Fic: Differential Diagnosis (1/1)
Title: Differential Diagnosis
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Characters: Sheldon/Penny; Amy Farrah Fowler
Word Count: 1,497
Summary: The evidence speaks for itself. For lenina20, who requested “Sheldon/Penny + Involuntary Arousal” at the Five Acts Meme. Episode Spoilers for 4.10 - The Alien Parasite Hypothesis.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: Umm, I don’t even have an excuse. Except, maybe, that I have a handful of friends who used to say that I was like a female version of Sheldon, until Amy showed up and was not so much like me. I don’t know.
Differential Diagnosis
Truth: Sheldon Cooper does not offer his assistance to lesser mortals lightly.
Consider the facts: First -- Sheldon prefers to eat at least one meal a day without the threat of it being contaminated by those with whom he shares proximity; he will eat lunch in the cafeteria only when he has taken his breakfast before Leonard wakes, or when there is some scheduling conflict that precludes the customarily shared ritual of dinner. Second -- Amy Farrah Fowler, while an impressively adept specimen of the human condition, remains, albeit infrequently, a slave to her lesser impulses of base illogicality. And sometimes, she breathes too closely to his food. Third -- Leonard woke uncharacteristically early on the particular morning in question, and Sheldon has been forced to throw away three edible items in as many weeks because Amy’s saliva had unintentionally spewed onto them in the course of simple conversation.
Thus, it remains: Sheldon Cooper offers his assistance to lesser mortals only when there is something to be gained from the interaction that consequently outweighs the time and energy he must expend to facilitate the collaboration in the first place.
That said, the likelihood of the present situation yielding such returns is, in fact, vaguely promising.
Thus, observe: Sheldon has been monitoring his vitals for the better part of twelve months, now. Having set out with a strict hourly timetable, his fervor has slowly dwindled into a lackadaisical thrice-daily routine, in which the vast majority of relevant readings have shown only incidental fluctuations from normal acceptable levels.
There is, however, a chart of environmental factors in his bedroom, mapping the rapid and worrisome increase in heart rate, respiration, and core body temperature, which in turn reveals a marked association of particular external elements with such unsettling occurrences. Very particular external elements. And when Sheldon sees the trends emerge, he places the chart in his closet, behind his lightsaber collection and his beloved theremin, and hums “Soft Kitty” to himself as a distraction, more than a comfort.
Sheldon tells no one of such instances.
Further considering that premature menopause is not a logical concern in his specific case, hyperthyroidism is the first working diagnosis Sheldon chooses to address. His first results are inconclusive (he is a firm believer that the words ‘Everything looks absolutely fine, Mr. Cooper’ implies as much, because the speaker must in fact be of less-than-adequate intelligence if one: they’re referring to him by the incorrect title, and two: they’re using such imprecise terms as ‘fine’), so he proceeds to obtain second, third, and fourth opinions on the matter, followed by an independent self-test using the University’s equipment, and one rather regrettable outburst at the ER at Huntington Memorial, all of which point toward a perfectly functional thyroid.
Nevertheless, he genuinely weighs the benefits of finding one more physician to take one last look, because he does want to be absolutely sure, not to mention that his insurance’s database is simple enough to infiltrate and realign to suit his needs: those foolish Anthem people and their frivolous provisions of coverage -- all too easy to thwart, really.
And yet: the very definition of insanity refers to a tendency toward replicating exact events with the expectation of achieving divergent results. And he’s been tested for insanity before. More than once, in fact.
Those foolish Anthem people.
He opts against running a seventh sample, for the time being.
Moving on: hosting an alien parasite is something Sheldon has always harbored a vague concern regarding, as he has been torn from a very early age between considering it an honor to be selected specifically as an ideal host body for an otherworldly life-form, and conversely deducing that any intelligent being from beyond Sol 3 would be stripped of the moniker “intelligent” for choosing for habitation a planet so overwhelmed by sheer mental incapacity (himself, of course, excluded). Nevertheless, he contacts NASA, hacks their databases once they deny his requests for access, and spends a good seventeen hours daily over a three-week stretch braving the very slums of the World Wide Web: the science fiction message boards.
