2237-09-15 - Just Old Cake

Fun times in the infirmary. The cake is not up to the usual standards.

Date: 2237-09-15

Location: Argyros Base Infirmary

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 518

Jump to End

Back at 'her' desk. It's a shared desk, really, among the Timber Wolves while they're stationed on Caprica until their return to the Dauntless. It's just the desk that Sarita uses when she's on duty. There's no lingering signs of the 'paper storm' upon its surface. In point of fact, at the moment, it's rather cleared off. There's a few neat stacks of file folders in three piles across one corner and otherwise... the beaten metal surface is clear.

Clear save directly in front of the Canceronian surgeon. She's eating her lunch 'on the go' today, it'd seem. There's an open to-go container from the mess in front of her, a coffee thermos at hand, and an open file beyond that. She's working her way through a chicken salad as she reads over the file. Her hair is twisted up into a bun with a pen pushed through to secure it into place, though numerous strands have slipped free.

Life in the infirmary continues apace around her, but she's absorbed by whatever case she's going over; barely even focused on her meal. At the moment, in fact, she has an empty fork aloft in the air as her eyes scan the page.

Aidan has just entered, and once he's happy with his white coat being just so and everything else being how he wants it, he wanders ocer to where the other doctor is eating. "What do we have today?" He asks, possibly his version of a greeting, showing no regard for the fact she is eating and reading. Clearly whatever he wants is more important, at least to him.

Tove, also back all duty, also seems to be absorbed in what she's doing. She is not, however, reading or eating. No, she seems to be enjoying her few minutes of free time between patients with some good, honest labour. She's working her way through the patient beds, pulling old linens and sanitizing the mattresses as she goes. Debris is collected, trash sorted, equipment arranged neatly and out of the way.

Colin knew nothing of lunch. His steps in polished black shoes tap slightly against the old, buffed floor of the infirmary. The signature white coat of a physician fit him, melting into his persona like something truly meant to be. With black pants and a light mint colored button down, he looked like the well put together picture of what a doctor should be. Except, of course, the weary lines on his face and the slight fade of laughter lines around his eyes. He walks with a clipboard in one hand and a protein shake, or something similar, in the other. "Have any of you seen these people's response diagrams for critical patients?" He doesn't look up when he enters the room. "I'm literally looking at a 20 minute scene time on a CVA. How... How does one accomplish that?" He genuinely looks confused, finally glancing up. Those brilliant blue eyes survey those present, and his shake slowly rises.

And the Leonese surgeon will have to wait a moment. There is no interrupting Captain Hargrave mid-sentence, it would seem. Though as the seconds drag out, perhaps it's more like mid-paragraph, for as long as she continues poring over the page of the patient's chart. Once she's done, she lowers the fork to the container to leave it to rest against wilted leaves of... something or another. 'Mixed greens' are what they always say and a smart individual never asks. "I have a man's hand to nigh rebuild after he was a number of feet too near a grenade." She sits up straighter, reaching for her coffee. Her eyes slide past Aidan to take in Colin, studying the new arrival. Yet another face she's wholly unfamiliar with.

"I didn't bother to look at your schedule." A final aside for Aidan's sake.

"Well. That is quite unfortunate." Aidan notes, at the talk of the hand. It almost sounds nice, until he adds "For both of you." He moves on then, to find his schedule. For the moment he's ignoring the others present."

Tove looks up from where she's bundling up a particularly bad bit of .linens, looking over at the new arrival. Also a stranger to her. The question, though, since it's for the room, she offers an answer to, "Poor diagnostic response. I would assume that up to this point, it simply hasn't been a common enough illness to make it something that the initial responder would think to investigate." The linens get tossed into a nearly full linen cart, before she grabs up the spray.

Colin furrows his brows at Tove, nodding slowly while continuing to drink his lunch. As soon as the bottle is lowered, though, he continues the up and down motion of his head a bit more thoroughly. "And if that's the case? We all may be quite doomed in the longer run of things." He glances over at the other two folks, tilting his head a little with that clipboard still in his hand. His lips press together, and those bright eyes go back down to the paper held by the flimsy chunk of wood. Shift schedules aside, he doesn't seem too quick to engage.

