Apparently, after the scene ended, Wilson told House that if he thought it was so important that Andie know about the surgery, House could tell her himself, or so we can surmise as House makes his way towards Andie's room. He introduces himself, and Andie says that she's seen him around, like the time he was standing outside her hospital room smiling while she found out that a blood clot would explode in her brain sometime in the near future. House takes a seat beside Andie's bed and says that her surgery could take ten hours, and that she may well die (for reals) during it. Andie says that her mom did plenty of research at www.re-fuseyourbrain.com. House says that he has a backwards way of assigning people maturity points: he goes by how much time they have left as opposed to how much time they've already had. Going by that, he thinks this should be Andie's call. Andie says that she wants to get better. House says that she has cancer, so even if he does fix the clot, she's still going to die. Andie knows that, but she also knows that she'll get another year to live. House says it's a year of being sick and in pain, which a lot of people (ahemHOUSEahem) would rather not deal with if they had a choice. House says that this decision depends on how much Andie wants to suffer and for how long. If she doesn't want the surgery, House will give her mother ten excellent medical reasons why they shouldn't do it. I don't understand why House didn't go to Andie with this before he talked to Cuddy about it and got Wilson to get the mom to sign the consent forms. Also, encouraging a nine-year-old kid, no matter how mature you think she is, to lie to her mom and choose her death is just wrong. It makes for a touching television moment, but it's wrong. Andie says that it would be wrong to leave her mother like that. House says that it would be wrong for Andie to stay for her mother, too. Wow, I'll bet that if Andie's mom ever found out about this conversation, she'd kill House with his own cane. "She needs me here," Andie sobs. "This is your life," House says. "You can't do this just for her." "But I love her," Andie cries. And now that House has made Andie cry and exposed her weaknesses, he's satisfied.
Andie's surgery gets its own dress rehearsal, with some guy who donated his body to science playing the part of Andie. House leads the large group of workers through the process. The biggest problem is that if Andie's head is moved at all during the procedure, the MRI will be screwed up and the whole exercise will have been pointless and they'll be closed down on Broadway and have to take the show on the road to Des Moines. House assigns various people to their positions, and then tells any "girls in the chorus" who are "over 5'10" to stick with him, because we must be a sexist asshole even during serious situations. Sixty seconds are put on the clock, and House leads them off with a "5-6-7-8!," Broadway dance-number style. Or, if you've seen the Elizabeth Berkley masterpiece, Showgirls "dance" "number"-"style." As the doctors work, House makes sound effects of Andie's blood draining out of her body that entertain absolutely no one in the room. Then someone moves "Andie's" head and the alarm goes off. It goes off over and over again, House getting more and more frustrated at the incompetence of people who are trying to help him out until Foreman, who I suspect has been reading way too much Mary Shelley lately, suggests bolting Andie to the table. It's gruesome and low-tech, so House loves it.