Some Questions
Location: Infirmary
Time: Afternoon on Day 24, Month 4, Turn 3
Players: Roa and Neiran
Scene: Roa wants to know more things about her possibly delicate condition. Neiran answers as best he can.
It's been almost a seven since the weyrwoman came in to have a small chat with the journeyman healer, and she returns again on the afternoon of the 24th, slipping into the infirmary with a bit less hesitation this time. She pauses in the door, looking around to locate said slender diamond-producing Caucus student and, should she manage to do so, she begins moving in that direction.
It's as if no time has passed; the skies are producing their same drizzle, and the same tall Journeyman is caught once more stealing warmth from the hearth. There's a subtle difference, but it's one that only a Weaver or a woman might notice - the hem of his cassock is somewhat off, the result of a hastily made repair on what must have been a large rip up one side of it. It's made the utilitarian frock look more like an ill-suiting dress, and Neiran seems displeased about it. At the very least, he's frowning, and staring down at the slip of hide in his hands.
It might also be noticed by someone who was at the celebration in which it occurred. Either way, Roa does toss a small glance down at the maligned garment as she steps over to Neiran and his scowl. "Journeyman," she opens with, her hands coming to clasp in front of her. "Good afternoon. Might I have a quiet word with you?"
Neiran blinks a few times and eliminates his scowl as Roa happens upon him. "Oh..yes, of course, Weyrwoman. My apologies." He rises belatedly from his seat and sets the slip of hide down. The next order of business is to smooth his cassock, though the fabric falls uncooperatively into a kinked fold. Knowing that that imperfection exists causes the thin skin under Neiran's left eye to twitch slightly. "If you would like to proceed to privacy..." His words trail off, inviting the woman to speak now or to proceed to the hidden cots. Surely it's becoming routine by now.
A small nod and then, as Roa walks towards the curtained area, "You know, I expect you could get a seamstress to better repair that rip. Or get a new cassock, I suppose." She moves to seat herself on the edge of the cot, hands in her lap, feet dangling. Deja vu.
Neiran draws the curtain closed, his hand remaining poised on the fabric as Roa offers her suggestion. "I have recently calculated that the investment in a new cassock is worthwhile, and am pursuing that avenue. Thank you for the suggestion, Weyrwoman." But of course the issue has already been dealt with as swiftly as possible - it remains in some Weaver's hands to hasten along the production of the actual cassock. His own issues are dismissed with a slow breath in, and a quiet exhale out; a patient, practiced sound. The breath of a man slipping from one role to another, from simply Neiran to Journeyman healer. "Please tell me how I may assist you today." Pale, thin fingers find one another and composedly lace themselves in front of the black fabric of his cassock.
The weyrwoman heaves a soft sigh and leans back on her hands, legs crossing at the ankle. "Mammary tenderness," she notes with a wry smirk. "Unusual fatigue. Nausea and vomiting during the same three-hour window for the past four days. No bleeding. I, ah, I'm feeling fairly confident it's..." she shakes her head, eyes closing. "I'd like to know what to do, now. So far as what I can and cannot do. Can I still lead the Queen's wing? Is some betweening acceptable? No alcohol or spiced foods. What else?"
Neiran stares blankly for a few moments. "Ah." The sound of his own voice seems to reinvigorate him, as much as Neiran ever seems invigorated; this means he straightens his back, and lifts his chin a fraction of an inch. "There are some things you should indeed be aware of. You may be unusually sensitive to certain aromas or flavors, and react adversely or positively to dishes which you previously enjoyed or disliked. You may crave certain foods. You may gain weight. You may experience cramps, and mild bleeding. However, if these two are ever directly connected and cause more than mild discomfort and very light spotting, you should come to the infirmary immediately," he warns. "Be aware that emotionally, you may be somewhat unstable. If you do not intend on terminating the pregnancy, I still believe you can lead the Queen's wing, though be aware that the stress of a bad Fall could possibly trigger abortion. Minimal betweening is acceptable according to the records I have read; you are free to do so at your leisure, though be aware of the risks and minimize what trips you can. I shall prescribe some tea that will alleviate morning sickness," he states, "and I shall write down what cautions are necessary at this early stage." His robotic recitation comes to an end, and his eyes refocus on Roa's face. A brow lifts.