There is a look up to the exchange between Colin and Tove. Sarita follows it, but she doesn't weigh in at the moment. Largely, she's left Aidan to his own devices. Perhaps taking his words as an insult or a dismissal; either way, she doesn't engage further with the Leonese surgeon. For Colin, however, when his gaze passes her way, there is a small nod of acknowledgement (at the least). From there, the Canceronian woman looks back to the file before her on the desk and then to her salad. There's a touch of a frown at it; distaste suddenly taking her for the rather plain meal. She exhales in a sigh and boxes it up, pushing it off to the side of her desk. Instead, she draws her coffee in closer and nurses it as she goes back to her reading.

Looking over his schedule, Aidan frowns slightly. Evidently he doesn't like what he sees. Although he never seems particularly happy to be in the clinic, today he looks especially unhappy. Maybe it's because of the nurse on duty, since he approaches Tove to ask "Lieutenant. Where is Claire?" Poor, poor Claire.

One of the joys of being medical staff on duty is this: there's noise at the entrance, some loud yelling, and then a pair of marines enters. Or rather, stumbles, since Gage appears to be bearing the majority of the weight of the other marine he's with. At a glance, one could probably make the not incorrect assumption that said marine is drunk. Really drunk. "Gods, Ridley, did you put on twenty pounds since we went dirtside or what?" Gage is grumbling.

"Oh, I'm quite certain that we're all doomed, Captain. The trick will be finding a way to course correct to put off doom until the last moment possible. I'd welcome some restructuring." Having given the disinfectant time to do it's work Tove begins to wipe the mattress down, putting a bit of elbow grease into a few places. So much so that she actually doesn't catch sight of Aidan until he walks up to her, "She's monitoring post-op." Which means the nurse in question will be back in the more private rooms past the surgical wing. There's a passing glance to the doctor readings and eating, but it's the commotion at the door that gets her immediate attention, and she slips around the bed to head that way, snapping off her soiled gloves on the way.

Colin watches the two enter from over the top of his clipboard. Whatever he was reading, it didn't seem to be interesting enough to keep the physician's attention. So, the chance for a distraction is absolutely welcome. Gallagher steps forward, setting the clipboard down on a counter and removing a worn black stethoscope from the pocket of his lab coat. He doesn't move to the patients. Instead? He moves to the nearest open bed, moving the bedside table and IV pole out of the way enough to allow him to reach the side of the cardiac monitor. "I'm ready when you are." His words are offered to the nurse, though the doctor seems to be rather busy removing the blood pressure cuff and pulse oximeter from the basket on the side of the monitor. He glances back at the other doctors, smiling a bit at the both of them. There's a definite sense that if they want in on the action, he'll move over.

The yelling at the entrance draws Sarita's attention and she looks over, setting down her thermos. It's one of the pair that enter that draws her attention specifically and she stands. Quickly. Perhaps too quickly. Did anyone notice that? Surely not. She smooths her coat and flips closed the file she was reading. The surgery isn't for a few hours yet; she can handle other work, of course. "Corporal Tomak, I'm glad to see it's not you as the patient this time around." She's dropped her hands to her pockets as she aims towards the pair of marines, her gaze slipping past the Tauran to his sloshed companion. On her way past Aidan, she notes in aside: "Difficulties with your pet, Doctor?" She's not quite moving to interfere yet, either, though there's a glance to Colin and a tilt of her head. She doesn't get in Gage's way, but rather gestures towards the bed that the other doctor stands near. "Let's get him over here before he falls on his face."

Aidan clearly has no intention of getting involved. He'll let Colin handle it, and just stand back here appraising the scene with his bad case of Resting Judgement Face. Incurable, sadly. At Sarita's aside, he grouses "Claire is not my pet. She just happens to be my preferred nurse." Who he met literally yesterday. Someone has a huge problem with the other nurse in the room, clearly.

They don't really make that much progress into the infirmary, maybe three more steps full of Gage's grumbled urging and Ridley's abrupt, garbled yelling. Since she's heading his way, Tove gets a look from Gage that's clearly requesting help. "Drank too much," is his helpful description of his fellow marine's condition. He spots Sarita's approach, and opens his mouth -- maybe to answer her -- when he's distracted by an odd noise from Ridley. Any medic used to dealing with military staff blowing off steam surely knows that look of white reflection that comes across Ridley's expression for a moment. Yeah, he's totally going to barf. Thankfully, it's mostly over his own shoes and the floor, some of it spilling onto Gage's boots too.

