The Lousiest Patient in the World
Logan's used to taking care of himself. He's spent decades in the wilderness, in pitched battle, and wandering the face of the earth alone, relying on his own sharpened instincts and his healing factor to keep him alive.
Those assets are gone; stripped away by a massive dose of the Mutant Cure while in a beserker rage that left MODOK torn to pieces on an A.I.M. lab floor.
He doesn't remember a damned thing about it; the rage that consumed him also stole his conscious memory of the event. He finally got his payback for what that monster did to Jean, and he can't even recall what happened.
What he does remember is the arduous journey home. Hours after the cure kicked in, the adamantium that laces his bones began to become toxic to his system. Fatigue and dehydration thanks to the constant need to urinate with the stress on his no-longer self-healing kidneys progressed into a persistent nausea. After hours of this, trying to get back to New York from the streets of Columbia, he began wavering between consciousness and the more welcome embrace of sleep. The vomiting was the worst part, which tapered off into dry heaving, the bile scorching his parched throat. A rigged attempt at an IV line to keep what fluids he had left in his now all-too-human body was all that kept him from slipping into a coma and his kidneys from shutting down.
Logan's own body, once the source of his own protection and longevity, is now trying to kill him. Reliant totally on the help of others, even once back at the Mansion, Logan isn't taking the adjustment well. It's a temporary arrangement, but it's not one he's content to suffer. It's an affront to his sense of dignity, to his sense of independence. His irritability, nausea and fatigue won't ebb; and until the Cure's effects wear off, he's stuck in the infirmary with little to do.
Woe betide anyone who decides to pay him a visit.
Those assets are gone; stripped away by a massive dose of the Mutant Cure while in a beserker rage that left MODOK torn to pieces on an A.I.M. lab floor.
He doesn't remember a damned thing about it; the rage that consumed him also stole his conscious memory of the event. He finally got his payback for what that monster did to Jean, and he can't even recall what happened.
What he does remember is the arduous journey home. Hours after the cure kicked in, the adamantium that laces his bones began to become toxic to his system. Fatigue and dehydration thanks to the constant need to urinate with the stress on his no-longer self-healing kidneys progressed into a persistent nausea. After hours of this, trying to get back to New York from the streets of Columbia, he began wavering between consciousness and the more welcome embrace of sleep. The vomiting was the worst part, which tapered off into dry heaving, the bile scorching his parched throat. A rigged attempt at an IV line to keep what fluids he had left in his now all-too-human body was all that kept him from slipping into a coma and his kidneys from shutting down.
Logan's own body, once the source of his own protection and longevity, is now trying to kill him. Reliant totally on the help of others, even once back at the Mansion, Logan isn't taking the adjustment well. It's a temporary arrangement, but it's not one he's content to suffer. It's an affront to his sense of dignity, to his sense of independence. His irritability, nausea and fatigue won't ebb; and until the Cure's effects wear off, he's stuck in the infirmary with little to do.
Woe betide anyone who decides to pay him a visit.