| Medical Exam |
| Summary: | Trask comes into Sickbay to meet Dr. Adair and get his physical, but it's debatable just who exactly is examining whom. |
| Date: | 08 Nov 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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| Sickbay - Deck 10 - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| Being able to accommodate combat casualties requires room, and the Sickbay has it. Beds line each side of the room with privacy curtains strung up and readily available. Large vaulted lockers hold access to the supplies at the far end of the area. Nearer the front, a Petty Officer sits ready to dispense simple items like ibuprofen and aspirin. Further to the rear is an area prepped twenty-four hours a day for emergency surgery. To the side are a set of double doors that lead to the Recovery Ward where patients can recuperate. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #255 |
Word had gotten to Trask that some manner of 'biomechanical technology doc from Aerilon' had recently been brought aboard. In fact, when he initially went to Medical to learn more, he told them that he wanted to schedule an appointment with the biomechanical technology doc from Aerilon who recently was cleared for duty. A bit of bureaucracy later, he was given an appointment with one Dr. Cameron Adair, and so it is that the SL arrived at the appointed time on the appointed date.
As for Cameron, other than the fact that he had an appointment with one Lieutenant Kal Trask, no one did the courtesy of telling why exactly he was to meet with the man. Naturally, he assumed, it would be for a medical reason. Why else come to Sickbay to see him after all? So after looking for and asking the Petty Officer why Trask's file hadn't been pulled, Cameron gives a small huff of frustration before turning and bringing a friendly smile to his lips as he approaches the waiting man. "Afternoon, Lieutenant. I'm Dr. Cameron Adair. My apologies for keeping you waiting. Things often get backed up here and it seems that your file hasn't been pulled yet? It'll just take a minute to do so, but if you'd like to come back with me you can tell me what's ailing you?" Not that the man looks ill or injured. Not in the least.
Rising to his feet, the left forearm is offered to clasp in greeting. "No worries, doc." A cursory glance at Bootstrap offers no insights as to why he's here, although he looks a little worn around the edges as befits someone who works a minimum 16-hour work day, seven days a week. More resilient than the average person, the fact that it's the end of the work day would nonetheless show. "How ya settlin' in?"
A look of bemusement flickers over Cameron's features as Trask asks him about, well, how he's doing, as generally it goes the other way around. But with a wry smile, Cameron returns, "Well, thank you. The work is hard and the hours are long, but I'm sure I don't have to tell you that. It's good to keep busy though…" Leading Kal back to an examination room, Cameron invites him in with a gesture of one hand before following in and closing the door behind them. "Please, take a seat. Make yourself comfortable." Sitting at the chair before the computer, Cameron starts typing on the keyboard, searching for Trask's online file as he asks, "So, what can I do for you today?" The doctor likewise shows slight signs of the stress, lines and hints of weariness about the eyes, even if his gaze his sharp and focused. Too many double shifts and a harrowing experience down on Aerilon has left him more sleepless than usual.
Doing as instructed, Trask gets settled but does not yet remove his duty green jacket, which is currently unbuttoned. "Sounds about right," he remarks about the day in the life of a Colonial workhorse. As far as the file goes, the last major entry is dated 06 JUL 2041 for treatment of moderate hypercapnia. A few other injuries acquired during his tenure aboard the Cerberus are listed, including a moderate LMG wound to his right shoulder on 11 APR 2041 and some moderate head trauma caused by an explosion on 15 MAY 2041 with no concussive aftereffects. The moderate back strain acquired on 08 MAY 2041 due to an emergency ejection required some PT.
Going back to the question, Kal replies, "Not so much for me, doc. Standard check-up is comin' up, so I figured I might as well get it over with while it's convenient. Requested you as the attending physician 'cuz I like to know the people my people might end up seeing." Not a bad trait for a commanding officer to have, all things considered.
Ocean blue eyes scan over the information, absorbing it quickly and dispassionately as he listens to Trask explain both why he is here and the reason he asked for Cameron specifically. His lips curl in a quick smile, eyes flickering over to Trask for a moment before flicking back to his file, noting, "Very reasonable, and terribly decent of you. No one wants to send their crew to a quack, after all. Let me know if you'd like me to provide you with a list of qualifications." The words could be taken as an affront, as if Cameron were offended by the very suggestion that he might not be capable. But instead he offers the information freely and earnestly, no offense taken. Turning to the man, he gestures to one arm and notes, "Well, if you're here for your physical, go ahead and roll up a sleeve and we'll get started?" There are all the basics to be taken - weight, blood pressure, pulse, blood sample - and then the questions of course. "So, now it's my turn. How have you been feeling? Any concerns or complaints? Any unusual pain or problems. Changes in your appetite, general health, sleeping habits, etc.?"
