Dr. Joseff Jansenn entered the cafeteria engrossed in his notes. He had been studying them almost religiously, as he tried to discern the status of the boy he was treating, and the best course of action to take. A voice caused him to turn and he recognized it as hailing from the person he sought. Dr. Terra Skye-Lowinn looked up and smiled as she noticed his approach."Good eve. How are you tonight, Doctor?"
Joseff smiled and started right in on his questioning for the evening. "Have you thought any about the replacement surgery, and the use of harvested tissue from donors? I was just going over the preliminary papers."
"Dr. Jansenn ... I have been speaking to Quentari ..." Terra said as she gestured towards the recovery room, "And I would like to discuss it with you. I will be back in a moment."
"Of course. I'll wait here for you before going over the possible procedure."
With that, Terra turned and wheeled her current patient back to his room. Joseff exited the cafeteria and returned to the lobby desk. It was from here that he could still keep an eye on the "boy." He sat at the deserted desk and began to again peruse his papers. The text consisted of a volley of tests and numbers, results and comments. The nursing staff had done a good job of keeping the information current, even though, through no fault of their own, the tests were often inconclusive. A hand ran over the stubble that had been left to grow on his chin, as weary eyes scanned the papers he already knew so well. His mind was not so much on what he was reading, but on the man with a child's mind in the recovery room who was still bound in the grip of a coma.
Terra had returned from depositing her patient in his room and sat down, tea in hand, across from Joseff. He looked up from his work and smiled, passing the stack of papers to her.
"It looks like a great chance for a transplant," he began. "A low level of tissue rejection. Now, we just have to clear it from Rictor and prep the patient."
Terra nodded almost absently, looking over the files. "We should be able to do that."
"I'm hoping so. He should, with all good turn about, heal up to 85 percent capacity." His gaze traveled to the patient ... perhaps more hopeful, as if he could will the healing into the patient by merely looking at him. "Is he awake?"
"Good question" came her short reply. Her attention turned then to the doctor across from her, a curious regard on her face. "How are you?"
"Me? I'm doing OK." He changed the subject as if he wished no further discussion about himself. "The kid's not doing anything. He's just in a static state. I'm still trying to comprehend the horror that could have done that."
Terra's voice dropped to a very quiet level, the horror again dawning. "Too much violence. Sometimes ... there is no comprehension ... just evil."
"I don't believe in an absolute evil. There's something that caused the attack. But, I haven't lost him yet. It's in his hands now."
She looked to him fully. "I couldn't agree with you more. Perhaps we will find out someday. I see the patient is awake."
Joseff rose from his chair and regarded his soon to be patient. "Well, good morning. Or good evening should I say." He walked out from around the desk and stopped before the young man's bed. "I'm Dr. Joseff Jansenn."
The poor man spoke like a boy of no more than nine, perhaps younger. He rubbed his eyes sleepily. "Huh? And I am where?" He looked around, slowed by the effects of sleep still. It was obvious that he was more than just a little disorientated.
"You are in New Rydynn Memorial Hospital. You're here for nerve transplant surgery." The confusion indeed worried Joseff, as he looked over the fellow with concern.
The 'child' looked to Terra with questioningly narrowed eyes. "I know you, don't I?"
"Yes, Quentari" she answered. "I am Terra Skye."
"You're my doctor, right?"
Joseff broke in. "Yes, she is."
Quentari looked down at his hospital-issued clothes. No doubt they were a dingy change from whatever his other clothes were, and most certainly more ventilated. "Where did my clothes go?"
"I believe the nurse has them in your room." It was clear that Joseff wanted to get past the banalities and on to the heart of the matter. "You do understand why you're here, yes?"
"I don't know. Am I sick?" The voice quivered slightly, child-like, his fear evident, slight though it may be.
"You have some severe tissue damage in your arm. We're here to perform a transplant and try to give you use of your arm back. Uhm ... Terra can explain more about the reason behind it. I'm only the surgeon."
The 'boy' seemed not to hear that, as both doctors puzzled and worried over the apparent loss of memory. "Where's my Mom?"
Terra glanced to Joseff with a tilt of her head. "Your Mom?" Joseff responded with a shrug and the universal 'hell if I know' look.
"Yeah," Quentari nodded, "she said she was gonna meet me outside the market in an hour. I've gotta find my Mom."
"Quentari ... ," Terra began slowly, "you are in a hospital. Why don't I take you back upstairs and you get some rest?"
"How'd I get here?" The fear crept into his voice in a more audible level, his concern for himself lost. "Is my Mom okay? I don't want to go upstairs. I want to find my Mom!" For all of his child's personality, he was not a small man and his starting to get belligerent worried Joseff even more. They might not be able to control a 'child' who started punching with adult strength.
"How old are you, son?", asked the doctor.
"I'm ... ," Quentari paused and began to count on his fingers. In a brief moment of triumph, he held up eight fingers. "I'm seven."
Joseff nodded and turned back towards the nurse's station. "I'll be right back." He was not about to tell Quent that he was retrieving a syringe to sedate him.
Terra tried to distract him for the few moments of Joseff's absence. "Wait a moment, Quentari. The doctor has gone to try and find your mother."
Placated for the moment, Quentari stayed calm. "She'll make everything all right, but she'll be mad if I'm late. I'm gonna get it if I'm late."
Joseff returned. The sedative he carried was potent for anyone, usually needing less than half a minute to work. "We just have to make sure you get your medicine first." He walked to the man and took his arm. It was not hard to see that Dr. Jansenn needed to work on bit on his bedside manner.
"NO!" It was of no great surprise, either, that the personality of the young boy took to the overbearing nature none too kindly. If only the staff had any inclination as to why the child-mind was affected ... what the history behind his reaction was. "I don't like medicine. Daddy gave me medicine! I had to stop daddy! NO! I had to stop daddy for good!"
Despite both doctors' attempts at reassurance, the patient was having none of it. His protests echoed throughout the hallway and into the cafeteria. At least during his rants, he was not as focused as he might have been, and Joseff was able to administer the shot with deft fingers. But Quentari was all too familiar with that prick of a needle. He jerked his arm away from Dr. Jansenn and looked around furtively. "Hey! I'll have to stop you too! I don't LIKE medicine!" He crouched down and pulled a knife from his boot, and wielded it toward the two unsuspecting doctors. Even as he held the blade aloft, his eyes began to droop ... yes, a most effective drug he had been given. "I ... have ... to ... stop ... you ... No daddy, I don't want the medicine." Further coherent messages halted as the fellow collapsed.
Joseff called for an orderly to lift him and place him back into his wheelchair. "We will take him to Psych."
Terra nodded, still a bit in shock from the whole incident. "This has never happened."
A small voice from the chair, muddled from the drugs, mumbled out words. "Stupid medicine. Now I'll be late."
Dr. Jansenn sighed as Quentari was wheeled to the psychiatric ward. An alert was given to the nurse in charge. When asked the reasons for his admittance to that floor, instead of the medical/surgical floor, Joseff replied "Possible schizophrenia, or hallucinations and homicidal tendencies." He waited at the reception desk, for word. They could not perform surgery if he was going to continue to be this unpredictable.
Enough was enough for Dr. Lowinn as she bid her coworker good night. She lamented briefly about her week and turned to find some place where she could crash.