He deigns to subject himself to very specific analyses of blood-phosphorous levels and urine composition, but draws a line at the more absurd suggestions involving irradiation and/or bloodletting. Because these are not the Dark Ages, and radiation burns, as Sheldon well knows, are no laughing matter.
He tentatively rules out alien infestation and returns to square one none the wiser.
Thus, it remains: Sheldon Cooper offers his assistance in identifying Amy Farrah Fowler’s condition because he is highly acquainted with her specific plight. This, however, is not an anomalous situation, but is instead typical of the prevailing course of the universe; because Sheldon Cooper is at least casually acquainted with just about everything.
Therefore, likewise, it is implied: Sheldon Cooper offers his assistance to Amy Farrah Fowler because he is highly acquainted with the concept of probability, and while on a subjective level he doubts that her intervention can have much positive impact on the study at large (because, truthfully: how helpful can any person who doubts the authority that is Star Trek actually be?), but he cannot deny, as the colloquialism purports, that two heads can, at times -- when both heads contain minds that are of above average intelligence, rooted sufficiently in logical empiricism, and oriented appropriately to the same experimental goal -- be preferable to a single such head.
It’s unlikely, of course, but it has been known to happen. And while Sheldon Cooper is skeptical, he may or may not also be just a little bit desperate.
So: Sheldon sacrifices his lunch hour, in which he’d intended to thoroughly enjoy his sashimi in peace, to assist Amy Farrah Fowler in identifying the malady that ails her, with the overarching aim of likewise settling his own unsolved medical mystery.
Had he suspected the systematic elimination of possible causes would leave the same inconceivable result in Amy’s case as in his own, Sheldon would have stayed in his office and enjoyed his meal alone.
Similarly: if he had suspected that the mere mention of a particular female who was in Amy’s company at the time of the incident at hand would have incited the same localized vascular throbbing in his own loins as they were currently concerned with in Amy’s, he’d have most certainly gone home for lunch.
Because once you’ve eliminated the impossible, the good Detective Holmes is to be commended for stating the obvious.
And Sheldon does, in fact, have a stomach, as Amy justifies in reference to her own dilemma: and for that matter, he is quite hungry, because he’s just wasted his entire lunch hour, as well as a delicious plate of sashimi.
Truth: given the existing evidence, the actual likelihood of the noted symptoms being caused by sexual arousal, in Amy Farrah Fowler’s case, is approximately 61.453982 percent. In Sheldon’s case, the probability is closer to 83.256478 percent. Give or take.
It would have changed, though, he’s certain, if he’d have decided in the affirmative on the matter of a seventh blood test to check his TSH levels.
Of note: when a colleague knocks at his office door -- three times, in quick repetition -- and interrupts his belated, and admittedly lackluster experience with his spread of raw fish, Sheldon Cooper’s lips move around a mouthful of yellowtail in the shape of a name. Force of habit, nothing more.
Another truth: there is not a Snowball's chance in a CAT Scanner that he’s going to admit it, either way.
Thus, it remains: when Sheldon Cooper returns home from work that night, he stares at Penny’s door for a good twenty minutes before he unlocks his own, and he doesn’t bother documenting the way his heart races (close to 160 bpm, if his impromptu measurements are sound), or the way his breaths grow short and shallow, or the way his tongue drags rough against the roof of his mouth and his hands slip on the handle when he opens his door; he doesn’t bother, because as a scientist, he must consider the facts.
So, consider the facts: Sheldon Cooper does not suffer from hyperthyroidism, does not possess the anatomy to support a diagnosis of menopause, and, regrettably, does not seem to be hosting an extraterrestrial parasite in his body. The signs all point in a single direction.
And Sheldon Cooper: he is a scientist. He can accept the conclusions reached when the research conducted is sound. He’s well aware of all the things he can’t yet bring himself to admit.
