Foreman didn't think much of Brennan insinuating himself with the family, so that he could take credit for picking out a symptom. He'd get credit, of course, when House came back, but if Brennan worked to convince the family that he was the only doctor they could trust, then the team's efforts would have to run through him at every point. Great for him, playing the game. Not so great for Foreman, or for actually getting anything done for the patient. He couldn't say anything, though, until he could get Brennan out of the patient's room. And that wasn't why he was here now.
He bridled at Casey's description of him. He knew more than she did; he was the doctor. Tone it down, he thought. He hated that it was part of a script that he'd learned from Wilson, but it did work. He took the doctor's stool from the corner and sat down at Casey's bedside, facing her and her father equally, keeping his shoulders relaxed. Amber was standing behind him, and it felt like she was waiting with bated breath for him to humiliate himself too. Maybe he was wrong. But Christ, did she have to follow him in here and watch him when he was at his worst? He would have liked to keep up the facade that he knew what the hell he was doing, for her at least. That wasn't likely either, since they worked together, unless he thought he could be right all the time. Dammit, why couldn't it have been heatstroke?
"I understand why you don't want us treating you," he said. "And that's my fault. A doctor's not supposed to admit when he's wrong, but that's what I'm doing. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dismissed what you were telling me. But I need you to know, you're still in very serious condition. We think we know what's happening, and it could be very dangerous if you don't let us confirm it. We need to start plasmapheresis and do the tests to make sure it's Miller-Fisher."
no subject
He bridled at Casey's description of him. He knew more than she did; he was the doctor. Tone it down, he thought. He hated that it was part of a script that he'd learned from Wilson, but it did work. He took the doctor's stool from the corner and sat down at Casey's bedside, facing her and her father equally, keeping his shoulders relaxed. Amber was standing behind him, and it felt like she was waiting with bated breath for him to humiliate himself too. Maybe he was wrong. But Christ, did she have to follow him in here and watch him when he was at his worst? He would have liked to keep up the facade that he knew what the hell he was doing, for her at least. That wasn't likely either, since they worked together, unless he thought he could be right all the time. Dammit, why couldn't it have been heatstroke?
"I understand why you don't want us treating you," he said. "And that's my fault. A doctor's not supposed to admit when he's wrong, but that's what I'm doing. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dismissed what you were telling me. But I need you to know, you're still in very serious condition. We think we know what's happening, and it could be very dangerous if you don't let us confirm it. We need to start plasmapheresis and do the tests to make sure it's Miller-Fisher."