"If you really want to," is the rather indifferent response to the offered credentials. "You were cleared, so I know you're not a quack. And it's not like sending someone with combat acquired PTSD to a headshrink with no training in military psych." Which is something Trask definitely made a stink about when /that/ actually happened. Doing one better than rolling up his sleeve, he instead sloughs off the duty jacket. This reveals elaborate Ta Moko tatau adorning his well-defined shoulders and the full length of his equally toned arms. Answering the questions, he conversationally continues, "As well as anyone can be, this day an' age, I suppose. And no, no, no nuh-uh, no, an' nope."
Chuckling softly, Cameron notes, "Just trying to set your mind at ease. After all, you said you were here to check me out while I check you out, so to speak." He works smoothly and efficiently, taking all of Trask's vitals with experienced ease. Even the blood sample is taken both quickly and painlessly, with no futzing around, trying to find a vein. His eyes do flicker to the impressive and expansive tattoos, recognizing the origin of them if not knowing the full significance. "From Tauron, I see…." though that has little to do with anything except the ink upon his flesh. "I haven't met that many Taurian's before, and even fewer with tatau…" His lips quirk at Trask's litany of no's and shakes his head with a soft clucking noise. "Damn. That makes things frightfully dull for me. Then again, would you tell me if there was anything amiss? I've met soldiers before who sometimes think it's better to hide anything that might be wrong rather than have it potentially affect their position or duties…."
All things considered, Trask's vitals are good, even taking into account that he's a smoker. Maybe there really is such a thing as being built Tauron tough. "Once upon a time," sums up being from that Colony. "Rare to find a Taurian who is not «taiatau»," is off-handedly noted, that last word distinctly of that world's tongue, spoken with all the rough edges of a Black Country accent and no explanation as to what it means. Fingertips touching that expanse of skin would feel that it is subtly textured beneath the ink, for the underlying flesh is actually carved, so to speak, in that uniquely Taurian style of tatau. For a physician, it should not be difficult to extrapolate how excruciatingly painful the process must be if a local anesthetic isn't used. Never mind to have that much Ta Moko.
As for being dull, the SL smirks. "Hardly. I mean, I'm really not all that interesting — I just have a top-notch publicist — but things, as you put it, won't be so bland if the rumors I've heard about you are true." What those rumors may be is not yet divulged. Instead, Dr. Adair is informed, "Depends on whether or not amiss, as you define it, results in an inability to do my job. The moment it does, it ceases being a personal problem. Anyone who'd hide something like that is a moron and deserves to be tossed in the brig for such negligence." He may or may not actually be serious about that last bit.
One brow lifts, Cameron giving Trask a somewhat dubious look as he notes, "I suspect you're all kinds of interesting, Lieutenant." The suggestion of rumors makes the other brow lift in turn. "Drop your pants so I can give you a hernia check," he suggests, with a small smirk. Entering some data he notes, "I agree with you. Leaving off a problem or hiding it generally only makes matters worse in the end, not better." A thoughtful huff before he continues, "So far everything looks good. Lungs are clear, heartbeat normal and pulse is good. Blood pressure's good. What sort of 'rumors' have you heard about me? I didn't realize I'd been here long enough to be grist for the rumor mill…" Pulling on a fresh pair of gloves, Cameron returns and places one hand on Trask's back, the other decidedly lower and orders, "Turn your head and cough?"
"Ordinarily, I require three nice dates for that kind of thing, doc," is quipped, "but you're cute, in boyish good looks sorta way — and I'd know, being of such a mould myself — so, what the hells?" That said, Bootstrap is back on his boots, unfastening his belt. To add a bit of sass to the cheek, he shimmies a bit before abruptly dropping trou. The pulling down of his military issue, dark boxer briefs is done with a lack of fanfare. Turning around, he assumes 'the position' and advises, "Don't try pullin' a fast one, though. I /know/ I'm not due for a prostate exam any time soon. Also, although it would be awfully friendly, and I know the new guy can always use friends, don't bother with a reach-around. That kinda thing I can handle myself." Yes, somehow a man with a mouth like that made full-LT status and was given squadron leadership. In regard to the rumors, all he says is, "We'll get into that /after/ you're done pokin' and proddin' my nether regions." Insurance, perhaps?
