Fic: Spin Recovery, Part Twenty-Six
Feb. 24th, 2008 08:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalAuthor's Note: Many thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chaypeta for suggestions about the grody medical details.
Three days later Aunt Dottie dropped him off at the District hospital, where he checked himself in and shortly found himself stripped out his clothes once again, with only a cheap paper gown and the thin sheets of his hospital room’s bed to maintain his dignity. Rank did hath its privileges however, for his room was quiet and plush, in a section reserved for VIP’s or others requiring more than the usual non-existent hospital privacy.
“All right, milord, we’re just going to shave off a bit of your fur so I can get the IV in, and then around your shoulder for the operation,” the orderly said, after he was settled in.
“All right.” Rufus watched as the male shaved a patch off of his forearm with a bit of depilatory cream and an electric trimmer. The IV was inserted and a saline drip attached, then the orderly asked him to turn over onto his side so the newly grown fur around the skin of his shoulder socket could be shaved.
“Do you do many of these operations?” Rufus asked over the buzz of the trimmer.
“Oh, about a couple of dozen a year, milord,” the orderly said. “Usually folks who were in skimmer accidents, or managed to get their footpads or hands stuck somewhere they shouldn’t have been putting them. Most of our work is maintenance though.”
“Maintenance?”
“Oh, yes. Worn out bearings and data links on the connection points between the limb and the baseplate, minor repairs, that sort of thing.”
“Must be interesting.”
“Oh, yes. We’ve got one male who comes in, military I think, to get himself looked over when he’s on leave. Poor fellow must have been in a terrible accident. He’s all metal and plastic except for one arm and half his face.” The orderly wiped Rufus’ shoulder socket with a sterile cloth. “You can turn over now, milord. I’ll let the surgeon’s nurse know you’re ready.”
“Thank you.” Rufus raised up the back of his bed and flipped through the hospital’s entertainment channels for an hour or so, until another pair of orderlies showed up to help him onto a rolling stretcher, against his protestations that he could walk. He was wheeled into the surgical theater, to find himself staring up into a bank of spotlights that left him blinking until the nurse put a pair of polarized goggles over his eyes.
“That’s just to protect your eyes in case something comes flying over,” she told him.
“Flying over?” He had just enough time to see the devices on the instrument tray, many of which looked like they came from a hardware rather than a medical supply store, before she blocked his view by putting a short curtain between his head and his shoulder.
“Just in case, you understand,” she said, slipping an oxygen mask over his face. “Is this comfortable?”
He took in a breath. The air provided was cool and slightly intoxicating. “Yes, it’s fine.”
She started attaching remote monitor leads to his body, using thin Velcro straps that avoided the necessity of shaving more of his pelt off. “Would you like a pair of earbuds so you’ll have some music or a book to listen to?”
“I don’t really see the need.”
She frowned slightly. “You're absolutely certain about that?”
Before he could affirm this, a male in came wheeling in another cart, this one bearing a tray with a set of syringes and sealed drug bottles. Behind him were two more orderlies. “Good morning, sir,” he said. “I’m Alyn and I’ll be your anesthesiologist today.”
He smiled. “Hullo, Alyn. I’ve been looking forward to you coming in. Doing this without anesthesia was bad enough the first time.”
Alyn laughed, then asked him to roll over onto his stomach. “All right, milord, we’re going to inject a nerve block at the base of your skull. You’ll feel a pinprick, then something cold and then you shouldn’t be feeling much of anything.” Rufus felt the needle prick his skin, directly against his spine, then there was a chill running through his veins right before his entire body flopped nervelessly against the table.
“All right, let’s roll him back over,” Alyn said. With the help of the nurse and two orderlies they turned him over carefully until he was staring at the lights again, unable to move any part of his body besides his head. Then Alyn reached over and did something outside of his line of vision. “Did you feel that?”
“Feel what?”
“Good. You’re all set.” The anesthesiologist sat back on a stool and hovered over his monitor panel while the nurse pressed a call button and the rest of the surgeon’s team came in. Aside from the surgeon himself, the nurse and the Alyn the Anesthesiologist there were two other medtechs and at least three horribly young looking people that were introduced as interns that would be observing. Rufus tried to keep their all of their names straight while he patiently waited to be Alyn to knock him completely unconscious.