Tove seems to have little attention to spare for the two surgeons, as neither of them seem to be giving any indcation of actually wanting to assist with the patient. And for all that both Gage and Ridley are at least a foot taller and well close to at least four to five stone heavier than she is, she moves to take up Ridley's other side, having learned just the trick to using what weight she does have effectively. When the drunk marine actually start throwing up, well, she does the only thing she can do, really. Keep him upright, keep him at an angle to prevent his airway from becoming obstructed, and hoping it doesn't all end up on her clothes. "Alright then, Ridley, is it? Might as well try to bring it up all now." She glances towards Colin, "Grab me a bag, please?"

Colin opens the drawer of the bedside cabinet, removing an emesis bag, a pair of sticky bottomed socks, and a small hospitality card. Everything but the bag is tossed haphazardly back into the drawer. "Let's get him down and prep a saline bolus." The doctor's hands, freed from the bag, begin pulling down the blankets of the bed, allowing them to gather at the foot. It was a veteran ER move, not sparing a moment to breathe, he turns around and heads toward the cabinet with the IV supplies. "And let's get a baseline of vitals. How much did he drink? And how long ago, Corporal?"

"Not the nurse I meant," Hargrave notes, in a dry voice, over her shoulder to Aidan. There's not much Sarita can do when it comes to helping move a large marine. She'd be more hinderance than help. Making sure the way is clear to the bed? Certainly: that she can do and that she was seeing fit to do. There is, however, a wince of sympathy when Ridley loses the contents of his stomach. "Hera, for his sake I hope we're not going to need <insert whatever is used here because the player doesn't want to make everyone wait half an hour or more to do extensive research>" Because no one enjoys that process. She does step to the side, however, to retrieve gloves, cutting a glance towards Gage before she turns towards the cabinet, but- Colin is already on the way, so she just stops. "Let me know if you need anything else." Instead, she angles over to the Tauran Corporal. Carefully, mind, for the mess. "Did any get on you?" She manages to keep most of the humor out of her voice.

Aidan raises an eyebrow at the vomit that has appeared on the infirmry floor. 'Unamused' doesn't begin to describe his expression. "I take it, then, that the local brig does not come equipped with a drunk tank?" He asks icily as he regards the marines. "I am quite certain that is what this man is in need of. Not medical attention."

Gage, it seems, is no stranger to being barfed on, though he does give his shoes a regretful look, since they'll surely require scrubbing later. "Nothing that some extra time in the laundry won't fix. Be careful -- he's like a fire-hydrant," the marine warns Tove. Still, he's supporting Ridley from the other side. Ridley gives Tove a vacant-eyed look, not really focusing on her, then mouths some words that appear to be an attempt at communication, though it comes at as more garbled, almost inaudible words. "It's Tomak," he replies to Colin, and, "A lot. He was already three-quarters of a bottle down when I came in. Brought him straight back here. Couldn't tell you how long he'd been at it." Aidan's comment earns a twitch of shoulders. "Aint a medic. You want me to carry him to his bunk, tell me he won't choke first at least."

Tove seems not to mind the vomit or where it ends up, even offering the marine not throwing up, that would be Gage, "You wouldn't believe the things I've had thrown up all over me. I think I'll manage." With his help, they do manage to clear the distance from the entrance over to the bed Colin's prepped, "Here, Up you get." She'll settle him onto his back, sliding out from under his arm once she is, reaching for the bag and trying to hand it off to the man. If that fails, Gage gets that too, with a, "Hold this for him if he can't." That done, she slips a pair of gloves from her pockets on and moves to prep the man for the IV catheter. A glance, to ensure the suction machine is close enough for her to reach before she gets to work.

Colin returns with several packages in his hands. There's not much rushing to the man's gate. "Brilliant. Almost a full bottle. Did he fall? Hit his head?" The supplies are dumped on the high bedside table, careful hands already beginning to sort things. First, gloves are pulled carefully over the doctor's hands, his eyes examining the area Tove seems to be preparing. "Let's start with the back of his hand. If we can't get a good stick there, we can move up to the AC. He looks like he has decent veins, so he can't be too far gone." Next, the doctor picks up a flush, extension set, and IV kit. All three of them are set carefully on the patient's chest, a blue flex tourniquet fitting the selection to get pulled and stretched in Gallagher's fingers. "Can you hear me? My name's Doctor Gallagher." Satisfied with the bandages stretch, Colin slips it tightly around the man's arm, just above his elbow. "I think we're going to do a quick bit of Saline and some Zofran. That'll keep you from feeling too bad. And? Hopefully? It will keep the nurse and I from having to shower. Sound good?" Words spoken, of course, to the man who was about to earn a needle to the hand.

