2012-07-18 Busy Day at the Clinic

Just before noon, and the clinic is, as usual, just this side of bedlam. Also as usual, not many of the patrons have made appointments, so most of the people in the waiting room have been waiting for a couple of hours already. But, hey, at least the service is free. The kind women behind the counter write down patron's names on clipboards, which are checked now and then by other young women in nursing scrubs appearing from the double doors. It's busy, but there's a certain rhythm to it all, as if, beneath the surface, everything is actually under control. A young woman comes out to check the clipboard, and calls out "Billy Stark?" When the young man gets up, she smiles at him and holds one of the double doors open for him. She'll lead him to one of the examination rooms, having him precede her into it so she can grab a new patient folder and close the door behind them for his privacy. As she opens the folder on a small table, she says, "Can you lift the sleeve of your shirt for me? Just need to take your blood pressure.  What seems to be the problem today?"

Eddie was nervous about coming to the clinic but that's just because he's always nervous about this kind of thing. He'd been having a good week but that had to come to an end of course. He'd been cornered by some gang members who tried to rob him and then beat him up when they found out all he had was change. He would have just crawled to his hole in ground and patched himself up but a passerby wouldn't let him alone until he agreed to come in. So fake name and waiting. He's got some bruises, a forming black eye, and bleeding cuts on his forehead and arm. He's also bleeding from the nose but he's been using tissues the passerby gave him to keep from bleeding everywhere. There's also the matter of some burns from the previous day's exploits but they're minor and not something he's bothered by. When asked what the problem is, he just gives the nurse a little lost look. "Everything?"

"Well, I'd bet," says the nurse in a sympathetic and friendly tone. "You know, I've seen some super heroes who look better than you do. Got yourself into a couple of fights today and--yesterday, it looks like, at the least." That's said as she looks over him, not needing to see to look for the blood pressure cuff and pump hanging from a little machine on the wall. "Looks like you held your own, too. I'm impressed." That's said in a friendly tone as well; cheering up patients is always a good idea, and it really does look like he didn't make for an easy target, so what the heck. She puts the cuff around his arm and fastens it, then affixes a stethoscope to her ears, sliding the bell under the cuff at the crook of his arm, then puts two fingers and her thumb on his wrist to check his blood pressure. "Are you allergic to any medications? Are you taking any drugs, prescription or otherwise?" she asks as she looks at her watch.

Eddie just blushes and looks away. It wasn't really a fight but he won't correct her. He didn't make it easy to beat him though. He's quick, knows how to take a punch, and did his best to avoid as much of the damage as possible. He shivers at the cool metal stethoscope and frowns again. "I don't know. I'm not taking anything though," he says. Looks like he hasn't eaten in a few days either.

Taking off the stethoscope, the nurse slings it around her neck, replaces the blood pressure equipment, scribbles in the file for a few minutes, then says, "Well, the good news is that your blood pressure isn't as high as expected. It /is/ high, but with your lack of proper diet and your injuries, it's expected.  The doctor will have more for you, and may be able to put you on medication that will help, okay?  He'll be in in about five minutes." And assuming there are no questions or the like, she heads out of the room, closing the door behind her. And about six an a half minutes later, there's a quiet knock on the door just before it opens, and in steps Prabhakar, holding the patient file. He smiles at the young man as he sets it on the small table the medical assistant had just put it on and opens it.

Eddie hangs his head a little when the nurse mentions a lack of proper diet and high blood pressure. He nods meekly when she goes on, no questions. He stays where he's seated as the nurse leaves, shifting a little on the spot. He checks on the cut on his arm and winces when he notices some glass sticking in the wound. Must have fallen on a broken bottle or something. The knock gets a startled squeak from Eddie and he almost falls right off his seat. When he looks up to see the doctor, he's surprised alright. And he just stares. No more fear than had already been in the kid, just surprise.

Opening the file, Prabhakar flips through it to some pages in the back that are covered in small dots--Braille, if the young man is familiar with it. The winged mutant runs his fingertips over some of it, arching a brow. "Ah, Mister Stark," he says, his accent Indian threaded with British. "I am Doctor Prabhakar Bhattacharya, but you can call me Doctor Prabha if you like; I know my name is a mouthful." That's said with a grin as he uses his tail to pull over a squat swivel chair on wheels. He runs his fingertips over a few more lines, then takes a seat and scoots closer. No fear in the young man, so there's a plus. When he gets close enough, he reaches out his hand for a firm handshake, not too hard, not too soft.