The weyrwoman listens quietly to all of that, nodding and frowning a bit in turn. "I suppose my plans on that account have altered somewhat. I'm going to carry to term. Or try to, anyhow. A bad fall could cause..." Roa's brows jerk downwards and her knees are examined. "Well. Crud. A tea to alleviate...I'd very much appreciate that. Is there anything else I need to do. Or just...let it happen as it happens, I suppose?"
"You are...intending to be a mother." Neiran seems to taste this news as he says it, as though swirling a fine wine in his mouth to test the flavor. It's diplomatic to find this an agreeable situation, so ere long he nods slightly, inclining in respect to the woman and her wishes. "I believe it would be advantageous if you were to bring another healer into your confidence in addition to myself; I believe my schedule and specialty will not permit the more focused care you will need as your pregnancy progresses - if indeed you prove to be pregnant - and due to my status in the infirmary as only a volunteer, it would be more correct for a posted Journeyman to have some awareness of your condition. You need not decide whether or not that is your will until after your pregnancy has been confirmed or denied. Until such a time, it shall simply...happen as it happens."
Oh gosh. The 'm' word. Roa actually winces as it's said and once again, her knees are watched very intently. But, there is no disagreement. "Are there any healers you might suggest, then?" she asks her toes. "I'm...I have a few other questions, but you seem to be saying you may not be the one to ask. So."
Dark eyes catch the wince, and the toe-staring. The healer's mind proves itself to be not entirely disconnected with the minutiae of human interaction when it correctly interprets these things, as well as the timbre of the woman's voice and the words used. The Journeyman may even prove himself further when he applies this knowledge and takes action; silent, the Journeyman moves to sit next to Roa on the cot. Not too close, but not too far - trust the healer's disposition to prove that the correct distance to both leave her space and convey some sense of sympathy was calculated beforehand. "You may ask me. If I cannot answer the question satisfactorily, then I shall consult the appropriate texts if you would prefer that to drawing another healer's attention to your situation. Weyrwoman...Roa. I am under your direction in this; I can serve adequately, but I believe you would receive better care if another healer more experienced in these matters was a part of this, as well. But as I said, you need not consider that right away - you still have some sevens. And if you have questions yet, I shall answer them now," the healer says, slow and measured tones commanding his voice.
She draws in a few slow breaths though it is the use of her name, rather than her title, that causes her shoulders to relax from their tight hunch. "I'll seek out another healer in addition when it's time to do so. I don't think I could get away with -not- doing so, honestly." Her eyes roll. "I'm just, I was thinking...I'm small. Short. Skinny. I just wondered if any additional risks came along with that." her head lifts, her blue gaze turning to settle on the healer's face. "Frankly."
Neiran's eyes meet Roa's when they turn to him. Frankness requested, it shall be given. "I did not mention it as I thought it much too early to draw attention to such a factor. The presence of a fetus has not yet been confirmed," he reminds her gently. Nonetheless, he inclines his head in acknowledgment of her concern, and elaborates on it. "There are associated risks with women who possess smaller skeletal structures and fat deposits, as you do. There is no way we can estimate the size of the child, but if it grows to be large there is a chance that a Caesarian section would be advisable as opposed to a natural birth." He pauses there, watching the woman's face carefully for her initial emotional reaction to that news.
There is, from Roa, a faint smile at the reminder that medical confirmation is still lacking. "I like to plan ahead," she says quietly. "A Caesarian. You mean, cutting me open." There is another small nod. "Is that...no, I'll hang onto that for later. Please go on."
"You are wise to do so," Neiran murmurs, acknowledging the woman's desire to plan. His lips press into a line when Roa picks up the Caesarian thread, and quickly drops it. The emotion behind the small expression is likely unclear, and shall remain enigmatic - his mouth eases into its usual default neutrality a moment later. "There are small risks for the child, as well; it could be undersized, or weak. But when the mother is small, unless the father is also of slight stature, our concern lies primarily with the health of the mother. If you prove to be pregnant, you will be prescribed a high protein, high fat diet to ensure that your body is properly insulated. There are...connections between a woman's body fat percentile and her success in carrying a child to term which the Hall does not fully understand, but...it is generally advised that smaller woman be encouraged to gain weight for a pregnancy. You would be grounded in a later trimester and prevented from riding any dragon, or runner."