Aidan continues to just watch, with resting judging face. Colin has it, after all, and even Aidan isn't crass enough to just walk into another doctor's case. Probably. One hopes. He's actually taking notes, though it's not entirely clear what on since it's not a medical chart.

Gage grunts at the oh-so-vividly inspiring words from Tove, even managing a moment's sympathy, perhaps. It doesn't last, because, "Frak, Ridley. Seriously, stop eating all that leftover cake all those pilots are always having," he's grumbling, as he shoulders most of his fellow marine's weight as they make it to the bed. Reaching to pull one of Ridley's legs up onto the bed as well, he dutifully (if perhaps a bit bemusedly) holds the bag Tove hands him. "Had a stumble into the wall on the way into the base, that's about it. Think he had some bad news. Said something about a letter from home." Ridley mutters something incomprehensible. Maybe he's answering Colin's words, maybe not. Either way it doesn't make sense. He gives a belch, but fortunately there's no more vomit along with it. Gage, too, doesn't much seem to understand anything Colin's saying, but he's damn good at holding the bag there. Speaking of which, he looks for something to hook it onto, undoutedly preparatory to him peaceing out.

Tove finishes prepping the area of Ridley's elbow, and then, on Colin's orders, does the back of his hand as well, seeming about to begin the line, when she sees Colin start the prep work himself. A nod, as she acknowledges the doctor assuming control of the procedure, and allows him room to move, while she pulls the suction equipment into closer proximity to herself. No telling how the man might react to the pinch of a needle. It's not entirely pleasant for anyone, "I'll prep the Zofran," and she moves to do that, heading to the cabinet to retrieve the bottle and a syringe for dosing and administering to the IV.

Captain Hargrave is present if needed, with gloves and ready. She stands off to one side, observing.

Colin has no issue hooking the flush to the extension set. The tubing is primed by a gentle push of the syringe with the entire object held up to the light. It aids the visibility, of the small bubble of air slowly coming out of it's plastic prison. When the saline is coming out of the other side, the doctor sets the apparatus down on his patient's chest, pulling his IV needle and catheter from it's plastic sleeve. "Alright, my friend." His other hand prods the back of the man's hand, before settling on it in a particular 'L' shape. "Big poke." And it was, indeed, a big poke. But? The needle slides in with little trouble, immediately flashing red as it contacts blood. "Can we get some tegaderm ready? And about two strips of tape?" The needle stops it's advance, but the doctor slowly pushes in the plastic piece in front of it, settling the catheter into place. He places his finger neatly an inch in front of the area where the pink stopper protrudes from the man's skin. The needle? Well, he pulls that out and holds it up. "Sharp."

Aidan continues with his notes, occasionally glancing over to watch Colin and Tove work. It almost looks like he's diligently studying the two. Any impression that way is dispellled when he comments to the room at large. "I'm really pleased with my forthcoming publication. I think it's going to be a headliner."

Finally, Gage manages to awkwardly hang the bag off a stand nearby. He doesn't even use the hook or anything, the medical heathen. Ridley, at least, is an easy patient to manage, his incoherent mumbling side -- he yells and jerks briefly at that needle -- before resuming his mumbling. Gage gives a last, not very helpful, but maybe comradely pat to Ridley's leg as he extricates himself, leaving smarter people than him to attend to things, heading for the door.

As Gage makes to depart, Sarita watches him go. She starts to say something, but- ah. Work beckons. When the coat is on, professionalism always ranks first. A few more strands of hair come loose from the barely-contained bun as she looks back to Colin. "Of course." She's already there, with gloves, so is able to step up and free Tove of the zofram to prepare the dosage. Which frees the nurse to handle the tegaderm and tape once the dosages are complete. There's a slight wrinkle of her nose once she's closer. "He'll need fair dumping into the showers once he's sober," she murmurs, half to herself.

Tove is quite happy to hand off the medication, while she collects the sharp and the detritus from the catheter, small enough that she can move in the rather close quarters without getting in anyone's way. With the ambulatory marine having cut and run, because, who wouldn't, she settles into place on that side, pulling the strips of tape and the tegaderm requested, keeping them ready for use as soon as the line is in. "You and I have a very different definition of headline, Captain."