Eddie may not know how to read Braille but he does recognize the bumps after a few moments of squinting at them. He tries to shrink down a bit when called 'Mister Stark' but he does nod. The name gets another little lost and helpless look from the teen. He knows he'll never pronounce it right. The sudden tail movement draws his attention and Eddie smiles a little. He tries to wipe the blood and dirt on his hand off on his jeans before shaking the doctor's. "Umm...hi."

Wings rustle, moving back and down so the curved talons on each wing's apex rests on that shoulder, the trailing edges curling inward so as to be out of the way. Prabhakar rolls to the side to a sink, where he washes his hands nice and thoroughly. As he does so, he says, "So, I understand you have been in some fights recently, and don't get enough to eat?" His pupil- and iris-less eyes narrow as he studies the young man, and it might be "felt", in that nearly-indescribable way, that the doctor is studying the young man's chest--and the look on his face says he isn't liking whatever he's seeing. He wipes his hands on a paper towel from a dispenser, then reaches into a drawer to pull out a box of gloves, to take two out and start to pull them on.

"It wasn't really a fight," Eddie mumbles, squirming on the spot. He makes no comment about his lack of eating right. Hard to do that when he has to get the majority of his food from dumpster diving. He ends up squirming more when he feels the older man's gaze on him. He's glad he still has that bloody and ripped t-shirt on for now. There's scars under that he's embarrassed to show. "I tried to run away but they beat me up."

The skin radiates heat--altered by scarring and open wounds. As such, Prabhakar can see, perhaps, a good bit more than what young "Billy" would like him to. Though, it's tempered by the T-shirt, the blood that's soaked into it actually acts as a decent radiator, so it doesn't obscure him as much as it might be hoped. "I see," he says, rolling back over to the young man, though more to his side to take a better look at the arm. "How did you get this wound on your arm?" he asks, putting two fingers on his arm, the touch very gentle and light, and far enough from the wound to hopefully cause no discomfort--though if there is, he'll of course remove his hand immediately.

"Billy" is startled by the touch but he calms down quickly. When asked about the arm wound, he frowns. "I think when they knocked me down I fell on a bottle or something," he says quietly. "It's not too bad, is it?"

"You /should not/ require stitches; the wound doesn't look deep enough for that," says Prabhakar, craning his head a bit and peering from different angles. He also waves his hand a little over the wound, though perhaps the connection will be made with his eyes--in truth, he's using the air-currents generated by the hand-waving to get a better look. Too much heat radiating in a place like this, with only your standard air ducts, the heat wafts off too slowly or him to make too much sense of it. "However," he continues, "you'll have to keep it clean and bandaged at all times. Do you have a place to stay?" That's asked as he looks back up into the young man's eyes. "If not, would you like a recommendation for a few free hostels?"

Eddie lets out a little relieved sigh at that news. Stitches are always trouble. He hasn't quite figured out what all the hand waving is for but he's not going to ask. He's just going to stay curious. Clean he'll try his best for but bandaged he can definitely do. When Prabhakar mentions a free hostel, there's fear in Eddie. "I have a place," he squeaks.

A hairless brow quirks, and Prabhakar looks back down to the wound for a moment. After a beat, he rolls back around to sit in front of the young man. He gets a sympathetic look, and says, "If you /do/ have a place--are they treating you well? You--do not look like you have eaten much, or slept well, for a good while now.  I have addresses for shelters, places you can stay a night or more, where you can bathe, sleep in a real bed--and there are many soup kitchens you can go to.  None of them ask for much information, and if you /must/, I sense you are a smart enough young man to tell them what they need without telling them what you do not wish them to know.  It--must be hard.  I cannot know, truly, /how/ hard--but there are ways to make it a little easier on yourself." He's all but imploring the young man to take the offered help; there's something, and it hopefully comes across as genuine as it really is, that does not like knowing the young man may be hurt again.

Eddie frowns, biting he corner of his lip. He doesn't trust shelters after the last two kept trying to get him to call his father. And he tends to keep his distance from other street people, afraid of how they'll react to him and his powers. There's also that tiny, evil little voice in the back of his mind telling him he doesn't deserve that kind of help but he's not going to mention any of it. "I do have a place. It treats me okay," he murmurs. Mostly because he's the only one there at all.

Well, that's better than he was expecting, so Prabhakar lets the housing part of it go. The other part, though... "At least, I hope you will take information on the soup kitchens.  There are still many stretched out over Manhattan, so there may be one near this place of yours." A soft sigh, and he goes to tap the young man's knee lightly with his index finger. "At least--think about it, hmm? There are many fine places, run by many fine people and establishments." He gives the man a hopeful smile; the young man does need to eat.

