Just when you thought this show was through with purely medical mysteries that have nothing to do with the patient's sex life, a kid shows up at PPTH with bloody diarrhea. When Cuddy brushes her newest patient off with a gastroenteritis diagnosis since she's too busy playing in PPTH's black-tie night poker tournament to be disturbed, House springs into action, folding two aces in the process. The reason for his uncharacteristic concern with and passion for the case is that the kid has the same symptoms as an old patient of House's who died before House could figure out what was wrong with her. With the help of Wilson, he sneaks around behind Cuddy's poker-playing back to treat the kid, but can't figure out what's wrong with him, and the drugs they give the kid in one of their genius "treat him for everything possible" moves make him even worse. When his heart stops for eight minutes, leaving him possibly brain-damaged, during a biopsy, the parents finally wise up and tattle to Cuddy, who marches in and pulls House off the kid's case, which is about as successful as it usually isn't. For you see, House managed to hide away a piece of the kid's heart tumor that they can use for tests. Unfortunately, they have too many tests to run on such a tiny piece. House and the Cottages try to narrow things down and pick conditions to test for, both of which come back negative. After an offhand comment from Wilson about nailing someone's ass, House realizes that the mystery illness is a quite the little poker player itself and bluffed everyone when they tested for it originally and it didn't show up. He's sure they'll find the Erdheim-Chester disease in the last piece of heart tumor, and, of course, he's right. The kid goes from being on the brink of death to seemingly healthy by the early morning, and we all get to watch House play the piano.
An elementary school class takes a journey through the heart of someone, who must have taken way too much LSD before he decided to let visitors in, because that is the trippiest thing I have ever seen. Seriously, I think all the epileptic students had to stand outside. The bright flashing, moving, pulsing lights are supposed to be blood vessels moving through the circulatory system, and despite its inadequacy as a children's learning tool, I do think that the visual effects department should consider implementing this into their Magic School Bus close-ups. It's more realistic than those computer graphics. The class settles in some heart chamber or something and one bug-eyed little moppet, named Ian, raises his hand to both ask a question and state his need to go to the bathroom. The teacher allows him to ask his question, which is "Where’s the bathroom?" I hate this kid already. The teacher assigns some kid who's desperately in need of a haircut and an attitude adjustment to bathroom buddy duty, much to his obvious displeasure, probably because he knows how easily one can get lost in this dimly-lit, mazelike exhibit, never to be seen again. I can't imagine what kinds of visual aids they employed in the life-size large intestines. The teacher suddenly screams in pain and clutches her pregnant belly. I guess her baby hates listening to precocious kids who don't know their place as much as I do. The teacher sinks down to her knees, where she notices blood pouring down Ian's pantleg and onto his shoes. "You're bleeding!" she tells the oblivious Ian as we see that the back of his pants is a lot messier than the front. The entire female audience of the show sympathetize with Ian's situation and make mental notes to stock up on Always, with Wings, which afford the extra leakage protection you never know when you'll need.
PPTH's Clinic has gotten itself a richer clientele, judging by its red carpets and tables filled with hor d'oeuvres. Oh, I see -- this is just a black tie benefit thing for the usual lower class of people who come through the Clinic's doors, who will apparently be spending tonight sick and helpless since their usual one-stop shop for their health needs is closed for a black tie benefit. How ironic. And honestly, is the middle of an active hospital really the best place for one of these things? Can you really enjoy crudités off a counter where some crackhead lost his lunch not three hours ago? Do the screams of nearby patients in horrible pain mix well with the three-piece orchestra?