Small nods and a bit of nose-wrinkling at the prescribed diet and newfound restrictions. "I feel like the next few weeks are going to simply be spent...waiting," Roa notes with a small shake of her head. "And presuming I am pregnant and I do all of this? Eat everything suggested and stay off of runners and Tialith, my likelihood of carrying to term and giving birth without complications is the same as any other woman's?"
"They will be," Neiran confirms. "And for that inactivity and the lack of concrete knowledge, they shall be difficult." The Journeyman acknowledges the trial ahead. "But I am certain that a woman of your fortitude will weather it admirably. I will not lie or falsely encourage you and say that your odds will be exactly the same. No amount of diet can alter the width of your hips, which will be a very large factor in the eventual birth. As I said, if the child is too large, it will be eliminated as a factor via Caesarian section. Aside from that, yes, I believe your chances are on par with many woman. They say dragonriders are healthy, hardy folk. Weaker women with no queen to assist them have given birth to many children."
"Thank you," she murmurs by way of Neiran's roundabout compliments. "Could you tell me more about the Caesarian procedure? What will it entail? What are the risks? How..." Roa winces faintly, "how much of it all would I feel? How long is the recovery? What is the rate of success?"
Of course, now that they've begun to talk about the area of healing that involves blood and scalpels, a subtle shift in Neiran's posture reflects his confidence in this subject matter. "The procedure involves making an incision to remove the baby when there are high risks involved with a natural birth. I believe that, in your case..." And here, dark eyes flicker to the woman's midsection, appraising clinically for an instant, before they dart up to her face once again. "I believe that in your case, a lower uterine segment section would be the advisable type. It involves a transverse cut just above the edge of the bladder. It is relatively easy to repair, and has exhibited a high rate of success. It is a procedure the Hall has practiced since its inception; you need not worry that it is a novel procedure without extensive literature supporting it. You would be sedated somewhat, and the area numbed. You would feel mostly pressure, and mild discomfort during the operation itself. Full recovery of mobility takes several sevendays, and many women report increased pain at the incision site afterwards. Risks include postoperative adhesions...the procedure would also make any subsequent pregnancies more dangerous. If you were to undergo the procedure here, it is very likely that I would be the healer who would operate on you." A pause. "I do not know if that is a comfort or not, but it is the case."
"You've patched me up before. I can barely see the scars on my leg, now. I suppose, if it's necessary, I'd be glad to know you were performing the surgery." At the idea of a pregnancy after this one...or after this maybe-one...the weyrwoman shakes her head ruefully. "Faranth, I don't think I can think beyond the current situation. Shells. All right. So, for now I'll just...just wait. Six sevens, you said?"
"Yes. That is when I will be able to confirm, without any remaining doubt, that you are or are not pregnant. It may be mostly safe to assume you are or are not before then, but that is when conjecture will be eliminated for fact. In the meantime, I shall procure for you the tea and the list of precautions. The tea will take but a moment. You may wait perhaps a quarter of an hour for the list, or I can have it delivered to you discreetly; whichever your preference." The Journeyman rises from the cot, restoring himself to full, lean height. A hand smoothes the front of his cassock, eyes half-lidding as he looks down at the slight goldrider.
"Thank you. I'll wait, please." She leans back until she's resting on her elbows, eyes closing for a moment. "I'm hesitant to tell people, if it's unconfirmed. And at the same time, I feel like I'm lying if I don't. Innards ought to be more accommodating." But she chuckles, smiling wryly. "I hope you've been working on that time-increasing tincture we discussed."
Neiran hesitates at the curtain, hand lifted. Addressing the fabric, he murmurs, "you have my confidence. Rest assured I shall tell no one. I believe it is your prerogative to tell people, or not, as you choose." The Journeyman turns his head, and regards the woman over his shoulder. "Unfortunately, and with my apologies, Weyrwoman," he murmurs drolly, "I have not found the time to work on that tincture." With that, he disappears with a swish of curtain, to fetch the tea and write what he promised. Roa is left to her own devices in the sterilized sanctuary of the curtained 'room,' until Neiran returns perhaps a quarter of an hour later with a folded sheaf of hide, and a glass jar full of mixed herbs. Some cheesecloth satchels, neatly folded, accompany the jar.