The line of the extension is plugged in by careful fingers and, with a light laugh, Colin pushes the plunger of the flush, pushing saline through the line and into the young man's body. "Headline? What sort of article are we talking about?" Talking while he was working? That's the hallmark of a surgeon. And, much like one, Doctor Gallagher replaces his fingers with thew waiting adhesives, securing the line to the man's arm. He even leaves the man's side for a moment, shifting toward the bedside table to begin spiking the IV bag. "He should be ready for the meds in a moment. I just want to make sure he has something to flush them in with. Sometimes these military lines get weird and retain medication..." Indeed, he allows saline to flow from bag to the floor via a long line. It drips twice before he adjusts something, shutting it off. Hooking the IV line into the end of the extension is the last step of the process before Colin looks up at Sarita, nodding toward the access port on the extension set. "You or I. I don't think it makes a different to him. Just... Try not to get drool on you. It smells like old cake."

"I'm assuming a sonnet to the nurse here," Sarita says of Aidan's supposed headline. She stands, needle carefully in hand as she waits. There is half an eye on Ridley in case he decides to emulate a firehose once again. Especially since Gage set the bag out of reach. "He's had an eye for her all shift." She doesn't seem to mind waiting; it's longer out of the splash zone. She just gives a small nod when he speaks of the lines before stepping in once Colin is out of the way. There's deft motions to the way she works. "Tomak said something regarding pilots and cake. I wonder if it's related to that party that had to be broken up the other night. I've seen a number of shiners around the base the past few days and a number of them were on pilots."

Tove glances up, at Sarita's comment about the nature of Aidan's headline. There's something imminently humored in her expression as she works with Colin to get the line arranged, cleaning as she works. "I am of the belief, that if Captain Kinsinger ever wrote a sonnet to me, the subject might be how happy he was to see that someone had poured gasoline on me and set me on fire." And that fact seems to bother her not in the least, "What else can I do, Doctor?" That to Colin, as he's the one currently handling the majority of patient care.

"I would not waste words, let alone my poetic talent, on the good Lieutenant." Aidan seems actually offended. Perhaps Tove's version is closer to the truth. And at that point, mercifully for those assembled, a rather hesitant nurse comes looking for the surgeon. "Captain Kinsinger? You're needed in the back..." And off he stomps, cheerfully as ever.

"Baseline vitals, if you would. Oh. And let's pull a couple of vacutainers of blood and get it to lab. Might as well run it while we have him in here. Who knows what sort of a Petri dish this young man aspires to be." Colin looks up, glancing between Sarita and Tove before pulling his rubber gloves off with a pop. "I can get started on charting. Is... this what it's like all the time here? We literally have more doctors than patients. I think this is what medical nirvana would look like." The gloves are tossed into the nearby trash can and the doctor's bright blue eyes scan the patient one final time. He reaches up and adjusts something on the IV tubing, causing the little chamber to drip as though it was trying to win a race.

There's a soft snort from Sarita; clearly she believes neither Tove nor Aidan's version of the story. She steps away to discard of the needle properly, shoulders rising and falling at Colin's question. "I'm sure it's due to the Timber Wolves' presence and this being a fairly inactive base insofar as the warfront goes. I've spent much of my time reviewing past AARs-" She follows up the sharp disposal with a removal of her own gloves, "-and their associated medical reports for the squadron. They have a fair number of injuries during their active duty. I imagine we were brought in to prepare for wherever the Dauntless will be shipped out to next. Wherever you may have been last, consider this a breath of fresh air. I am."

"To be honest? If it gets me anywhere near some action, I'm welcoming it." Colin observes Tove's movements in an idle sort of way. It was like the woman's actions provided him a place to rest his eyes where he didn't really need to pay the clearest attention. His stethoscope is retrieved from the bedside table, and in an automatic way, the doctor places the buds in his ears and checks all four lung fields. "And we're clear and equal bilaterally. No sign of aspiration. You have the rest handled, Miss?" Clearly, the doctor hadn't been in the military long. Or if he had, he had completely ignored it's protocol.

"Yes, of course. I can manage him from here. Don't slip on his leavings on your way out." She glances down to Ridley, who seems to be either passed out, sleeping or just ignoring everything else, "He fancies himself a boxer. The first time he got into the ring with me, I beat the frak out of him. He's never forgiven me for it." And considering she's the size of a large toddler and his ego is the size of the base, well..."Thank you both for your work with him. I'll take care of cleaning up and his bathing." Which will leave the doctors to go about their business.


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