Chuckling softly, Cameron replies wryly, "I bet you say that to all the good looking new doctors on Cerberus…" As the man bends over, Cameron chuckles and notes, "Ahh, no, this one we do standing up. I'm just kind of kinky that way. In that position, well, I think the gentleman doth protest too much about that prostate exam, however…" Once the man has straightened, the doctor glances down at Trask's uncircumcised package, waggles his eyebrows, and adds as he reaches down and touches the Lieutenant in ways that only a lover or a doctor should, "Looks healthy. Now once again for the camera, turn your head and cough?" And once that matter is done, Cameron gestures to the examination table and notes, "Make yourself comfortable on your back. Don't worry though, you can put your drawers back on if it makes you feel more secure. Like you said, I haven't even bought you dinner yet. But I do need to poke you a bit more before we're done here." He waits until Trask has settled himself down before pressing his fingers here and there on his abdomen, noting, "Let me know if anything feels tender. So, about those rumors…. should I be concerned?"
"A gentleman never tells," is offered with the vocal equivalent of batted lashes. Head turned, he coughs, then quips, "/I'm/ not insecure when it comes to my pecker puttering about. If it makes /you/ feel better, though…" Regardless, despite the fact that he truly seems comfortable with being naked, even if he may not be so gung-ho about a non-lover touching him in places and ways only a lover (or doctor) should, he does deign to get dressed. One never knows if or when the Fleet might suddenly go to Condition One and he'll need to haul ass to the hangar to MOVE ZIG, after all. Getting around to laying down, Trask gives no indication that anything feels tender. To assessing hands, everything would seem normal. "Depends on whether or not you have any interest in working on a biomechanical research project. Some of your writings were brought to my attention, so I'm workin' under the premise that you actually know stuff about this kinda stuff."
Cameron outright laughs at Trask's flirtatious retort, shaking his head as he waits for the man to get his pants back on before laying down on the table. "I've seen many a pecker puttering about, as you put it. But I like my patients to be as comfortable as possible. I'm somehow guessing not much makes you uncomfortable, though, Lieutenant." Despite all the teasing and flirting language, Cameron's touch remains perfectly professional throughout the exam, his eyes shifting to meet Trask's as he echoes, "Biomechanical research? Well, of course I'm always interested in working in the field of biomechatronics. It's what I specialized in, both research and active work with patients." He glances at the man laying before him noting, "You have all your limbs, so clearly this isn't for personal reasons. Another crew member perhaps?" He lays a hand lightly on Trask's shoulder noting, "Everything looks good, you can sit up now and get dressed."
Any flirtatiousness on Kal's part is purely facetious in nature. As for his threshold for discomfort, all he says is, "Things get ugly when a bull gets ornery, so it's best that I only take serious things seriously." Even then, many would argue that his concept of serious is far more selective than, say, 99% of humanity pre-Warday. At this point, getting dressed consists of donning his duty green jacket, which he eases back on after sitting up, leaving it unbuttoned. Adjusting the collar a bit, which would necessitate Cameron's hand unclasping the SL's shoulder, he counters, "They're personal reasons, in a certain respect, but not in the way you're suggesting. I'll speak with Captain Bia and we'll go from there." And, unless he is otherwise detained, he bounds back to his feet.
The past five years on Aerilon has done much to make Cameron less serious and proper than he once was back on Caprica. And, in his estimation, so much for the better. "Wise words," he concurs. "These days, it's easy to take too many things too seriously. Best to keep things in perspective as much as possible or we'll simply burn ourselves out." Cameron has already stepped back and out of the way to allow Trask freedom of movement so he can get dressed again. Curiosity marks his features, but he doesn't press the soldier, simply nodding and replying, "Very well. I'm sure you'll tell me when you're able. Likewise, I'll send word once we get your blood test results back, but I don't foresee any problems there." Offering his hand again, Cameron notes, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Lieutenant." Though some might find the officer difficult or abrasive, Cameron finds him entertaining and refreshing it seems. But then again, he hasn't gotten on the wrong side of Trask's horns yet either.
There's no handshake. Forearm clasps appear to be Trask's way. "Welcome to the military, doc," he smirks about things like 'clearances' and 'being able' to share information. "Likewise," is added about meeting. Letting go, the Lieutenant starts to depart, glibly remarking, "Try not to burn-out." A wry smile, equal parts ribbing and self-deprecating, is offered. "'Cuz /this/?" One finger is whirled around to indicate Sick Bay, "This /is/ serious business." That said, he's off, perhaps to find someone warranting difficulty and abrasion.