"All the more reason to be working on it then," Roa murmurs with a soft chuckle The fifteen minutes are spent with the weyrwoman lying on her back, legs dangling over the side of the cot, eyes blinking up at the ceiling. When Neiran returns, she pushes up into a sit. "I've a final question, if you don't mind, Journeyman, before I head off and leave you in peace."
Neiran folds his hands after relieving himself of the items. "Certainly, Weyrwoman," he murmurs, inviting question temperately, as always.
"The contraceptive tea," Roa begins, "There's no need to take it if I am, but if I'm not...I'd rather not stop taking it. Is there any risk, if I continue to drink it and I am carrying?"
Neiran's eyes close as he runs through a list of the herbs within that tea. "Yes. The main ingredient is a well-known abortifacient. My apologies for not mentioning it," Neiran murmurs, a small frown coming to dominate his lips, as his eyes lower from Roa's face, taking up a blank stare at the ground. "I had assumed that as you wished to carry the child to term, if you are pregnant, that you would cease taking the tea. It was an oversight and a dangerous presumption on my part. I can add some herbs to this which will mildly decrease the risk of becoming pregnant if you are not already, but it is impossible to continue with the current tea."
"It's a -what-?" Her eyes widen. Something low and utterly improper is muttered under Roa's breath. "Shells. So does that mean I'm going to...oh shells. Did I just break everything?"
"I do not believe so. Please retain your calm. The tea form of the seed is mild; the tea itself is not /intended/ as an abortifacient. There are mild risks involved if you continue to imbibe it, however. It would be best if you discontinued it and returned your unused dosage to the infirmary. I shall procure a milder tea for you...though I warn you that it is much less effective. There are...contraceptive measures that can be undertaken on the part of the male, as well," Neiran murmurs, clearing his throat mildly.
The weyrwoman exhales a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Okay," she says softly. "I suppose...I'll take the less effective tea until we can ascertain whether I need to bother or not." At the mention of males undertaking things, Roa's lips quirk, but she shakes her head. "I...don't think that's going to be a possibility. Hold bred." A small roll of her eyes.
Neiran's brow quirks upwards, his expression decidedly unamused. "I would suggest that you remind him that it is your uterus and ultimately your well-being, and that if he wishes to continue...he would do well to make some small concessions." The Journeyman's brief fire fizzles out with his demure look down at the ground. "But, it is your decision. I am available for your consultation if you wish to pursue that avenue. I shall add the required herbs to the tea." He holds his hands out for the jar, so he can take it and go fetch more ingredients.
The jar is returned and Roa laughs. "You know, it seems that we have been, ever since I first came to you for help a couple months back, forever discussing my uterus. Alas, the trend seems likely to continue."
"It is my hope, as I healer, that I shall not have occasion to discuss any other aspect of your anatomy. It will mean you are in good health." Neiran nods once, and disappears beyond the curtain. Perhaps ten minutes later, he returns once more. "My apologies if I have caused you any worry. Even if I have not, my apologies for causing you to wait. I am not at my most efficient this evening. I do not ask to be excused; I only offer reason."
"What has you feeling inefficient this evening, if I could ask?" Roa slides off the bed, once again accepting the jar and tucking one hand around it. "Don't apologize. I should have asked sooner. It's my error that I didn't."
"Perhaps I have not been attending to sleep and meals as rigorously as my health demands. Please do not concern yourself, Weyrwoman. I apologize that I have offered you substandard care this evening." The Journeyman executes the best bow he knows how in formal apology; one arm braced across his torso, the inclination of his upper body long and deliberate.
"Oh, please don't do that," the weyrwoman says, waving away the bow. "You haven't. And I won't say a thing. You're the healer. If you're being remiss in your own care, I expect you can scold yourself well enough. Thank you again, and good afternoon. I, well, I suppose I'll see you in six sevens."
Neiran straightens from the bow, blinking as he finds it being waved away. He stands silent for a few moments, and the hand braced across his chest lowers. "Yes. Thank you. I imagine I shall see you sooner, but...in this capacity, I shall see you then, if you do not choose to come sooner or have necessity to - which I hope you do not. Good afternoon, Weyrwoman." The Journeyman moves to the curtain, and draws it aside for Roa. But he does not follow her out. As soon as she is several paces away, the curtain shall be drawn closed, concealing Neiran inside, alone.