“All right,” the surgeon said, adjusting a microphone pickup at his throat. “Time is now 1118 [date]. Our patient is a Vulpine male, age thirty-two, who suffered a traumatic field amputation of his complete right arm. He is now undergoing reconstructive surgery on his right shoulder and collarbone to reinforce that section prior to integrating a Regina series 211 base plate for his cybernetic arm. Patient is a recovering long term drug addict who previously suffered a heart attack some three months previously resulting in minor scarring of the heart tissue during post-amputation trauma surgery.” He opened his palm and one of the medtechs handed him a sonic scalpel. “I am now opening an incision across the skin to reveal the shoulder socket.”
It took Rufus a few moments to process what was happening, to the point that the surgeon began cutting off the now useless flap of skin that had covered his socket before he had a chance to say, “Er, I don’t mean to be a bother…”
“Oh, what a mess,” the surgeon said conversationally. “There’s a terrible amount scar tissue there. What did they use to do that amputation, a laser torch?”
“Beg your pardon…”
“The scan was right,” the nurse added, leaning over. “We’re going have to clear all that out to reach the nerves that weren’t damaged. Maybe a centimeter all told.”
“All right, give me the number four then. We’ll get it out of the way and start prepping the bone for integration.”
“Do you still want to try and do some keratin reinforcement on what’s left of the scapula?”
“Excuse me,” Rufus spoke up loudly.
The surgeon’s head popped over the edge of the concealing curtain, his muzzle covered by a conformal mask. “Yes, milord?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help noticing that you’ve started surgery and I’m still awake.”
“Of course you are. Are you saying you’re feeling discomfort?”
“No, but aren’t I supposed to be unconscious?”
“Oh, you’ve seen too many medical dramas,” Alyn said from somewhere out of Rufus’ line of sight. “There’s no point in endangering a patient by putting them all the way under when a spinal block will do.”
Rufus paused. “You’re sure about that?”
“Absolutely, milord.”
“Er, all right then, carry on.”
He shut up and listened as the surgeon and his team went on with their work, clearing out dead tissue and polishing down the remnants of his shoulder with what sounded like a metal sander. The surgeon kept up a running commentary as he worked, reporting what he found as he dug further into the layers of damaged muscles and nerves, usually with irritated asides directed at the quality of the Suyahar’s surgical unit. This was accompanied by a series of nausea inducing sounds as he heard his bones pop and snap loudly, with the occasional burning scent when they used the sander.
Rufus found all of that less disturbing than the moments when the topic ranged away from the task at hand and towards everything from the latest grav ball scores to the chances of Planetary Weather Control going through the scheduled rainfall that evening. But despite the asides the team worked steadily. In less than two hours they had finished seating the base plate where his shoulder had once been, connecting its near-microscopic wiring to his nervous system, which would eventually transmit signals to his new arm when he was ready for it.
“All right, milord,” the surgeon said, once he was satisfied that the base plate was properly secured and the skin sealed tight and ready to heal against it. “We’re just going to wheel you over to the recovery ward while the spinal block wears off, then we’re going to take you back to your room for twenty-four hours of observation before we release you.”
“Good. How long before I can get my new arm installed?” Rufus asked.
“It’ll be at least a month before your nerves are fully integrated with the base plate’s wiring. Once we test the connections and are certain they’re working properly, you can have your new arm put in place at any time.”
“Marvelous,” he said. ‘Thank you for your efforts on my behalf.”
“You’re welcome, milord.” The surgeon grinned. “Maybe you can pass a good word for us to your lady mother at the next budget meeting, eh?”
“Er, maybe,” he hedged.
He was wheeled back to the quiet, dimly lit recovery ward, where banks of monitors were watched over by a bored looking medtech. With nothing much to do while he waited for sensation to come back to his arms and legs, Rufus let his eyes close and soon fell fast asleep.
