Cuddy enters Miss Radfafa's room to find the patient eating and looking much healthier. She asks Cuddy to thank House for her. Cuddy tells her not to eat "too much too fast," which is sound advice when you consider that fresh tracheotomy wound. Cuddy leaves the room and walks right into the smug and patiently waiting House. He asks if she's still planning to cancel the steroid treatment. "You got lucky," she tells him. "Cool, huh?" House says, well after she walks away. I guess it's as cool as guess-and-check medicine can be.
Night falls. The always-working Dr. Wilson checks Miss Radfafa out with his stethoscope. She asks him if she'll ever actually get to meet House. Wilson says that the chances of seeing her doctor -- in a doctor-patient capacity, at least -- are pretty slim. "Is he a good guy?" Radfafa asks. "He's a good...doctor," Wilson says. I don't even know if that's true, considering how he just let that mother keep on withholding steroids from her asthmatic child. Plus, he's a drug addict. As Wilson does some motor function tests, Miss Radfafa asks about House and his relationship to Wilson. She wants to know if they care about each other. Radfafa is a HoYay fan, it seems. (And that I've used that term for the first time, I'd like to announce that it was also my last.) Wilson says he doesn't know how House feels about him; he usually has to pick a nearby flower and plucks its petals one-by-one to make that determination. Radfafa says that what people say isn't important; it's what they do that counts. Wilson thinks for a second, then says that House does care about Wilson. The warm moment ends when Miss Radfafa announces that she is blind. Then she has a most unflattering seizure and her vitals go crazy. And then they go flat.
The next day, Miss Radfafa is still alive, thanks to a defibrillator. Foreman explains that her chest will be "sore" for a while. A sore chest is the least of this poor woman's worries right now, I'd say. Girl looks rough. Who did Robin Tunney piss off to get this role? When we aren't getting closely acquainted with her left nostril, she's having her throat sliced open and flopping around her hospital bed like a dying fish, and most of the time in that unflattering fish-eye lens. Foreman asks her to put four pictures into order to tell a story about what appears to be a mother buying a kite for her ugly daughter and then her daughter flying the kite. Looks like capitalist propaganda to me! It doesn't look like anything to Radfafa though, because she can't do it. How many times has she probably given her students a similar exercise to do? Oh, cruel irony!