming he wants a return to normalcy and his reprisal will only escalate things. Wilson is convinced that House is really just taking the hits because he feels guilty about being the cause of Cuddy’s forced return. When Cuddy eventually apologizes he tells her he blames Aunt Flo for her recent bought of vengeance. Can’t a girl ever be enraged to the point of pranks and boobytraps without menstruation being the presumed culprit? And, perhaps more importantly, what the hell is going on with Cuddy’s bangs?

“Shocks without shock; an itch that won’t stop. She needs Dr. Seuss.” -House

A mom and her son drive back home to pick up a forgotten hockey stick. The kid is upset about being super lame at the icy sport. He’s comforted by his mother’s observation that at least 3 other kids suck worse than him (solid parenting). When they pull up to their garage they see daddykins has decided to off himself via the stinkiest way possible: vehicular carbon monoxide poisoning. A little dramatic considering he has a medicine cabinet full of pain meds at his disposal, no? And, even more puzzling, why would he snatch five shirts off their hangers before carbon monoxidizing (totally not a word) himself?

Suicidal guy, Jeff, is in chronic pain and seriously wants to die. After being admitted to Princeton Plainsboro, he blows into his IV which, apparently, is not a great idea. He’s not only suicidal, he’s crabby, bitching at wife and son to give him privacy so he can squeeze his tennis ball. And, no that’s not a euphemism. Once quail poisoning is ruled out (could there be a whiter affliction?), House decides he needs to separate the guy’s nervous system from the rest of his body to figure out whether the cause is in his brain. During the procedure, Jeff tells House he’s lucky he doesn’t have a family. Because when House is in pain he doesn’t have to put up a front; he can be as unapologetically douche-y as he deems necessary.

Junior lies on the floor, screaming bloody murder, and everyone comes to his aid. Except House, who in addition to being an extraordinary diagnostician, can sense when others are over-acting. He snatches an empty bottle of isopropyl alcohol from Seriously-Let-Me-Frickin-Die guy’s hand. Next, on to a treatment that causes more harm than good: taking Jeff off the pain meds altogether. A strange solution coming from someone who pops Vicodin like they’re tic-tacs. Jeff wallows in agony for a while before his wife tells House to dope him back up and get him in decent enough shape for the ride home, where he can off himself for real.

Offsetting the heavy subject matter is a parallel plotline involving House’s bathroom plumbing. Fortunately, for many of you, this means we see House in a steamy bathtub massaging his leg. And that’s just for starters. Later, he uses his cane to poke at a soppy ceiling that inevitably collapses, pouring water straight down atop him. It’s House Gone Wild: Wet T-Shirt Edition. The plumber tells him the pipe was pulled, citing negligence, and insurance won’t cover it. So House does what any sensible home owner would do. He “accidentally” sets his kitchen on fire below bathroom pipes. And when that doesn’t work (since the burned pipes were actually his neighbor’s), he bribes the plumber to make a false claim so the insurance company can’t weasel out of paying. Plumber scratches his boys, giving House a Testicular Epiphany. The root of Jeff’s pain is epilepsy, which started in the part of the brain that controls the muscles supporting his testes. His gonads. His taters. His acorns. His…well, you get the idea. House also discovers that, after all his shenanigans, he actually is responsible for the pulled pipe, since he grabs it for balance when getting in the tub.

Thirteen has a problem with commitment. She doesn’t want to disrupt anyone else’s life by getting romantic so she’s avoiding Foreman. It’s thoughtful, actually. Not unlike a puppy, Foreman doesn’t understand the word no. He switches the schedules around so Thirteen can see the progress Janice (the advanced Huntington’s patient) is making. Yawn, yawn, yawn…Thirteen asks Foreman out on a date. He then finds out she’s on a placebo in the trial, which means she might as well be using leeches to cure what ails her. And so continues the Saga of Foreteen, a union as exciting as 3 Valium and a glass of chardonnay.

There is really no development on the Huddy front. Cuddy is frazzled by her duties as hospital administrator and new foster mommy. Differential diagnosis is held in Rachel’s nursery, where House boxes a stuffed giraffe, Cuddy notes House’s musk, and “clean, squeaky rubber nipples” get a mention before the two lock eyes. She looks fed up; he looks playful…apropos of their usual shtick. Despite the messiness of her home and hasty shoving of a dirty diaper into her purse, she is easily approved by the foster care fellow. Wilson drops by, with a giant duck, for an all-too-brief exchange with Cuddy. She’s upset that she passed by “their meager standard” and failed by her’s. He tells her women always set ridiculous standards that no one can meet. “You’re not superwoman. Don’t be a martyr.” Cuddy asks Cam to take over for her. Might we see a little Hameron action next week? Let’s hope there is also more than a lil’ nugget o’ Wilson.

“No hurry. I already bathed once this week; I don’t want to look elitist.” - House