The evidence, though: it speaks for itself.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Characters: Sheldon/Penny; Amy Farrah Fowler
Word Count: 1,497
Summary: The evidence speaks for itself. For lenina20, who requested “Sheldon/Penny + Involuntary Arousal” at the Five Acts Meme. Episode Spoilers for 4.10 - The Alien Parasite Hypothesis.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: Umm, I don’t even have an excuse. Except, maybe, that I have a handful of friends who used to say that I was like a female version of Sheldon, until Amy showed up and was not so much like me. I don’t know.
Differential Diagnosis
Truth: Sheldon Cooper does not offer his assistance to lesser mortals lightly.
Consider the facts: First -- Sheldon prefers to eat at least one meal a day without the threat of it being contaminated by those with whom he shares proximity; he will eat lunch in the cafeteria only when he has taken his breakfast before Leonard wakes, or when there is some scheduling conflict that precludes the customarily shared ritual of dinner. Second -- Amy Farrah Fowler, while an impressively adept specimen of the human condition, remains, albeit infrequently, a slave to her lesser impulses of base illogicality. And sometimes, she breathes too closely to his food. Third -- Leonard woke uncharacteristically early on the particular morning in question, and Sheldon has been forced to throw away three edible items in as many weeks because Amy’s saliva had unintentionally spewed onto them in the course of simple conversation.
Thus, it remains: Sheldon Cooper offers his assistance to lesser mortals only when there is something to be gained from the interaction that consequently outweighs the time and energy he must expend to facilitate the collaboration in the first place.
That said, the likelihood of the present situation yielding such returns is, in fact, vaguely promising.
Thus, observe: Sheldon has been monitoring his vitals for the better part of twelve months, now. Having set out with a strict hourly timetable, his fervor has slowly dwindled into a lackadaisical thrice-daily routine, in which the vast majority of relevant readings have shown only incidental fluctuations from normal acceptable levels.
There is, however, a chart of environmental factors in his bedroom, mapping the rapid and worrisome increase in heart rate, respiration, and core body temperature, which in turn reveals a marked association of particular external elements with such unsettling occurrences. Very particular external elements. And when Sheldon sees the trends emerge, he places the chart in his closet, behind his lightsaber collection and his beloved theremin, and hums “Soft Kitty” to himself as a distraction, more than a comfort.
Sheldon tells no one of such instances.
Further considering that premature menopause is not a logical concern in his specific case, hyperthyroidism is the first working diagnosis Sheldon chooses to address. His first results are inconclusive (he is a firm believer that the words ‘Everything looks absolutely fine, Mr. Cooper’ implies as much, because the speaker must in fact be of less-than-adequate intelligence if one: they’re referring to him by the incorrect title, and two: they’re using such imprecise terms as ‘fine’), so he proceeds to obtain second, third, and fourth opinions on the matter, followed by an independent self-test using the University’s equipment, and one rather regrettable outburst at the ER at Huntington Memorial, all of which point toward a perfectly functional thyroid.
Nevertheless, he genuinely weighs the benefits of finding one more physician to take one last look, because he does want to be absolutely sure, not to mention that his insurance’s database is simple enough to infiltrate and realign to suit his needs: those foolish Anthem people and their frivolous provisions of coverage -- all too easy to thwart, really.
And yet: the very definition of insanity refers to a tendency toward replicating exact events with the expectation of achieving divergent results. And he’s been tested for insanity before. More than once, in fact.
Those foolish Anthem people.
He opts against running a seventh sample, for the time being.
Moving on: hosting an alien parasite is something Sheldon has always harbored a vague concern regarding, as he has been torn from a very early age between considering it an honor to be selected specifically as an ideal host body for an otherworldly life-form, and conversely deducing that any intelligent being from beyond Sol 3 would be stripped of the moniker “intelligent” for choosing for habitation a planet so overwhelmed by sheer mental incapacity (himself, of course, excluded). Nevertheless, he contacts NASA, hacks their databases once they deny his requests for access, and spends a good seventeen hours daily over a three-week stretch braving the very slums of the World Wide Web: the science fiction message boards.
