savetheearth | general clinic log

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general clinic log

Who: Drs. Solus or Strider, various patients.
What: Echo checkups
When: Whenever
Where: LSR clinic

The LSR clinic, despite its run-down, beat-up appearance, is actually fairly clean on the inside. Lit by white fluorescent lights, it's generally pretty empty, with the occasional non-network patient coming in to get something looked at. A volunteer is usually found running the front desk, organizing papers and responding to phone calls, while Dr. Solus and Dr. Strider take care of the actual medical business.

The waiting room is barebones compared to other clinics and medical practices - LSR doesn't have the money to get entertainments for the waiting patients, so all that's available are a few chairs.

When it's your turn for an appointment, whoever's at the desk will direct you down a hallway to the left, and you will meet one of the doctors.

[ooc: general clinic log! all checkups for crazy echoes can take place here. specify dr. solus or dr. strider in the subject line.]

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[wow, this is pretty swank, all told. after a turbulent birthday afternoon and a few serious conversations with friends, Brooke has finally decided to actually get her ass to a clinic to get her "paralyzed" arm checked out and put into a cast. there probably won't be much to check out, but, well, who knows, right? maybe this is just some weird psychosomatic thing instead of echo-borne. but an actual medical doctor would know better than she would, at any rate.]

[and thank god Ravi told her he'd be volunteering tonight. because already knowing someone working at this not-all-that-strange place that she just walked into will make the whole process way easier.]

[yup, Ravi's there as stated, dressed in plain blue scrubs and comfortable sneakers. he meets Brooke to lead her down the hallway to an examination room.]

[he greets her with the world-weary sort of smile that says they both knew she was going to be here tonight and they both know why.]

How was your birthday? [not great if she's here, but he actually cares about the answer, so it's worth asking anyway.]

[he directs her into an exam room and motions for her to sit, closing the door behind her]

[she's smiling, but otherwise quiet, until they get into a private room, where she sits down and tries to pretend that her right arm isn't completely devoid of feeling and motionless. again, she's not a great pretender.]

Not too bad. Got a nice early afternoon buzz going before I posted on the network, then I sobered up real quick. Not exactly how I expected 24 to start. How've you been?

[he sits at the desk, lays out the paperwork.]

Mostly fine.

For me, 24 started with being shot at in the desert. I think you lucked out. [he sounds pretty good-natured about it; he's trying to make her feel a little better about being stuck in a clinic on her birthday because hey--at least it's not Iraq??]

[okay, so, a nurse's job is basically to make sure the doctor's time isn't being wasted. they take vital signs and get an idea of what the patient's issue is and write it all down so the doctor comes in knowing what to expect. first order of business is checking her blood pressure and pulse, both of which he uses her left arm for, and the second order of business is asking about the problem(s) she's experiencing and taking notes]

So, tell me what is going on with your arm.

[she's going to let that comment about being shot in the desert go unexplored until they're in a slightly less clinical environment. she doesn't want to get in the way of his job, after all. her vitals should all be coming up normal, and given her right arm hasn't started necrotizing or anything, she's pretty sure it's still alive; she just can't feel or move it anymore.]

Good question. It started on the first day of this tap water thing. At first my arm just started feeling stiff, like I'd slept on it funny or something. But it kept getting stiffer by the day until I couldn't move it anymore, but at least then I could still feel it. Now? [she raps her knuckles on her right biceps, such that it is. her arm might still be able to move, but right now it's just hanging at her side. "limply" would be entirely the wrong word.] Nothing. I just stopped being able to feel it at all this morning.

I really wish these stupid echoes all progressed at the same rate.

[he thinks back to try to remember what date that was, puts it down in the notes, and writes down the progression of symptoms as she gives them.]

Do you remember what day you lost function?

[adds a suggestion for the doctor to do a full reflex test...]

And was it the whole arm from the start?

Probably... Sunday night or Monday morning. It finally solidified overnight. I remember waking up on Monday and freaking out a little. [and the freaking out stayed in place until today, when it intensified. she's quite good at freaking out when she needs to. she's also good at looking thoughtful, which is how she appears now as she tries remembering the onset of this echo.]

If I remember right, it started with my wrist. I rotated it like this [she demonstrates with her left wrist] and it cracked, like, a lot. It sounded like a cement mixer. I know cracking your joints doesn't cause arthritis, but these things don't follow regular logic, I don't think.

[another pause as he figures out what date that would be and writes it down. and then he looks up to watch her example and there is an unmistakable flicker of wide-eyed concern across his face at the description.]

[that is not normal. and if it started in her wrist and moved up through the rest of her arm, that is very concerning.]

It is all the way to your shoulder now?

Can you move it? [ugh, that didn't come out clearly. she's already said she can't move it autonomously, he meant manually.] I mean, is it stiff or--ah... [oh god what was the word...] ...Pliable.

