House returns to his bed, where Wilson is waiting for him. He accuses House of forging his name on Vicodin prescriptions "again." This time, Wilson actually did something about it: he called all area pharmacies and told them to get verbal authorization from Wilson before filling any Vicodin prescriptions from him. House says Wilson can get ready to be flooded with calls from his real patients' pharmacies, but Wilson doesn't care. He's sick of House putting himself in danger of overdosing or being arrested, not to mention that Wilson could get in trouble. The last straw, apparently, was when Wilson saw that House went through half a month's supply of Vicodin in a few days. House's excuse is pretty awful. He says this is all a part of trying to change for the better, and that he has to "numb" himself to do it. "What do you want from me?" he asks Wilson. Actually, I wouldn't mind knowing the answer to that question. Wilson can't possibly expect anything resembling a friend from House, right? Apparently, he likes hanging out with a guy who forges his name on things and trashes his office and yells at him all the time. Wilson just says that House is obviously "miserable" and "angry" and he has to deal with that without Vicodin. House has no intention of doing that, saying that right now he feels "nothing" and he's enjoying it. So he's going to discharge himself against medical advice and go home for more pills.
House is on his way out when he notices Afsoun still in her bed. He asks her why she hasn't left yet, and she says she's waiting for a nurse to bring her something to treat her eczema, which she believes is acting up because it had paint thinner poured on it during her exhibition. House gets his Epiphany Face. "It's not eczema," House says; "and it's not cancer."
So what is it? Wegener's granulamatosis, confirmed with a biopsy. The "eczema" was actually swelling blood vessels. It also caused her pancreatitis and the mass in her brain that apparently wasn't a cancerous tumor after all. Um ... excuse me? Are you telling me that Afsoun's doctors in New York just assumed Afsoun had -- and treated her for -- terminal cancer without doing any tests to confirm it? That is ridiculous. And stupid. I guess Wilson isn't the worst oncologist in the world after all. The best news, Chase tells Afsoun, is that Wegener's is treatable with steroids and radiation. Afsoun doesn't like the sound of radiation, saying it made her "fuzzy" when she had it to treat her NOT TERMINAL CANCER. Um ... wait a minute. If radiation is the treatment for this, then why didn't that radiation help her before? House points out that if Afsoun doesn't get radiation then she'll find it even harder to work because she'll be dead. Afsoun doesn't care. She refuses the radiation. Luka doesn't understand. "My life's not worth anything if I can't do my art," Afsoun says. Yes, once again, someone who comes to PPTH with a gift has to choose between dying or a treatment that will somehow take that gift away. Luka says that Afsoun has plenty to live for, like her friends. She's more than her art. Afsoun disagrees. Luka says he can't bear to watch Afsoun die when she doesn't have to. He was at her side when he thought she had terminal cancer, but he's not sticking around for this. He kisses her forehead and leaves. "Good for you," House says, apparently respecting for Afsoun for the first time.