Time: Afternoon on Day 24, Month 4, Turn 3
Players: Roa and Neiran
Scene: Roa wants to know more things about her possibly delicate condition. Neiran answers as best he can.
It's been almost a seven since the weyrwoman came in to have a small chat with the journeyman healer, and she returns again on the afternoon of the 24th, slipping into the infirmary with a bit less hesitation this time. She pauses in the door, looking around to locate said slender diamond-producing Caucus student and, should she manage to do so, she begins moving in that direction.
It's as if no time has passed; the skies are producing their same drizzle, and the same tall Journeyman is caught once more stealing warmth from the hearth. There's a subtle difference, but it's one that only a Weaver or a woman might notice - the hem of his cassock is somewhat off, the result of a hastily made repair on what must have been a large rip up one side of it. It's made the utilitarian frock look more like an ill-suiting dress, and Neiran seems displeased about it. At the very least, he's frowning, and staring down at the slip of hide in his hands.
It might also be noticed by someone who was at the celebration in which it occurred. Either way, Roa does toss a small glance down at the maligned garment as she steps over to Neiran and his scowl. "Journeyman," she opens with, her hands coming to clasp in front of her. "Good afternoon. Might I have a quiet word with you?"
Neiran blinks a few times and eliminates his scowl as Roa happens upon him. "Oh..yes, of course, Weyrwoman. My apologies." He rises belatedly from his seat and sets the slip of hide down. The next order of business is to smooth his cassock, though the fabric falls uncooperatively into a kinked fold. Knowing that that imperfection exists causes the thin skin under Neiran's left eye to twitch slightly. "If you would like to proceed to privacy..." His words trail off, inviting the woman to speak now or to proceed to the hidden cots. Surely it's becoming routine by now.
A small nod and then, as Roa walks towards the curtained area, "You know, I expect you could get a seamstress to better repair that rip. Or get a new cassock, I suppose." She moves to seat herself on the edge of the cot, hands in her lap, feet dangling. Deja vu.
Neiran draws the curtain closed, his hand remaining poised on the fabric as Roa offers her suggestion. "I have recently calculated that the investment in a new cassock is worthwhile, and am pursuing that avenue. Thank you for the suggestion, Weyrwoman." But of course the issue has already been dealt with as swiftly as possible - it remains in some Weaver's hands to hasten along the production of the actual cassock. His own issues are dismissed with a slow breath in, and a quiet exhale out; a patient, practiced sound. The breath of a man slipping from one role to another, from simply Neiran to Journeyman healer. "Please tell me how I may assist you today." Pale, thin fingers find one another and composedly lace themselves in front of the black fabric of his cassock.
The weyrwoman heaves a soft sigh and leans back on her hands, legs crossing at the ankle. "Mammary tenderness," she notes with a wry smirk. "Unusual fatigue. Nausea and vomiting during the same three-hour window for the past four days. No bleeding. I, ah, I'm feeling fairly confident it's..." she shakes her head, eyes closing. "I'd like to know what to do, now. So far as what I can and cannot do. Can I still lead the Queen's wing? Is some betweening acceptable? No alcohol or spiced foods. What else?"
Neiran stares blankly for a few moments. "Ah." The sound of his own voice seems to reinvigorate him, as much as Neiran ever seems invigorated; this means he straightens his back, and lifts his chin a fraction of an inch. "There are some things you should indeed be aware of. You may be unusually sensitive to certain aromas or flavors, and react adversely or positively to dishes which you previously enjoyed or disliked. You may crave certain foods. You may gain weight. You may experience cramps, and mild bleeding. However, if these two are ever directly connected and cause more than mild discomfort and very light spotting, you should come to the infirmary immediately," he warns. "Be aware that emotionally, you may be somewhat unstable. If you do not intend on terminating the pregnancy, I still believe you can lead the Queen's wing, though be aware that the stress of a bad Fall could possibly trigger abortion. Minimal betweening is acceptable according to the records I have read; you are free to do so at your leisure, though be aware of the risks and minimize what trips you can. I shall prescribe some tea that will alleviate morning sickness," he states, "and I shall write down what cautions are necessary at this early stage." His robotic recitation comes to an end, and his eyes refocus on Roa's face. A brow lifts.
