| Sick Chief is Sick |
| Summary: | Damon tries to weasel out of checking into Sickbay, but his worsening condition keeps him from lying. |
| Date: | 31 Mar 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | All the _sickness logs. |
| 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: #398 |
Damon doesn't want to be in Sickbay, and everything about his posture says so the moment he walks in. The impatient crossing of his arms, the refusal to make eye contact as he checks in, the anxious tapping of his foot as he waits to be seen. But everything else about him says that he needs to be here, even if he only is because he was ordered to go. His forehead is slick with sweat which pastes his hair it; he keeps wincing, pursing his lips, and pinching the bridge of his nose; and generally, he just looks terrible and miserable. He's sick, even if he doesn't want to admit it.
The hazmat suit is left for the quarantine room but Circe still sports gloves and a mask. Carrying his file on a clipboard, she steps towards Damon. "Hey Chief, sorry to see you here." She says, "Almost wish what we thought of the sickness was true, a week ago." She looks over the symptoms that he has at least given off to the orderly before she motions him to follow her to an exam room. "This way, sir."
It's hard to stay grumpy and sullen when a familiar face approaches; Damon forces a small smile and greets Circe. "Hey… Crewman. Sorry, I, uh, having a hard time remembering your name right now." He stands up to follow after her; he looks like he's been weakened by the flu or disease or whatever it is that's affecting him. "I sorta wish we'd been right," he agrees on the way to the exam room. "But it's not, uh, it's not too bad, you know? Just this, uh, this headache, keeps coming back." He's not lying very well.
"Circe Lagana, sir…" She supplies. She turns and holds open the door for him before she closes it and motions for him to take a seat on the table. "Right, a headache, thats what the orderly says and I am about as likely to believe that as I am a Cylon." She smirks behind her mask. "That was a joke, sir." She then offers, realizing he may not know that is what she intended. "Now, why don't you tell me what has you looking so weak." She turns, her hazel eyes resting on him as her hand holds the pencil at ready to take what he offers her this time. "Its either that or I run you through a gauntlet of tests.."
Damon waves away the 'sir' when she keeps calling him that. "Damon. Just Damon, unless we're around someone you'd get into shit for calling me that. Then just call me Chief, yeah?" Sitting down as indicated, he leans forward and holds his head between his hands. "I'm just, uh, haven't been eating too well lately, y'know? Working long hours and not, not sleeping so good. That's probably all it is, just… get dizzy from time to time, and, uh, sometimes a little bit nauseous. From, I mean, probably being hungry and all."
"Damon." she says then. Circe jots down what he tells her and she hmms to herself. The soft scrawling of the pencil fills a moment of silence and she clears her throat, "Si..Damon. Do you have a rash, any itches?" She asks him, hazel eyes lifting once more to him before she takes a step closer. "Shirt off, please. Going to need to take blood and get a look over. Sweating at all? For no reason?" She then asks, already leaning towards the obvious for his admittance into the quarantine.
"No rash, no itchiness," Damon says, taking off his shirt when asked to. It takes him a little longer than it usually would, and it almost looks like he struggles with it for a moment. "Sweating, uh, yeah, I've been sweating. Sometimes it just feels really hot, other times it feels, uh, feels the opposite. Like I can feel my arms shaking and stuff." So it's not just a headache after all. "My wrists and my knees have been kind of hurting too, but I mean, I work with my hands and go under birds and stuff, so that's expected, that's natural, right?"
"Of course its normal, but you would be experiencing that daily intead of just now." Circe lifts her stethoscope and presses it against his chest. "Breathe.." She hooks her ears in and waits, "Out" She intones and nods to him, placing the end several other places before moving to his back. "Whether or not its what Laramy had, I think its best we stay cautious. I will probably admit you, but not to quarantine at first, but a regular bed.
Damon starts to grumble in protest, but is cut off when she starts listening to his chest with her stethoscope. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. "Regular bed. Okay, what does that, uh, what will that mean? I don't want to sound like an asshole by saying - frak." He hisses when the headache flares with stabbing pain, doubling over with his palms pressed to his temples. "I can still work?" he asks feebly, looking up at her.