TBC
chaypeta for suggestions about the grody medical details.Three days later Aunt Dottie dropped him off at the District hospital, where he checked himself in and shortly found himself stripped out his clothes once again, with only a cheap paper gown and the thin sheets of his hospital room’s bed to maintain his dignity. Rank did hath its privileges however, for his room was quiet and plush, in a section reserved for VIP’s or others requiring more than the usual non-existent hospital privacy.
“All right, milord, we’re just going to shave off a bit of your fur so I can get the IV in, and then around your shoulder for the operation,” the orderly said, after he was settled in.
“All right.” Rufus watched as the male shaved a patch off of his forearm with a bit of depilatory cream and an electric trimmer. The IV was inserted and a saline drip attached, then the orderly asked him to turn over onto his side so the newly grown fur around the skin of his shoulder socket could be shaved.
“Do you do many of these operations?” Rufus asked over the buzz of the trimmer.
“Oh, about a couple of dozen a year, milord,” the orderly said. “Usually folks who were in skimmer accidents, or managed to get their footpads or hands stuck somewhere they shouldn’t have been putting them. Most of our work is maintenance though.”
“Maintenance?”
“Oh, yes. Worn out bearings and data links on the connection points between the limb and the baseplate, minor repairs, that sort of thing.”
“Must be interesting.”
“Oh, yes. We’ve got one male who comes in, military I think, to get himself looked over when he’s on leave. Poor fellow must have been in a terrible accident. He’s all metal and plastic except for one arm and half his face.” The orderly wiped Rufus’ shoulder socket with a sterile cloth. “You can turn over now, milord. I’ll let the surgeon’s nurse know you’re ready.”
“Thank you.” Rufus raised up the back of his bed and flipped through the hospital’s entertainment channels for an hour or so, until another pair of orderlies showed up to help him onto a rolling stretcher, against his protestations that he could walk. He was wheeled into the surgical theater, to find himself staring up into a bank of spotlights that left him blinking until the nurse put a pair of polarized goggles over his eyes.
“That’s just to protect your eyes in case something comes flying over,” she told him.
“Flying over?” He had just enough time to see the devices on the instrument tray, many of which looked like they came from a hardware rather than a medical supply store, before she blocked his view by putting a short curtain between his head and his shoulder.
“Just in case, you understand,” she said, slipping an oxygen mask over his face. “Is this comfortable?”
He took in a breath. The air provided was cool and slightly intoxicating. “Yes, it’s fine.”
She started attaching remote monitor leads to his body, using thin Velcro straps that avoided the necessity of shaving more of his pelt off. “Would you like a pair of earbuds so you’ll have some music or a book to listen to?”
“I don’t really see the need.”
She frowned slightly. “You're absolutely certain about that?”
Before he could affirm this, a male in came wheeling in another cart, this one bearing a tray with a set of syringes and sealed drug bottles. Behind him were two more orderlies. “Good morning, sir,” he said. “I’m Alyn and I’ll be your anesthesiologist today.”
He smiled. “Hullo, Alyn. I’ve been looking forward to you coming in. Doing this without anesthesia was bad enough the first time.”
Alyn laughed, then asked him to roll over onto his stomach. “All right, milord, we’re going to inject a nerve block at the base of your skull. You’ll feel a pinprick, then something cold and then you shouldn’t be feeling much of anything.” Rufus felt the needle prick his skin, directly against his spine, then there was a chill running through his veins right before his entire body flopped nervelessly against the table.
“All right, let’s roll him back over,” Alyn said. With the help of the nurse and two orderlies they turned him over carefully until he was staring at the lights again, unable to move any part of his body besides his head. Then Alyn reached over and did something outside of his line of vision. “Did you feel that?”
“Feel what?”
“Good. You’re all set.” The anesthesiologist sat back on a stool and hovered over his monitor panel while the nurse pressed a call button and the rest of the surgeon’s team came in. Aside from the surgeon himself, the nurse and the Alyn the Anesthesiologist there were two other medtechs and at least three horribly young looking people that were introduced as interns that would be observing. Rufus tried to keep their all of their names straight while he patiently waited to be Alyn to knock him completely unconscious.
