Pre-op with the Doc pt.2

Joint post with Sail, Turk, and Wandering

The adjustable treatment surface whirred softly as it rotated. Now facing the back of the medical bay and the wall mounted screen, the patient could see the developing scan of his injured knee. “Yah see tha patella,” Dorian pointed out the bulbous projection at the join’s center. “Yah kneecap. That’s tha femur..the thigh bone...pushin’ down. Tha tibia is that bone there...one of tha bones of yah calf,” he explained the landscape. “Those thick rope lookin’ things are ligaments, tha cables that keep it all tagethah. Now here,” he pointed toward a thin sliver of cartilage, “and here, are pads that support tha bones an’ allow ‘em tah work without grindin’ on each othah. Lateral meniscus on tha outside, medial meniscus inside.” Dorian pointed toward the inside of Roose’s knee.

“A healthy meniscus would appear smooth in tha scan. Yours, howevah, is torn. That’ll explain yah pain an’ swellin’.” As they watched, the scanned image grew ever more lucid. “Tha tear is pretty obvious,” Doc observed, pointing toward the angry, jagged interruption of an otherwise unblemished surface. “Not unusual fah a man of yah age an’ activity. We can make tha repair. Yah’ll be off yah feet fah a couple days, an’ on crutches when we reach Beaumonde. If yah consent, Ah’ll notify tha lieutenant. We can operate tomorrah.”

"Well damn…" the old man tilted his head a bit to try and make more sense of the image. He could hit the heart of an elk from a hundred yards out easy but damn if he couldn't make heads or tails of the diagram. But he hadn't let a fear of the unknown stop him before, in fact he didn't even know what that fear was, so it definitely didn't frighten him then. He squinted again at the diagram and gave what he hoped looked like a thoughtful nod before continuing, "Doc I trust you to do your best here, because frankly I was fine with just dealing with it until...well until it wasn't a problem I had to worry about."

Dorian chuckled at the self assessment. “Man in your general state of health is bound tah live anothah twenty-thirty years,” he replied. “That’s a powerful long time tah walk around with that kind of pain...especially when it’s so easily corrected.”

Once the scan concluded, the medic removed the four sensor heads. “We’ll upload this tah tha hospital, and we’ll be ready fah yah as soon as we break atmo tomorrah. Til then, yah can eat an’ drink whatcha like...no alcohol or caffeine aftah eight in tha mornin’. Try tah sit, and put ice on tha knee when yah can.” He slipped the little orbs into the medbay’s autoclave. “Have yah got any questions, Mistah Roose?”

The old man's eyes showed relief and then confused panic as the doc progressed. "Only one question doc," he said, sliding his pant down and leaning back into the chair, "When exactly can i start drinking?"

Adler laughed. “Finally,” he chuckled, “anothah man on board with his priorities in ordah. Tah be truthful, Ah’d prefer yah held off havin’ a drink til one day aftah surgery. If that raises a concern, then when yah have yah first post-op drink, Ah’ll be havin’ one right beside yah. Fair enough?”

The old hunter nodded his agreement.

“Very good, the medic grinned. “We’ll see yah tahnight at suppah..” He watched as David Roose rolled down his pants leg, offered a polite goodbye to Lyen, and then made his exit. “Ah like that man,” he smiled at the nun. “Well, then,” he piped up, “shall we go see Mistah Gill?”

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