(Untitled)

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The door opens. A muzzle pokes briefly through it somewhere around shin level, then withdraws with a whine. A moment later the door opens a little farther, and this time the muzzle (and attendant dog) are nowhere to be seen; however, there's a walker, and a human in baggy grey t-shirt and shorts leaning heavily on it instead. A pale and harrowed-

Comments

[notabricklayer]

McCoy has gotten into the habit of looking every time he hears the door open. For one thing, people seem to love coming in hurt, here. Considering he's done it himself he can hardly complain, but still. If you know what's coming, you can better prepare. For another thing, Olya is still nervous about Others who evidently think they can rule her life... though she doesn't seem to mind the one that managed to come in already. He doesn't ask.

So yes, Ellen, there is a StarFleet surgeon heading in your direction. And yes. He realizes you look like crap. He even has a running list of why you might look like crap.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

If one of the things on the list is 'sudden radiation exposure on par with the fractionated dose absorbed by the survivors of the Goiânia accident or the one-time doses absorbed by Harry Daghlian and Louis Slotin, followed by unknown on-site medical treatment for an unspecified amount of time', then he's golden. Otherwise he's probably in the right general area anyway. Ellen's just going to hold very still for a moment, because she's really not supposed to be walking but there are things she finds difficult to do in front of the robot who announced himself to her as the Citadel autodoc.

"Um. Hi?"

[notabricklayer]

"You aren't supposed to be up, are you?" There's a few things that tip him off that he isn't the first medical professional to be after her - the walker looks like something taken out of a hospital situation, she's not in normal civilian wear (though his definition might be severely different than hers), and there's that sheepish, 'yeah I shouldn't be doing this' look she's got that he's seen entirely too many times before on board ship.

"Come on, let's get you to the infirmary. What did you fall afoul of?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

No, he's entirely right, that's not normal civilian wear. That's Brotherhood of Steel-issued skivvies, such as they are- admittedly more protective of modesty than a grade school gym uniform, but still.

"No sir. Needed to-" She glances towards the ladies' room door. "I was trying to reach the restroom. Not... shouldn't be walking."

She'll follow, though, and so will the dog, because Dogmeat will personally rip the legs off anyone who gets between him and his human. Even if they are made of metal, in which case he will attempt to rip off their legs and then attempt to gum off their legs after the dental damage is over. He's like that.

"Hundreds of rads. Maybe more." Well, it would have to be, considering... everything really. "All at once."

[notabricklayer]

If she was one of the crew, and entirely his patient, the restroom idea would be nixed in a hurry - that is what bedpans and urinary catheters are for. But she isn't, and there is a small single-person bathroom linked to the infirmary - she can use that while he scrounges for his kit and radiation medication.

Two doses, actually - he can't be entirely sure that she's been adequately decontaminated, and he's fairly sure that Olya will resurrect him and kill him again if he dies of radiation poisoning.

"Definitely shouldn't be walking." He revises, giving her a sidelong stare of 'now you're not going to be continuously stupid, right?' that many crewmembers on board the Enterprise know well.

"Now, through that door over there, call out when you're done, and we'll see about getting you to back to rights." He instructs, waving a hand at the infirmary's washroom.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen grew up with a doctor for a father, and while she is not normally an easily compliant sort of person in her daily life, you do not argue with a doctor about Things Medical. Ever. They have ways of making you regret it. So she just nods and stumps towards the washroom door as quickly as she can manage with the walker's assistance. Which, quite naturally, isn't very much- but she tries.

Eventually: "I think I'm set, sir."

[notabricklayer]

He's chosen the bed closest to the washroom - he doesn't like her walking one little bit, and she won't be doing it for much longer if he has anything to say about it. At her call he hurries over to help - at this point, a little more exposure on his part really isn't going to change the treatment he's going to have to take much.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Thanks," Ellen murmurs. "Don't know how- how long I've been out. Passed out at the- passed out at the rad-pulse, woke up in the infirmary." She glances down at her left forearm. "Wish I still had my Pip-Boy. It'd have the date and time."

[notabricklayer]

Hundreds of rads, she said - doing quick math in his head and comparing it to the signs he sees as he scans her, he puts her somewhere between two to six Gray - which is good, for both of them - it's something he can work with. Much higher than that, and she'd be toast and he'd be in trouble.

"Any headache? Dizziness? Have you been able to keep anything down?" The unconsciousness doesn't fit with his estimation, and it worries him. Usually rapid CNS signs do not occur except at the extreme high end of the radiation spectrum, but if she'd gotten a walloping dose like that, she shouldn't have been able to walk, let alone carry on a conversation.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Just woke up a little while ago," Ellen says. "Haven't tried to- haven't eaten yet. I-"

Oh, huh, there's the bruising and the stains in her elbow crease from a hell of a lot of intravenous medication. Guess somebody at the Citadel got some Rad-Away into her.

"Dizzy, yes. Head hurts... not that much, but some."

[notabricklayer]

He upgrades her suspected dose - eight, ten Gray perhaps, with some sort of anti-radiation therapy. After eight Gray the exact amount becomes a little academic. Whatever it was, she's not in a good place. Quickly, he snags a hypospray and dumps the contents into her jugular vein without so much as a by-your-leave. Asking is for other people. Right now he has a bigger problem, stopping the damage occurring on the cellular level, and working on reversing it as quickly as possible.

"Most likely you will develop a rash as well, isn't going to be terribly pleasant, but try to keep from scratching at it - we don't need you tearing great big holes in yourself, do we?" He asks, somewhat rhetorically. "If you even think about getting up again in the next day or so, I will personally make sure you sleep through the next 48 hours."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

She makes a startled little noise at that, but not enough to stir her dog beyond a brief look of concern. Once again, one does not argue with doctors. At the rash comment her mouth twitches. "Won't scratch," she promises. "I've met ghouls. Don't want to end up like that."

She seems to think this makes sense.

[notabricklayer]

He... has no idea what she means by ghouls, and is wondering if he shouldn't have given her a higher dose of the radiation scrubbing medication. Time will tell, he supposes. It always does.

"Wise girl. Now, I suppose we should trade names - hey you gets old after a while." He notes as he switches on the diagnostic screen over the bed. "My name's McCoy, I'm a doctor on board a starship."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Not wise. Just experience." She leans back and closes her eyes. "Ellen Park. Don't know what... what I'm doing. Maybe running a water purifier. I don't know."

[notabricklayer]

"Right now, you're holding the bed down." McCoy replies, though he does make an effort to keep his caustic tone to a minimum. "Now, you're going to take two of these," He instructs, dropping two white pills into her hand, "And I'll be checking on you in a couple hours. There's a button here on the bed controls, and I have the pager attached to it."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Okay," says Ellen, who hasn't bothered opening her eyes. Swallowing the pills isn't a problem, although her hand is shaking a little. She's had to dry-swallow Rad-X more times than she cares to count, these past few months. You don't crack open the water supply for something as small as that. "Thank you, Doctor."

Dogmeat whimpers; for that, she opens her eyes.

"He can stay, right?"