“All right,” the surgeon said, adjusting a microphone pickup at his throat. “Time is now 1118 [date]. Our patient is a Vulpine male, age thirty-two, who suffered a traumatic field amputation of his complete right arm. He is now undergoing reconstructive surgery on his right shoulder and collarbone to reinforce that section prior to integrating a Regina series 211 base plate for his cybernetic arm. Patient is a recovering long term drug addict who previously suffered a heart attack some three months previously resulting in minor scarring of the heart tissue during post-amputation trauma surgery.” He opened his palm and one of the medtechs handed him a sonic scalpel. “I am now opening an incision across the skin to reveal the shoulder socket.”
It took Rufus a few moments to process what was happening, to the point that the surgeon began cutting off the now useless flap of skin that had covered his socket before he had a chance to say, “Er, I don’t mean to be a bother…”
“Oh, what a mess,” the surgeon said conversationally. “There’s a terrible amount scar tissue there. What did they use to do that amputation, a laser torch?”
“Beg your pardon…”
“The scan was right,” the nurse added, leaning over. “We’re going have to clear all that out to reach the nerves that weren’t damaged. Maybe a centimeter all told.”
“All right, give me the number four then. We’ll get it out of the way and start prepping the bone for integration.”
“Do you still want to try and do some keratin reinforcement on what’s left of the scapula?”
“Excuse me,” Rufus spoke up loudly.
The surgeon’s head popped over the edge of the concealing curtain, his muzzle covered by a conformal mask. “Yes, milord?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help noticing that you’ve started surgery and I’m still awake.”
“Of course you are. Are you saying you’re feeling discomfort?”
“No, but aren’t I supposed to be unconscious?”
“Oh, you’ve seen too many medical dramas,” Alyn said from somewhere out of Rufus’ line of sight. “There’s no point in endangering a patient by putting them all the way under when a spinal block will do.”
Rufus paused. “You’re sure about that?”
“Absolutely, milord.”
“Er, all right then, carry on.”
He shut up and listened as the surgeon and his team went on with their work, clearing out dead tissue and polishing down the remnants of his shoulder with what sounded like a metal sander. The surgeon kept up a running commentary as he worked, reporting what he found as he dug further into the layers of damaged muscles and nerves, usually with irritated asides directed at the quality of the Suyahar’s surgical unit. This was accompanied by a series of nausea inducing sounds as he heard his bones pop and snap loudly, with the occasional burning scent when they used the sander.
Rufus found all of that less disturbing than the moments when the topic ranged away from the task at hand and towards everything from the latest grav ball scores to the chances of Planetary Weather Control going through the scheduled rainfall that evening. But despite the asides the team worked steadily. In less than two hours they had finished seating the base plate where his shoulder had once been, connecting its near-microscopic wiring to his nervous system, which would eventually transmit signals to his new arm when he was ready for it.
“All right, milord,” the surgeon said, once he was satisfied that the base plate was properly secured and the skin sealed tight and ready to heal against it. “We’re just going to wheel you over to the recovery ward while the spinal block wears off, then we’re going to take you back to your room for twenty-four hours of observation before we release you.”
“Good. How long before I can get my new arm installed?” Rufus asked.
“It’ll be at least a month before your nerves are fully integrated with the base plate’s wiring. Once we test the connections and are certain they’re working properly, you can have your new arm put in place at any time.”
“Marvelous,” he said. ‘Thank you for your efforts on my behalf.”
“You’re welcome, milord.” The surgeon grinned. “Maybe you can pass a good word for us to your lady mother at the next budget meeting, eh?”
“Er, maybe,” he hedged.
He was wheeled back to the quiet, dimly lit recovery ward, where banks of monitors were watched over by a bored looking medtech. With nothing much to do while he waited for sensation to come back to his arms and legs, Rufus let his eyes close and soon fell fast asleep.
TBC
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Great
Great one again =) Thank you.
Hehehe, seems like Gunny uses the same hospital... *grins* nice to hear from him again...
...though it seems like he got more damages in the alt-universe...
[quote]He’s all metal and plastic except for one arm and half his face.[/quote]
...quite the inverse of what he got replaced in the "normal" universe. Hmm, wouldn't it be easier to just replace that one arm also as to attach it to his metal-corso? (...or do I read too much into that?)
Still it is very good. I am looking forward to the next part.
mjkj