fandom_clinic | Clinic Hours - Monday December 19th 2005

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Clinic Hours - Monday December 19th 2005

It had been a long night and Wilson had to admit that he was tired. When the page had come in about CJ's accident he'd practically begged Phale to stay put in the apartment, torn between being needed at the hospital and being needed by his friend but in the end there had been no question about his going.

And that had turned into a longer ordeal than he'd expected. To Alexandria, the medivac ride to Richmond, waiting for Ten to arrive, waiting for CJ to get out of surgery and trying to make sure that everyone was on the same page and communicating well and then...figuring out how to get himself back to Alexandria.

He'd ended up calling a car service and being driven back up to Alexandria General where he'd picked up his own car and eventually made it back to Fandom just as the sky was turning gray.

Experience had taught him that trying to sleep at that point would just make him more tired in the long run so he'd blasted himself with a brisk, 'wake-up' shower and spent a few hours talking with the angel and drinking tea.

Convincing Phale to inhabit his couch as long as the angel felt the need to be somewhere safe and quiet and reminding his friend he was welcome to come into the Clinic, if he needed company, Wilson headed down the hall to open the Clinic for the day.

Doctor is in!

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Oh, there is coffee, you so know it!

Geoff wanders into the clinic just a few minutes after it opens. He's a little pale, and doesn't look like he slept (so pretty much, he looks like Wilson does).

Spotting the doctor, he says in a quiet voice, "Excuse me, Dr. Wilson?"

Wilson really wasn't doing anything productive. He was literally sitting in his desk chair, holding a cup of coffee -tea was wonderful but he needed the stimulant- and staring at a point on the wall across the room.

Geoff's voice was so quiet, it almost failed to disrupt the young oncologist's thoughts but when his mind recognized the voice, Wilson quickly looked towards the man.

"Professor Chaucer." He exclaimed worriedly, setting the cup aside and coming to his feet, moving around the desk he gently encouraged Geoff towards one of the waiting room chairs. "Please, sit down."

"Thanks." Geoff moves to sit in the chair. "Call me Geoff, if you don't mind. Or, Chaucer, if that's preferable. 'Professor' still seems...a little weird."

He gives Wilson a completely unconvincing grin. "I won't bother you very long, I just...wondered if maybe you had any news about CJ."

It was a fairly unconvincing grin, especially as Wilson had been expecting the question.

Sitting forward, the way he often did when he was talking to family members a move that effective put his body between the stricken loved one and the world as he delivered hard news, Wilson looked Geoff in the eye as he spoke.

"All right, Geoff..." He used the man's name, as Geoff had requested and quietly began to explain the situation. The accident, the ankle injury but the most important head injury. Brain swelling, the fracture, CJ's condition at time of transport and when she went into surgery. He spoke in a soft tone but didn't soften any of the details, making certain that Geoff had all the facts, the comfortable and the uncomfortable by the time he was finished.

Nodding as the doctor finishes his explanation, Geoff's lips are a tight line and he fidgets his hands, playing with a silver ring on one finger.

"Thank you. Can you tell me...what you think will happen? I realize that you're not there, and I know you can't make predictions or promises. I'd just like your professional opinion on...how you think...she'll be."

Oh but this was a question Wilson hated. He hated it because he was so often forced to walk a thin line between telling the truth and telling the loved one what they needed to hear.

"Geoff, I honestly can not answer that. The human mind is an incredible organ. It can suffer intense trauma and sustain itself and yet it can be the most fragile organ in our bodies. Masters is one of the best in the nation. He's dealt with injuries like this his entire career. The situation is grave but CJ is young, healthy, strong and in the best hands possible to assist her."

Geoff cocks his head and studies the doctor, eyes narrowed a little. It's pretty obvious to him the Wilson is...being a little evasive, and while he appreciates the kindness, he doesn't see the necessity of it.

"Dr. Wilson, I've been to war in a foreign country, and spent time in a foreign prison. I've seen hangings and beheadings, and the sort of medicine practiced by men who can't even read. I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I promise that I'm not going to break down on you. Tell me the truth, without the pretty pictures."

Taking a gentle breath, Wilson continued to hold Chaucer's eyes directly.

"I am telling you the truth, Geoff. It could go either way. They've done everything medically possible to relieve the swelling in her brain. Now it's up to CJ. She could yet die, she could recover but be mentally handicapped, she could recover completely. Brain injuries follow their own courses and there is no way to tell what that course will be until the patient wakes up or passes."

Geoff takes a deep breath and nods again, obviously satisfied with the answer. He turns his head and looks down at the floor, staring at it in silence for a few minutes. Then he sighs, and runs one hand through his hair.

"There really isn't anything I can do, is there?" He addresses the question more to himself than to Wilson, but after he says it he turns to face the doctor. "Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate you talking to me about this. If...you hear anything further, could you possibly call me?"

"Ten could probably use all the support he can get." Wilson suggested softly.

"He's probably there, at the hospital, isn't he? He called me, last night. I hadn't wanted to call him back yet, because...I wasn't sure what was going on." Geoff gives the doctor a grateful sort of half-smile. "Thank you for talking to me. I promise, one of these days I'm going to stop in here to say hello under better circurmstances."