Placing a hand to his shoulder, Circe winces for him and sighs. "No, no you can not. You are to remain on bedrest, Damon." She makes sure he is steady before she moves to set down the clipboard. "Alright I will assign you a bed, get you some pain killers and some blood will be drawn for testing." she says from over her shoulder. Shifting to write down a few things, the medic then nods to him, "Stay here a second, I will get that gown for you and bring in what I need for the blood sample." Poor Chief, he is not leaving anytime soon.
"Bed rest?" Damon echoes disbelievingly. "No, no, come on, I can't do that. I'm the Chief, I gotta be on the Deck. I gotta…" He gives it up - he knows he can protest all he wants, but he isn't going anywhere no matter how much he whines. "But, I mean, I can have them bring up stuff to me here to work on if I'm not in quarantine, right? Even just, uh, paperwork, or, or… other… stuff?" He's having a hard time thinking; the migraine's coming back with a vengeance. "The, the stuff for the, uh… ahhh, frak!" Gritting his teeth, he waits for Circe to come back with painkillers. Hopefully, strong ones.
Circe isn't long gone and doesn't really speak to him about whether or not its okay that he can work. Once she does return, she gives him a cup of water and the pills. "No work for several days. After that, we will see how you are doing. For now." She advises him with a faint smile. "Damon, you need a break, we all do and you certainly can't just work through this, its obvious the symptoms are harming you." She says and sets down a small train. Pulling free a syringe, she caps it and sets the needle before moving towards him and taking his arm when he is done with the pills.
Down the hatch go the pills, and Damon is only too eager for something that might take the edge off his pain. He lets her take his arm to draw blood, his head craning back to stare up at the ceiling. "What can I do on bed rest?" he asks - it sounds more like a rhetorical question than a genuine inquiry. "I don't know how to just… rest. In bed. I don't even sleep much most nights." With a sigh, he shakes his head and glances over to Circe. "Sorry. Don't mean to make your job more difficult with my non-stop complaining."
"If you didn't complain, then I would worry." Circe smirks, but despite it only reaching her eyes, there is the faint recognition that her lips have turned upward beneath her mask. She draws the blood out slowly and once the takes the needle from his skin, she swaps and bandages it. "There, all done." Now you can change into your gown, we will process your clothing for you and then get you to a bed. "Just take a day at least, then I will see how you are doing. We can go from there, Damon." She offers, "Its the best I can do. Better than running yourself down."
Damon chuckles at her response and looks back down once she's done drawing blood. He doesn't like needles. "Yeah. Okay. One day to start. I, uh, I can do that." He wipes his mouth with his sleeve again. "Time to get out of my coveralls and into my pretty gown, I guess." Except when he tries to stand up, his legs just completely give out under him and he goes sprawling on the floor. "Frak! Just - I'm all right." A feeble attempt to pick himself back up fails, his arms barely able to lift up his torso. "I don't - I feel like I have no strength in my arms or legs," he says, frowning. "I can't… get up."
Unable to help him at the moment, Circe slides the needles across the counter and moves to his side. "Damon, are you okay?" She asks, despite his reassurances. Her hand lowers and she hooks his arm gently to get him to his back. "Okay, easy there. Hold on to me and we can get you up." The corpsman flexes and gets a knee beneath her to start to lever him up. "I am going to get a wheelchair for you. Just rundown." she tries to say and grits her teeth. The Chief is not a small man but she's not a weak woman by any means. She grunts a little as she hooks her arm around him more fully.
"For frak's sakes," Damon grumbles, trying his hardest to help Circe help him. His limbs are moving, they're just not strong enough to support him all of a sudden. "Okay, so… maybe there were a couple things I didn't mention," he admits with a sigh after she gets him into the wheelchair. "I just, I didn't think it was a… a problem, because I didn't get a rash. You got that chart handy?" He starts listing off the symptoms he's been experiencing recently: frequent headaches, appetite loss, drowsiness, dizziness, nausea, chills, joint pain, sweating, increasing weakness, and the occasional vomiting. Maybe he needs more than just bed rest after all.