Eddie frowns again, once more squirming on the spot. "Maybe I can..." he trails off. He usually doesn't have much luck with them but he feels bad about not going now so he'll try.

"Good," says Prabhakar sincerely. "At least try. Now, for this, we'll need to get the glass out first, and for that, I'll need to call in a colleague, if that is alright with you." He smiles, there, and points to his eyes. "I can see very well in some respects, but not well in others. This procedure would be best accomplished by one who could see well in the other respects." And with that, assuming there are no objections, he'll get up and go to the door, sticking his head out--and scraping the door jam with a horn in the process, dagnabbit--to quietly speak to a passing medical assistant.

Eddie nods. "Okay," he says. He frowns down at the cut and then watches the doctor go. The scrape makes him wince, quietly wondering if that hurt the doctor's horns at all.

Thankfully, it doesn't seem to hurt, judging from the lack of wincing or the like on Prabhakar's part. When he ducks back into the room, he rubs the tip of his right horn with a somewhat less-than-amused expression, but in truth it's more from the damage done to the door jam. "Okay Doctor Hendrickson will be here in a moment," he says as he sits back down on the swivel-seat. "In the meantime, after the procedure, which will only take about fifteen minutes, you will be prescribed enough antibiotics to last a month. However, I would like you to come back in two weeks, just to make sure your arm is healing well.  Does that sound like it would work?"

Eddie jumps slightly when the doctor comes back, looking back up quickly. He nods a little at the news about the procedure. Time's no problem for him. "Antibiotics? Do I get them here?" he asks, worried about having to go to some place like a pharmacy. "Two weeks...okay. I can come back."

"Yes, you get them at the dispensary," says Prabhakar, interlacing his fingers. "Any medications you need, you can get them here. And--"  He's cut off by a soft knock on the door, and Prabhakar gets to his feet to open it. A woman in a lab coat looking to be a few years older than him enters--a normal-looking, human-looking, woman at that. Behind her enters a young medical assistant with a large tray on a collapsible arm on wheels, with a few implements like gauze, tweezers, and such things. The woman says, "Good afternoon, I'm Doctor Hendrickson, and that /is/ pretty bad-looking." The last said as she glances at the young man's arm, and as she heads to the sink to wash her hands.

"And that's here right," Eddie nods when he gets his answer. Again, the knock makes him jump but not as badly as before. He shrinks back when Dr. Hendrickson enters, looking down. "It's not that bad," he mutters. It's true, he's been hurt worse.

Doctor Hendrickson dries her hand on a paper towel from the dispenser, then reaches for the box of gloves to pull two out. "It might not seem that way," she says as she slides the gloves over her hands, "but even a paper cut can lead to a nasty infection." The medical assistant pushes the tray over while Prabhakar gets out of the way. He strips his gloves off, since he won't be needed for the procedure. Doctor Hendrickson motions to the tray, saying, "Put your arm on there, please." She pulls the swivel seat over and sits down, picking up a magnifying glass in one hand and a pair of tweezers in the other. "Now," she says, looking up to the young man sympathetically, "this will probably sting, and might do a bit more than that..." Assuming he's ready, she starts pulling out the shards as gently as she can, pausing when necessary to use some wipes to gently dab up blood. The wipes are cool to the touch, without alcohol so they won't sting. That goes on for a good bit, and when all the shards are in the little metal tray, that's when she gets out another wipe, this one with alcohol in it. Another warning about stinging, then the wound gets cleaned. It's careful and methodical, and when she's finished, she goes to wrap it up with gauze. "Now," she says, be sure to not disturb it. Try to not get it wet if you can avoid it. I'll prescribe the antibiotics and some extra bandages."

Eddie smiles a little. "I'm not worried about that," he says, always having good luck with avoiding infection. He hesitates before putting his arm on the tray, just nodding when told things will sting. He grips the seat he's on tightly, eyes closed as the glass is pulled out. It hurts and he does make little noises on the worst of it but he's fighting not to show any of the pain. "Okay. I won't get it wet," unless it rains, then he's screwed.