He deigns to subject himself to very specific analyses of blood-phosphorous levels and urine composition, but draws a line at the more absurd suggestions involving irradiation and/or bloodletting. Because these are not the Dark Ages, and radiation burns, as Sheldon well knows, are no laughing matter.
He tentatively rules out alien infestation and returns to square one none the wiser.
Thus, it remains: Sheldon Cooper offers his assistance in identifying Amy Farrah Fowler’s condition because he is highly acquainted with her specific plight. This, however, is not an anomalous situation, but is instead typical of the prevailing course of the universe; because Sheldon Cooper is at least casually acquainted with just about everything.
Therefore, likewise, it is implied: Sheldon Cooper offers his assistance to Amy Farrah Fowler because he is highly acquainted with the concept of probability, and while on a subjective level he doubts that her intervention can have much positive impact on the study at large (because, truthfully: how helpful can any person who doubts the authority that is Star Trek actually be?), but he cannot deny, as the colloquialism purports, that two heads can, at times -- when both heads contain minds that are of above average intelligence, rooted sufficiently in logical empiricism, and oriented appropriately to the same experimental goal -- be preferable to a single such head.
It’s unlikely, of course, but it has been known to happen. And while Sheldon Cooper is skeptical, he may or may not also be just a little bit desperate.
So: Sheldon sacrifices his lunch hour, in which he’d intended to thoroughly enjoy his sashimi in peace, to assist Amy Farrah Fowler in identifying the malady that ails her, with the overarching aim of likewise settling his own unsolved medical mystery.
Had he suspected the systematic elimination of possible causes would leave the same inconceivable result in Amy’s case as in his own, Sheldon would have stayed in his office and enjoyed his meal alone.
Similarly: if he had suspected that the mere mention of a particular female who was in Amy’s company at the time of the incident at hand would have incited the same localized vascular throbbing in his own loins as they were currently concerned with in Amy’s, he’d have most certainly gone home for lunch.
Because once you’ve eliminated the impossible, the good Detective Holmes is to be commended for stating the obvious.
And Sheldon does, in fact, have a stomach, as Amy justifies in reference to her own dilemma: and for that matter, he is quite hungry, because he’s just wasted his entire lunch hour, as well as a delicious plate of sashimi.
Truth: given the existing evidence, the actual likelihood of the noted symptoms being caused by sexual arousal, in Amy Farrah Fowler’s case, is approximately 61.453982 percent. In Sheldon’s case, the probability is closer to 83.256478 percent. Give or take.
It would have changed, though, he’s certain, if he’d have decided in the affirmative on the matter of a seventh blood test to check his TSH levels.
Of note: when a colleague knocks at his office door -- three times, in quick repetition -- and interrupts his belated, and admittedly lackluster experience with his spread of raw fish, Sheldon Cooper’s lips move around a mouthful of yellowtail in the shape of a name. Force of habit, nothing more.
Another truth: there is not a Snowball's chance in a CAT Scanner that he’s going to admit it, either way.
Thus, it remains: when Sheldon Cooper returns home from work that night, he stares at Penny’s door for a good twenty minutes before he unlocks his own, and he doesn’t bother documenting the way his heart races (close to 160 bpm, if his impromptu measurements are sound), or the way his breaths grow short and shallow, or the way his tongue drags rough against the roof of his mouth and his hands slip on the handle when he opens his door; he doesn’t bother, because as a scientist, he must consider the facts.
So, consider the facts: Sheldon Cooper does not suffer from hyperthyroidism, does not possess the anatomy to support a diagnosis of menopause, and, regrettably, does not seem to be hosting an extraterrestrial parasite in his body. The signs all point in a single direction.
And Sheldon Cooper: he is a scientist. He can accept the conclusions reached when the research conducted is sound. He’s well aware of all the things he can’t yet bring himself to admit.
The evidence, though: it speaks for itself.