Difficult Patient

Posted on Sat Sep 26th, 2020 @ 2:44pm by Lieutenant Gunnar Arnason

1,641 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: What Lies Ahead, Between, and Behind
Location: Haumea, Hospital

Gunnar drifted toward consciousness and almost immediately decided it was a bad idea - he was weak, nauseous, everything hurt...

He nearly moaned, but sudden awareness of someone nearby made him stiffen instead, bracing for the blows relived in his darker fever dreams ...had they been dreams?... or had he retreated into some fantasy of escape and recovery and would wake to find it was just another of Fleck's sadistic games...

"Relax, Arnason. You're in the hospital, on Haumea." It sounded to MacQuire's own ears like he was reading from a script, but he almost was. Nikedoros had specified - without explanation, though by now the doctor could guess - that whoever was there when Arnason came around should immediately inform him of where he was. Okay, she had suggested beginning with something reassuring, like "It's okay, you're safe", but that just felt too maternal to Bill.

There was a wash of relief at that, but a shaky edge of reaction remained. Gunnar blew out a slow breath, consciously releasing muscle tension, imagining the rest subsiding with it. Though as the spike of panic-adrenaline subsided, the pounding head, aching joints and general misery he'd felt on waking pushed back to the forefront of his attention. He suppressed a groan.

"How are you feeling?"

'Like a shuttle crash landed on me' was the response that came to mind, but he didn't voice it. However long he had been lying here sick had probably been too long, especially since he'd (foolishly perhaps) driven himself to this point because the hospital was only half staffed after so many others had fallen ill. "I've felt worse," he said, biting back a grimace as he tried to sit up.

A hand caught his shoulder and pushed him back down. "I guess you have, but after spending the last day or so trying to keep you in bed. I'm not about to let you go jumping out now."

He might have resisted the push, but the wave of dizziness at getting just partway up argued against it. "No jumping," he conceded, lying back. "I promise." He did look around though, and almost lifted his head again. "I thought you said I was in the hospital?"

"You are. On the cot in the CMO's office." The doctor adjusted the dose in a hypo and pressed it to Arnason's neck. The man was obviously still fuzzy-headed.

Gunnar scanned what he could see of the room - he'd rarely used it. But the more important information was that he'd been out of it for more than a day and if they'd put him in here on a cot, how full was the hospital now? "How bad is it?"

MacQuire shrugged. "Standard treatment didn't agree with you, but you'll live."

"I..." He decided against asking. It wasn't the pertinent question anyway. "I meant, how full is the hospital if you had to put me in here?"

"Heh. Not that full. Putting you in here was a compromise solution," MacQuire informed him tersely. "After you kept getting up, I was going to put you in restraints." He frowned. "You can thank the chaplain for flat-out forbidding that."

I will... Gunnar closed his eyes a moment, internally shuddering to think how much worse the nightmares might have been. It was probably for best he wound up in here so he didn't disturb anyone with those. "Sorry. I... I have a vague memory of the Captain telling me to rest, but..." his head rocked slowly on the pillow, "...I don't actually recall getting up."

"I'm not surprised. You weren't exactly lucid," the doctor frowned, "any of the times you got up. According to the patient you wandered over to the first time, you were speaking gibberish and swaying like you'd drunk half Sumi's liquor. Not that he had that much cause to complain. He'd called for a nurse, and when you stumbled over he vomited all over you for your trouble." The doctor puffed a short laugh. "Of course, being so sick yourself, you immediately returned the gesture."

"I... " Gunnar swallowed, willing himself not to repeat that scene. "...can't say I regret not remembering."

"I don't blame you. If it's any comfort, I don't think anyone was too unhappy about that one - if one of us had gotten there first, we'd have gotten the puke bath instead. The real trouble was that you were barely out of soiled scrubs when you basically toppled over like a tree felled in high g." He lifted his brows at the lanky NP. "A big one too. You're heavier than you look, you know that?"

"Sorry?"