The weyrwoman listens quietly to all of that, nodding and frowning a bit in turn. "I suppose my plans on that account have altered somewhat. I'm going to carry to term. Or try to, anyhow. A bad fall could cause..." Roa's brows jerk downwards and her knees are examined. "Well. Crud. A tea to alleviate...I'd very much appreciate that. Is there anything else I need to do. Or just...let it happen as it happens, I suppose?"
"You are...intending to be a mother." Neiran seems to taste this news as he says it, as though swirling a fine wine in his mouth to test the flavor. It's diplomatic to find this an agreeable situation, so ere long he nods slightly, inclining in respect to the woman and her wishes. "I believe it would be advantageous if you were to bring another healer into your confidence in addition to myself; I believe my schedule and specialty will not permit the more focused care you will need as your pregnancy progresses - if indeed you prove to be pregnant - and due to my status in the infirmary as only a volunteer, it would be more correct for a posted Journeyman to have some awareness of your condition. You need not decide whether or not that is your will until after your pregnancy has been confirmed or denied. Until such a time, it shall simply...happen as it happens."
Oh gosh. The 'm' word. Roa actually winces as it's said and once again, her knees are watched very intently. But, there is no disagreement. "Are there any healers you might suggest, then?" she asks her toes. "I'm...I have a few other questions, but you seem to be saying you may not be the one to ask. So."
Dark eyes catch the wince, and the toe-staring. The healer's mind proves itself to be not entirely disconnected with the minutiae of human interaction when it correctly interprets these things, as well as the timbre of the woman's voice and the words used. The Journeyman may even prove himself further when he applies this knowledge and takes action; silent, the Journeyman moves to sit next to Roa on the cot. Not too close, but not too far - trust the healer's disposition to prove that the correct distance to both leave her space and convey some sense of sympathy was calculated beforehand. "You may ask me. If I cannot answer the question satisfactorily, then I shall consult the appropriate texts if you would prefer that to drawing another healer's attention to your situation. Weyrwoman...Roa. I am under your direction in this; I can serve adequately, but I believe you would receive better care if another healer more experienced in these matters was a part of this, as well. But as I said, you need not consider that right away - you still have some sevens. And if you have questions yet, I shall answer them now," the healer says, slow and measured tones commanding his voice.
She draws in a few slow breaths though it is the use of her name, rather than her title, that causes her shoulders to relax from their tight hunch. "I'll seek out another healer in addition when it's time to do so. I don't think I could get away with -not- doing so, honestly." Her eyes roll. "I'm just, I was thinking...I'm small. Short. Skinny. I just wondered if any additional risks came along with that." her head lifts, her blue gaze turning to settle on the healer's face. "Frankly."
Neiran's eyes meet Roa's when they turn to him. Frankness requested, it shall be given. "I did not mention it as I thought it much too early to draw attention to such a factor. The presence of a fetus has not yet been confirmed," he reminds her gently. Nonetheless, he inclines his head in acknowledgment of her concern, and elaborates on it. "There are associated risks with women who possess smaller skeletal structures and fat deposits, as you do. There is no way we can estimate the size of the child, but if it grows to be large there is a chance that a Caesarian section would be advisable as opposed to a natural birth." He pauses there, watching the woman's face carefully for her initial emotional reaction to that news.
There is, from Roa, a faint smile at the reminder that medical confirmation is still lacking. "I like to plan ahead," she says quietly. "A Caesarian. You mean, cutting me open." There is another small nod. "Is that...no, I'll hang onto that for later. Please go on."
"You are wise to do so," Neiran murmurs, acknowledging the woman's desire to plan. His lips press into a line when Roa picks up the Caesarian thread, and quickly drops it. The emotion behind the small expression is likely unclear, and shall remain enigmatic - his mouth eases into its usual default neutrality a moment later. "There are small risks for the child, as well; it could be undersized, or weak. But when the mother is small, unless the father is also of slight stature, our concern lies primarily with the health of the mother. If you prove to be pregnant, you will be prescribed a high protein, high fat diet to ensure that your body is properly insulated. There are...connections between a woman's body fat percentile and her success in carrying a child to term which the Hall does not fully understand, but...it is generally advised that smaller woman be encouraged to gain weight for a pregnancy. You would be grounded in a later trimester and prevented from riding any dragon, or runner."