Yeah, it... it spread. [she says that last word with the feeling of wide-eyed terror behind it, but her face doesn't change.] It hasn't gone anywhere else. It stopped at my shoulder, but I can't, like, bend my arm, not even with my other arm. It... I don't know.

[dammit, she's all flustered now; why did he have to put that thought into her head? well, because he's a medical professional and if something really is this serious then she deserves to know about it. he's just doing his job.]

It feels like it's made of stone or something. [she manages a weak laugh after swallowing.] I knew the Medusa finger puppets were a bad idea.

Edited 2013-08-31 03:43 (UTC)

Ah... [he gives a weak, anxious smile in response to the laugh, but it is not funny and he is not feelin' it. given the completely absurd and inexplicable nature of the pulses he's seen so far, a limb turning to stone doesn't sound impossible.]

[he really hopes they are able to do something for her and that this is not going to keep spreading or get even worse.]

[he turns away to finish up his notes for the doctor]

And there is no pain, you said? No feeling at all?

No feeling anymore, no. But when it did have feeling, it didn't hurt. It just felt stiff.

[she knows she's repeating herself, so maybe that's what makes her decide to give new information.]

A couple of my friends told me it might be a good idea to get a fake cast to put on my arm so I have a reason to keep it rigid. [or so her boss doesn't get suspicious. it could be both.] Do you think that's a good idea at all?

[after writing down that answer, he sets the pen down and turns to her. this is the part where he's supposed to go give the file to the doctor and be finished with his role in the visit, but...you know, fuck that, this is his friend we're talking about.]

A cast would be-- [pause, taps his knee, eyes slide toward the wall. comfort is not a concern if she has literally zero feeling in her arm, so he can't recommend against it on that basis.] Ah--inconvenient.

If you could bend it I would recommend a sling instead. [shrug, she can't, not an option.] If you only want to hide it, a removable fake cast is not a bad idea. But I am not sure the clinic has the means for that.

I wasn't sure if you would anyway. I think the normie doctor would be the only way to get my hand on one of those. [ha. because she only has one that's usable. another weak joke, but she's doing what she can to make the best of a grim situation.]

Or I could make one myself, I guess? I don't know. Hey, Ravi, uh. Off the record. [she gives him a cautious look. she knows he won't know the answer, but she needs to ask anyway, if for no other reason than to make her worries known.]

Somebody got me thinking that maybe this isn't the end of this particular echo. If it doesn't spread to the rest of my body, how bad do you think it could get?

[he didn't even catch the joke :|; ]

[he's about to speak up about maybe being able to help her put something together, but the sudden tonal shift cuts him off. he stares at her for a few seconds, not sure how to answer that and inwardly freaking the hell out about the implications of this echo.]

[he shakes his head, keeping his eyes locked on hers] I don't know, Brooke.

It could be soft-tissue ossification, maybe it is only ligaments right now and it would spread to the muscles and then skin, so maybe it stops when your whole arm is calcified. Maybe it is something completely different that is impossible according to modern medicine. Maybe you are cursed by Alakshmi. I--

[pause, deep breath, trying to control that inward anxiety that just keeps getting worse the more he says. he finishes softly: ] I don't know.

Cursed by Alakshmi. [she sighs with a defeated kind of smile on her face. the name sounds familiar. she'd flirted with Hinduism (and a bunch of other religions) when she was a teenager, trying to find the best way to explain what happened after you died. but she'd never gotten very far in any of them, and like most people her age she prefers downplaying that era of her life.]

It would be just my luck, huh? [her gaze falters, and suddenly the floor is far more interesting.] I finally start getting somewhere in life and then all this happens.

[24 years old and she's probably going to lose her job and her entire arm. she's honestly kind of amazed she isn't crying right now.]

At least I have friends who have their crap more together than me. I can try living up to you guys' standard.

Don't say that. [a hint of how upset he is manages to sneak into his voice there.]

[as he continues, his voice is a little quicker, a little less mumbled than usual] It isn't a matter of having your life together. People, they--things happen. If I woke up tomorrow with lung cancer, [which is a stronger possibility than he'd like to admit, being that he is a smoker] it would devastate everything I have built for myself.

It's not different because it's a pulse. It is like any other sudden devastating medical condition. Your life is affected and it isn't your fault. It's okay to not be okay.

[wow, he's serious about this, isn't he? see, this is why it's good to have friends who are older than you. they've seen some shit. Brooke listens to his words and they do get through—she's not that far lost in the throes of space not-really-depression. at the last sentence, her body slumps, a strange-looking motion as her right arm just doesn't match the rest of her body at all.]

I don't know what I'm going to do, Ravi.

[her voice cracks on the last word, his name. damn it, she's stronger than tears. she's not going to break down, not in public, not where anybody can see her. if the consoler of the lonely descends into a sobbing fit, where does that leave the lonely?]

[He lets out a slow breath, his brows knit in concern. He doesn't know what to tell her. He doesn't have any advice. He would be terrified if it happened to him--he is terrified that it could happen to him.]