Wilson smiled gently, letting go of the rest and simply addressing what was important.

"I'll call you if I hear anything, Geoff."

Standing, Geoff shakes Wilson's hand. "I appreciate that, Doctor. Thank you."

He heads for the door, then turns back. "I'm in your debt, Doctor Wilson. I'll be back sometime." He nods at the man, and then walks out of the clinic.

John scoots into the clinic with a bandage (http://www.livejournal.com/users/whitedeathpod/32540.html) over his eye.

"Dr. Wilson? I was here last week for stitches and, uh, I think I tore them falling out of bed."

Wilson blinked at the bloody ~~assuming he's bloody cause headwounds do love to bleed!~~ young man and he couldn't help himself.

"Are you in competition with Shep over who can bleed the most in the Clinic?"

He was tired, forgive him. Standing up he walked over to John, trying to look at the injury.

"Come on." He said in a more gentle tone, leaving John back towards one of the exam rooms.

At some point in the afternoon, Aziraphale steps quietly into the clinic and looks around to see if he can spot Wilson. He's carrying a cup of tea.

Wilson was sitting in the desk chair getting into a bottle of pills.

Aziraphale cocks his head curiously and walks over, setting the teacup down on the desk in front of Wilson.

"I've brought you a cup of tea, James dear. And I wanted to tell you that I'm off to the shop now. And thank you again for everything."

Finally getting into the bottle, Wilson perks at the sight of the tea and shakes two nondescript oblong green pills into his hand. These he quickly dry swallows with a wince because -disgusting!- before he reaches to take a sip of the tea.

"Thank you." He murmered gratefully for the tea. Then, dark eyes slid up towards blue concern written in his expression.

"Listen...why don't you come back here when you're done. It's hard to motivate to cook for one person and after the past twelve hours I could use the motivation to make sure I eat. Please?"

Hesitating for a moment, because Aziraphale did not want to put yet more weight on the doctor's shoulders, he nods in agreement. "All right, my dear, if you like. I'll be back at dinnertime and make certain you eat. It wouldn't harm you to have a bite of lunch at some point, either."

Smiling, he raises an eyebrow at the pills but doesn't ask.

"I'll be at the shop if you need me, James."

Wilson caught the glance and knowing that Phale, likewise, didn't need any more weight on his shoulders, he held the bottle up so he could see the label.

"Fancy name for OTC Excedrine, tension headache relieve with caffine." Not anything bizzare. Setting it aside he nodded, still watching Phale with concern but reminding himself Big boy, 6000 year old angelic type.

"I'll call or stop by if I need to but otherwise I'll look for you later this evening." He turned to look out the window and smiled a bit wistfully. "It is a beautiful day...bring back some fresh air with you, would you?"

"I will, James dear." Aziraphale smiles again and leans down to give Wilson a kiss on the cheek.

"Do be sure to have some lunch," he says, straightening. He nods at the cup of tea, to remind the doctor of its presence, and then heads out to the door.

It may take Wilson a minute to realize that his headache is gone.

It took five minutes actually or if you rather, three sips of the warm tea before Wilson blinked and then muttered with affectionate exasperation.

"Damn it, Raphale."

Into the room they go because it's fun to spread blood.

"I don't bleed that much," John complains. "And this is only the second time I've been in for myself. Of course I was here for the same injury so yeah, I guess I qualify for some teasing."

"Just a little." Wilson agreed as he snapped a pair of gloves on and moved to start cleaning the area so he could see what John had done to himself.

"Same injury? How did you rip out the original set of knitting?"

"Fell out of bed and met the nightstand quite intimately," John explains. "It hurt."

"I can imagine." Wilson said, very carefully stepping away from the more ribald comment he'd been about to make. ~~For anyone keeping score it had something to do with desperation and sheep being softer than nightstands.~~

"All right. I'm not going to restitch it but instead I'm going to use surgical glue and tape. You pop those at least you won't do more damage to yourself."

"All right," John says and nods. "Last time I was here, I, in a boldly stupid move, didn't get anethesia. If this requires anethesia, I want it this time."

Reviewing the damage Wilson gave his head a shake.

"Nooh, this shouldn't be any worse than putting a bandaid with delusions of grandure on a wound. The needle for the local would hurt worse."

Walking over to the counter he dug out the supplies he needed and then with very little fuss and only the odd pinching and maybe a bit of a sting here and there, set about closing up the wound...again.

He winces a few times but this is much better then the stitches. "I promise not to come back for at least a month," he says while Dr. Wilson works.

Dressing the wound with a nice white bandage, Wilson moved to dispose of the used supplies, chuckling softly.

"Best not to make promises you can't keep. Keep it clean, watch for any reddening around the wound site, come back immediately if you start to run a fever or experience extreme tenderness in the area. Otherwise...have a safe holiday."

"Thank you, sir." John taps the bandage. "I appreciate your time. Happy holidays."

[ooc: OMG my character has quite the rep! :) :) :) I am beyond amused by this.]

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