Small nods and a bit of nose-wrinkling at the prescribed diet and newfound restrictions. "I feel like the next few weeks are going to simply be spent...waiting," Roa notes with a small shake of her head. "And presuming I am pregnant and I do all of this? Eat everything suggested and stay off of runners and Tialith, my likelihood of carrying to term and giving birth without complications is the same as any other woman's?"
"They will be," Neiran confirms. "And for that inactivity and the lack of concrete knowledge, they shall be difficult." The Journeyman acknowledges the trial ahead. "But I am certain that a woman of your fortitude will weather it admirably. I will not lie or falsely encourage you and say that your odds will be exactly the same. No amount of diet can alter the width of your hips, which will be a very large factor in the eventual birth. As I said, if the child is too large, it will be eliminated as a factor via Caesarian section. Aside from that, yes, I believe your chances are on par with many woman. They say dragonriders are healthy, hardy folk. Weaker women with no queen to assist them have given birth to many children."
"Thank you," she murmurs by way of Neiran's roundabout compliments. "Could you tell me more about the Caesarian procedure? What will it entail? What are the risks? How..." Roa winces faintly, "how much of it all would I feel? How long is the recovery? What is the rate of success?"
Of course, now that they've begun to talk about the area of healing that involves blood and scalpels, a subtle shift in Neiran's posture reflects his confidence in this subject matter. "The procedure involves making an incision to remove the baby when there are high risks involved with a natural birth. I believe that, in your case..." And here, dark eyes flicker to the woman's midsection, appraising clinically for an instant, before they dart up to her face once again. "I believe that in your case, a lower uterine segment section would be the advisable type. It involves a transverse cut just above the edge of the bladder. It is relatively easy to repair, and has exhibited a high rate of success. It is a procedure the Hall has practiced since its inception; you need not worry that it is a novel procedure without extensive literature supporting it. You would be sedated somewhat, and the area numbed. You would feel mostly pressure, and mild discomfort during the operation itself. Full recovery of mobility takes several sevendays, and many women report increased pain at the incision site afterwards. Risks include postoperative adhesions...the procedure would also make any subsequent pregnancies more dangerous. If you were to undergo the procedure here, it is very likely that I would be the healer who would operate on you." A pause. "I do not know if that is a comfort or not, but it is the case."
"You've patched me up before. I can barely see the scars on my leg, now. I suppose, if it's necessary, I'd be glad to know you were performing the surgery." At the idea of a pregnancy after this one...or after this maybe-one...the weyrwoman shakes her head ruefully. "Faranth, I don't think I can think beyond the current situation. Shells. All right. So, for now I'll just...just wait. Six sevens, you said?"
"Yes. That is when I will be able to confirm, without any remaining doubt, that you are or are not pregnant. It may be mostly safe to assume you are or are not before then, but that is when conjecture will be eliminated for fact. In the meantime, I shall procure for you the tea and the list of precautions. The tea will take but a moment. You may wait perhaps a quarter of an hour for the list, or I can have it delivered to you discreetly; whichever your preference." The Journeyman rises from the cot, restoring himself to full, lean height. A hand smoothes the front of his cassock, eyes half-lidding as he looks down at the slight goldrider.
"Thank you. I'll wait, please." She leans back until she's resting on her elbows, eyes closing for a moment. "I'm hesitant to tell people, if it's unconfirmed. And at the same time, I feel like I'm lying if I don't. Innards ought to be more accommodating." But she chuckles, smiling wryly. "I hope you've been working on that time-increasing tincture we discussed."
Neiran hesitates at the curtain, hand lifted. Addressing the fabric, he murmurs, "you have my confidence. Rest assured I shall tell no one. I believe it is your prerogative to tell people, or not, as you choose." The Journeyman turns his head, and regards the woman over his shoulder. "Unfortunately, and with my apologies, Weyrwoman," he murmurs drolly, "I have not found the time to work on that tincture." With that, he disappears with a swish of curtain, to fetch the tea and write what he promised. Roa is left to her own devices in the sterilized sanctuary of the curtained 'room,' until Neiran returns perhaps a quarter of an hour later with a folded sheaf of hide, and a glass jar full of mixed herbs. Some cheesecloth satchels, neatly folded, accompany the jar.
