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Cameron and Chase enter with some bad news. Anica has a mass on her pancreas and, according to Chase, two months to live. "On the bright side," House reports, his blue eyes shining with triumph, "I was right!"

Even though I'm soon to be a Sirius customer, I love the XM satellite commercial where David Bowie steals Snoop Dogg's bling. Mr. Bowie just looks so damn proud of himself.

Anica's scarfing down some chocolate pudding when Cameron enters her room. Anica asks to see House instead, as she apparently enjoyed his little game of pin-the-tail-on-Anica's-backbone before. After that, I personally would have wanted to see any doctor but House, but Anica's a different case, isn't she? Cameron says that she has some news for Anica -- news that Foreman, in his infinite supervisory wisdom, thought Cameron should be the one to deliver: "We found a mass in your pancreas. It looks like cancer." She sighs, and reluctantly explains that pancreatic cancer is super-deadly, with fewer than 20% of its victims surviving past a year. "What's the treatment?" Anica asks, all matter-of-factly. Cameron says that they'll biopsy her pancreas and then "look at" her options. "Sounds good!" Anica says, still digging into her pudding. Cameron asks for her consent to do the biopsy. "Wish me luck!" Anica says. Hey, when Andi was all brave like that, everyone thought she was a hero. Cameron is more confused by Anica's behavior than she admiring of it, though.

House and Chase perform the biopsy. Anica must be thrilled to have, in charge of this procedure, one doctor just coming off suspension for killing his patient and another whose attempt to do an LP put her into a hypertensive crisis. Wilson and Cameron observe, and Cameron comments on how casually Anica took the news about her cancer. Maybe it's because you didn't exactly spell out the fact that she was going to die, Cameron. As for Wilson, he doesn't really care about that because he's so entertained by the fact that House has been forced to assist Chase.

House enters the Clinic exam room and looks up from his patient's chart to see his female patient de-pantsed, stirruped, and waiting for him. "Perfect," he says, and then immediately moves to the phone to call Foreman in for a consult. Hee hee hee. He puts his gloves on and starts checking out his patient's lower area. She explains that she's been using a contraceptive jelly for the last few weeks because her boyfriend doesn't like condoms. House goes in to get a sample as the patient shows him the jelly she's been using. Its main ingredient isn't spermicide; it's strawberries. The patient has been smearing Smucker's in her nether regions. House stares for a second in disbelief, and then manages to say that they're dealing with a neurological problem. "There's something wrong with my brain?" asks the patient, who is too stupid to figure out the difference between contraceptive and fruit jelly, but somehow knows that a neurologist is a brain doctor. An attending nurse, who totally rules but is certainly no Evil Nurse Brenda, tries not to laugh. House gets a Q-tip full of his patient's jelly-encrusted discharge and proceeds to wave it in the entering Foreman's face, asking him to smell it. Ew. House takes a sniff of it himself and says it "smells like vaginosis." Ew. Ew. Ew. Vaginosis smells like fish. I have to wonder if the patient assumed she was secreting caviar. Foreman informs House that "Anica's" (way to say a patient's name in front of another patient, there, boss) biopsy was negative for pancreatic cancer. Surprise! He leaves, and the patient asks House how long she'll have to wait to have sex again. "On an evolutionary basis, I'd recommend forever," House predictably responds. The scene cuts before we can see the part where House and the nurse exchanged high-fives.

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