MacQuire shook his head. "Anyway, we all figured you'd be down for a good long count after that." Normal people who collapsed like that were; from what he'd been told, he'd been dead to the world for a solid 6 hours after it had taken him down. "More the fool us. I shoulda locked you in here after that first one, but Mahone dropped in," the doctor scowled, "probably to make sure we civilians were taking care of you."

The tone hadn't been serious so much as grousing, but Gunnar scowled back. "I'm sure the Captain came to help with the patient load. As he did when you were down with this."

"Simmer down - he did help, and we're grateful, but you popped up when he checked you." MacQuire's mouth went sideways. "Starfleet conditioning, I guess - you tried to come to attention or something, and promptly toppled over on him and Davna. They got you right back in bed, but you nearly pulled Davna down on top of you," he chuckled. "So maybe you weren't completely oblivious."

There'd been a hazy impression at some point of Divash helping him to bed when he'd been less than sober... Gunnar focused on a point on the ceiling, willing himself not to blush. "Please tell her I'm sorry if I did anything inappropriate."

"Eh, I don't think she was too insulted, or she wouldn't have sat beside you until you settled." The older man sighed - he was pretty sure that wouldn't have been the case if it had been him. "Honestly, I think she was more concerned that Mahone was unhappy about waking you."

Gunnar had a mental image of Luka being annoyed with himself over that and trying to not be flustered in front of the staff. "It wasn't his fault. I'd probably have gotten up no matter who checked on me."

"That much I believe - because you did." The doctor widened his eyes. "Though I think it wouldn't have been as bad if your fan club hadn't been hovering about."

The phrase 'fan club' earned a pain looked that had nothing to do with Gunnar's physical discomfort.

MacQuire chuffed a laugh. "Yeah, I know, you think of them as just good citizens volunteering to help out, and I do appreciate their service, but come on, don't you find it just a little suspicious that most of these civic minded volunteers are single young women? Or that every one of them will track you down with a question even if there's a doctor just two steps away?"

If the physician in question was MacQuire, Gunnar rated the latter as 'highly likely', but he refrained from saying so. The man was grouchy and acerbic, but a good doctor. "I was the one who gave the hospital orientation to most of them, so they probably feel more comfortable coming to me."

"Uh-huh." MacQuire crossed his arms, lifting a skeptical eyebrow. "Including when you're passed out? Emily, Hana, and Margot were orbiting like your own personal satellites."

Gunnar closed his eyes, steadfastly refusing to see the man's point. "They're young, and this is the first illness they've seen that can't be cured with a hypo. If they were overly concerned it was probably because ...I somehow gave the impression of being invulnerable," he opened his eyes, mouth going a bit sideways. "....which was obviously not the case."

"Well, at least you admit that." MacQuire harrumphed, crossing his arms as he looked down at the man who put his own reputation as a bad patient to shame. "Though it would have been a lot easier on everyone if you were. I really should've listened when the Chaplain said you weren't so good at sleeping."

That sent a chill of dread through Gunnar. In the grip of a night terror he'd once nearly thrown T'Ango into a wall, and the impression of nightmares was still on the edge of his consciousness. "I didn't ...hurt anyone... did I?"

The question hit MacQuire like being in a ship slammed into reverse. He'd meant to rib the kid to chastise him for being such a difficult patient, but he should have thought a little more about how he might take a statement like that. "No," he assured him. "You were fuzzy-headed, but you were mostly trying to be a nurse, albeit one who couldn't walk straight." He sighed. "It was only after you too exhausted to rouse that you started thrashing and calling out. That's when we moved you in here. Chaplain kept an eye on you for most of it - probably for the best; kept the fan club from sneaking in to try to comfort you."

Gunnar dropped a hand over his face - that would have been bad on so many levels... "Thank her for me."

"You can tell her yourself. She's just getting a bite to eat, and now that you've turned the corner I figure I can stop babysitting." MacQuire's mouth hitched in a half-smirk as he turned to go. "But if you get out of this bed for anything but using the lavatory, I swear I'll let the fan club to sponge bathe you."

 

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