[But he can tell that she's on the verge of a breakdown, and he does have some idea of how to approach that.]

Would you like me to step out for a minute? [gently asked. it's an offer to let her cry in private, asked such that they can both pretend that isn't what it was.]

[he's giving her the opening, and god knows she needs it. it helps, knowing somebody who knows what her silent pleas look like, even if she's never shown them before. maybe he's dealt with it in others. maybe he has his own. either way, Brooke keeps herself together for a little bit longer.]

Could you? Sorry. This is... this is a lot to take in.

[she tries sounding polite and forces a smile and an upward glance to match.]

I think I'd like a minute to myself.

[He has his own. But he's also learned to look out for it in his patients]

[He feels terrible that this is all he can do for her, wishes he could do more. But he can't. Certainly not while he's internally freaking out, himself. It's a small gesture, but he hopes it helps.]

[He gathers up the file and stands, inconspicuously sliding a box of tissues from the back of the desk toward the center as he does.]

It's fine. Take as long as you need.

Leave the door open when you are ready.

[He leaves, easing the door shut after him. He'll hand her file off to the doctor--Dr. Solus, preferably, in light of the situation with Dr. Strider--and let him know that she is not ready to be seen yet but Ravi will let him know when she is.]

[He has other work to do, so he's not just standing in the hallway waiting for her, but he keeps an eye on the door and keeps checking back periodically.]

[he's such a good person. that's the first thing that Brooke lets herself think about after he leaves, after the door closes. it's also the last thing she thinks about before everything else comes flooding in and she finally breaks. she's spent most of her life trying to get into this profession, to help people in their darkest times and to make a name for herself as a compassionate human being. and now she's been... drafted into some war that she didn't even know existed at the beginning of summer, and it looks like the universe has finally upgraded its thousand-cuts policy.]

[she doesn't deserve this. but what "this" is, well. she doesn't deserve to lose her job, or her livelihood, or her arm, but she also doesn't feel like she deserves people like Ravi, or anybody she's friends with right now. who would? she's a mortician who can't even do her own job. she's a lush. yeah, social drinking, whatever, she's a barfly. no use dressing it up. hah. god. is she going to lose her arm? will she need special shirts from now on? it's almost hilarious. hilarious if she weren't sobbing openly into her hand.]

[she feels disgusting. she looks worse, at least in her mind. damn it, she's an adult, and adults don't do this. she's a professional businesswoman, she isn't supposed to be breaking down in a doctor's office because of something she doesn't have any control over. nothing makes sense anymore. grief is something she understands, but she's been lucky enough, for the most part, to only see it from the outside. other people are easy. other people have always been easy. when the lens turns inward... well, it's anybody's guess. even if Brooke had ever really thought she'd known herself, she has somebody else bubbling to the surface, and it's more than she can handle.]

[it's all just... so hard.]

[He gives her twenty minutes. After that he waffles between 'maybe I should check up on her' and 'maybe she's just not ready yet'. There's another five minutes of waffling, where even though he's inclined to assume she will open the door when she's ready to, he decides he's worried enough to check up on her anyway.]

[He returns to the exam room, leans against the door to listen for a response, and knocks lightly.] Brooke?

[wow. how long has it been? she'd just kind of... zoned out after she'd finished crying. the wall she'd been staring at before Ravi knocked wasn't particularly interesting, but it did its job of keeping her mind focused on the middle distance. she gets to her feet slowly and opens the door, averting her eyes at the owner of the familiar and too-kind voice.]

Hi. Sorry I took so long. [suddenly she's very acutely aware—and thankful—that she hadn't put on makeup today. the way she looks outside might match how she feels inside if she had. wow, could she be any more dramatic? probably. but she doesn't have the energy. at any rate, her eyes are red, and her eyelids are already looking kind of puffy when she decides to face her friend.]

I know you said the clinic probably can't make me a cast. [not to her specifications, at least, but what's the point of those when she can't move her arm on her own terms? she musters up what must be the last shred of hope in her body and pushes it into her words.] But... can you?

[He straightens away from the door once he hears her turning the handle and tries to pretend he wasn't leaning against it.]

Don't worry about it. [automatic. he notices that she looks like she's been crying, but pretends he hasn't.]

Ah--a real one, they could. But a fake one... [pause, his eyes drift away, he rubs his right elbow as he considers.] I can figure something out, I think.

[yeah, they're both doing a lot of pretending. right now, she's pretending the reason he looked away is for something other than how pathetic she must look to him. ugh, is this what it's like to be in the throes of... space depression seems like such a silly name. depression. doubt. that thing.]

[that last bit of hope scraped up from the bottom, though, it's pretty concentrated. she forces a smile through the haze of her mind.]

I could pay you for it, if you want. [she has insurance, but she might want to keep this particular claim off the record.] I don't expect any pro bono help.

general clinic log

evening of 8/21

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