Post by Dr. James Wilson on Mar 17, 2009 19:50:08 GMT -5
The room around the oncologist was unusually shady, the sun hadn't yet reached the point of anything. James sat at his desk, his doctor's coat on, with a white blouse and tie underneath. He was stressed about something, which was kind of obvious, as he looked around more anxiously. He had a chart in front of him, the chart of one of his patients. He was trying to explain 'why' the things were happening to the patient. Usually, he could bear the thought of a patient dying, since he'd had to deal with it many times before. But this time, something struck some nerve. Maybe it was non-hospital stress though, you never know.
Wilson ran a hand through his hair, and put his other hand on his hip. The hand that ran through his short, dark brown hair had been shaking just a bit. Wilson hadn't noticed the random twitch, but was too focused on the paper he was reading. He rubbed his temples. This was one damn hard job to do. Yeah, maybe it was easier for House, since his specialty was snooping everywhere and figuring the 'why' part out. But for Wilson, it would be harder. It was like he had to diagnose the patient instead of treating the patient. When that thought crossed his mind, he shook his head. That was House's job. Well, House and his team. Wilson took out a pen, and scribbled something onto the paper.
The usual sigh, and the familiar eye roll commenced, and he stood up. It looked like he had been sitting there for ages as he stretched quickly before suppressing a small yawn and looking out his window. The birds were chirping, and the sun was fully out.
Wilson ran a hand through his hair, and put his other hand on his hip. The hand that ran through his short, dark brown hair had been shaking just a bit. Wilson hadn't noticed the random twitch, but was too focused on the paper he was reading. He rubbed his temples. This was one damn hard job to do. Yeah, maybe it was easier for House, since his specialty was snooping everywhere and figuring the 'why' part out. But for Wilson, it would be harder. It was like he had to diagnose the patient instead of treating the patient. When that thought crossed his mind, he shook his head. That was House's job. Well, House and his team. Wilson took out a pen, and scribbled something onto the paper.
The usual sigh, and the familiar eye roll commenced, and he stood up. It looked like he had been sitting there for ages as he stretched quickly before suppressing a small yawn and looking out his window. The birds were chirping, and the sun was fully out.