"All the more reason to be working on it then," Roa murmurs with a soft chuckle The fifteen minutes are spent with the weyrwoman lying on her back, legs dangling over the side of the cot, eyes blinking up at the ceiling. When Neiran returns, she pushes up into a sit. "I've a final question, if you don't mind, Journeyman, before I head off and leave you in peace."
Neiran folds his hands after relieving himself of the items. "Certainly, Weyrwoman," he murmurs, inviting question temperately, as always.
"The contraceptive tea," Roa begins, "There's no need to take it if I am, but if I'm not...I'd rather not stop taking it. Is there any risk, if I continue to drink it and I am carrying?"
Neiran's eyes close as he runs through a list of the herbs within that tea. "Yes. The main ingredient is a well-known abortifacient. My apologies for not mentioning it," Neiran murmurs, a small frown coming to dominate his lips, as his eyes lower from Roa's face, taking up a blank stare at the ground. "I had assumed that as you wished to carry the child to term, if you are pregnant, that you would cease taking the tea. It was an oversight and a dangerous presumption on my part. I can add some herbs to this which will mildly decrease the risk of becoming pregnant if you are not already, but it is impossible to continue with the current tea."
"It's a -what-?" Her eyes widen. Something low and utterly improper is muttered under Roa's breath. "Shells. So does that mean I'm going to...oh shells. Did I just break everything?"
"I do not believe so. Please retain your calm. The tea form of the seed is mild; the tea itself is not /intended/ as an abortifacient. There are mild risks involved if you continue to imbibe it, however. It would be best if you discontinued it and returned your unused dosage to the infirmary. I shall procure a milder tea for you...though I warn you that it is much less effective. There are...contraceptive measures that can be undertaken on the part of the male, as well," Neiran murmurs, clearing his throat mildly.
The weyrwoman exhales a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Okay," she says softly. "I suppose...I'll take the less effective tea until we can ascertain whether I need to bother or not." At the mention of males undertaking things, Roa's lips quirk, but she shakes her head. "I...don't think that's going to be a possibility. Hold bred." A small roll of her eyes.
Neiran's brow quirks upwards, his expression decidedly unamused. "I would suggest that you remind him that it is your uterus and ultimately your well-being, and that if he wishes to continue...he would do well to make some small concessions." The Journeyman's brief fire fizzles out with his demure look down at the ground. "But, it is your decision. I am available for your consultation if you wish to pursue that avenue. I shall add the required herbs to the tea." He holds his hands out for the jar, so he can take it and go fetch more ingredients.
The jar is returned and Roa laughs. "You know, it seems that we have been, ever since I first came to you for help a couple months back, forever discussing my uterus. Alas, the trend seems likely to continue."
"It is my hope, as I healer, that I shall not have occasion to discuss any other aspect of your anatomy. It will mean you are in good health." Neiran nods once, and disappears beyond the curtain. Perhaps ten minutes later, he returns once more. "My apologies if I have caused you any worry. Even if I have not, my apologies for causing you to wait. I am not at my most efficient this evening. I do not ask to be excused; I only offer reason."
"What has you feeling inefficient this evening, if I could ask?" Roa slides off the bed, once again accepting the jar and tucking one hand around it. "Don't apologize. I should have asked sooner. It's my error that I didn't."
"Perhaps I have not been attending to sleep and meals as rigorously as my health demands. Please do not concern yourself, Weyrwoman. I apologize that I have offered you substandard care this evening." The Journeyman executes the best bow he knows how in formal apology; one arm braced across his torso, the inclination of his upper body long and deliberate.
"Oh, please don't do that," the weyrwoman says, waving away the bow. "You haven't. And I won't say a thing. You're the healer. If you're being remiss in your own care, I expect you can scold yourself well enough. Thank you again, and good afternoon. I, well, I suppose I'll see you in six sevens."
Neiran straightens from the bow, blinking as he finds it being waved away. He stands silent for a few moments, and the hand braced across his chest lowers. "Yes. Thank you. I imagine I shall see you sooner, but...in this capacity, I shall see you then, if you do not choose to come sooner or have necessity to - which I hope you do not. Good afternoon, Weyrwoman." The Journeyman moves to the curtain, and draws it aside for Roa. But he does not follow her out. As soon as she is several paces away, the curtain shall be drawn closed, concealing Neiran inside, alone.