Prabhakar lightly puts a hand on the young man's shoulder, the touch barely there. "You did very well, Billy," he says sincerely. Meanwhile, Doctor Hendrickson strips off her gloves, and the medical assistant dumps the glass into the red bio-hazard waste bin in the corner, then takes the tray and implements out of the room. Hendrickson pulls out a prescription pad and writes two prescriptions, tearing them off in succession and handing them to "Billy". "This one," she says, pointing to one," is for the antibiotics, and this one--" she points to the other, "--is for more gauze and Ace bandages. You'll find everything you need in the dispensary, and Doctor Bhattacharya will show you the way.  I hope you stay safe, Mister Stark." That's said sincerely, then she goes to depart, closing the door gently behind her. It really is that busy, with people needing to hurry everywhere. As for Prabhakar, he pulls the stool out of the way with his tail, saying, "That should be enough, so are there any other questions? Anything else you would like looked at?" He leans back against the counter with the sink, folding his hands over each other in front of him.

When Prabhakar comes back into view, Eddie nods a little. His nose is still bleeding a bit, there's the cut on his forehead that could use cleaning, and he's got that black eye that might need ice. "I got punched in the face a couple times."

That makes Prabhakar's eyebrows furrow as he studies the young man's face. The bleed is new, so it must have been a recent fight. Doctor Hendrickson would have mentioned it if she saw it. "This was rather recent, was it not?" he asks as he opens another drawer and pulls out some wads of cotton and another wipe pad with alcohol. First he tends to the bloody nose, by crouching before "Billy" and dabbing gingerly until the blood is removed, then he says, "Okay, I am going to place another wad up inside your nostril, okay? That will help with the bleeding; it looks like it is already well on its way to healing, so the main concern is the blood.  Just to be sure, however, I'd like to perform a few simple tests." The tests are really just light touches and tweaks to the nose, to make sure there's nothing broken. The touches are very gentle, and he crouches again so he can peer closer. Wounds will give off slightly different heat variations based on the extent and location of the damage. Thankfully, he seems to have just gotten a bit tweaked; nothing broken, nothing twisted. Small favors, really.

"It all happened today," 'Billy' replies. "Some guys from that gang that wear dice," he mutters. He stays as still as possible when he's dabbed at. "Okay," he says. Indeed, Eddie's nose isn't broken. Just sore and bruised. He's happy about that. A broken nose would be a pain.

A nod, there, and Prabhakar continues to study it for a moment. After that moment, he straightens and gets another wad of cotton, rolling it between his thumb and index finger to wad it up a little, then he gingerly and gently inserts it into the affected nostril. After that, he unwraps the alcohol wipe, saying, "Now, this will sting, like the one for your arm did." A beat to let the younger man absorb that, then he starts gently dabbing and wiping the wound on "Billy's" forehead. "This does not look like it will require stitches," he says as he works, giving the young man a smile. "So, there is that, yes? It looks like you were held down when it happened; that's the most likely way for the shape of it." It should be noted that there is sympathy in his voice--genuine, deep sympathy. The more he studies the young man, the more it hurts. No one should have to endure this. No one.

Eddie makes a face when the cotton gets stuffed in his nose. It always feels weird. He just nods at the talk of stinging. He's not scared of that, just silently reminding himself that superheroes get hurt worse fighting bad guys and don't cry. "No stitches is good," he agrees. "One of them held my arms while another one hit me. He had some stupid ring," 'Billy' mutters. Real big and scary guys, holding down a kid that's scrawny and only 5'5''.

"Well, I hope this place of yours will help," Prabhakar says, furrowing his brow again. And though there's no real movement to speak of, the youth might get that feeling that the doctor is looking into his eyes--or at least that general area. His attention returns to the wound, and in just a moment more it's clean. "Now, for the bandage," he says, tossing the wipe into the trash and opening another drawer. He reaches in and--hmm. A look of curiosity comes to his face, and he fishes around the drawer for a moment, until finally finding a few large and wide bandages. The stocker must have moved them. Ah, well. Returning to the youth, he starts opening the package as he says, "I also hope that you will at least consider some shelters; there are many in Manhattan. Some are religious, some are secular, and yes, some are better than others.  But nearly all will at least keep this from happening again."

"I'll be safe once I get there," Eddie replies quietly. Being underground and unknown to most makes Eddie's shelter a safe little place for the most part. He ends up squirming at the feeling, not used to eye contact at all. He's got a curious look of his own when he sees Prabhakar pause, wondering what's wrong. He relaxes once the bandages are found though. Mention of a religious shelter makes him frown even deeper than he's done since arriving. He's had the worst experiences with them. "Maybe..." he trails off even if he's sure he won't be looking into shelters.

Opening the bandage, Prabhakar leans closer to the youth--though not so close as to poke him with a horn, of course--and goes to gently apply the bandage. It takes only a moment and is applied as gently as anything else has been done to him. Stepping back, he says, "Well, then I hope your place is not too far, though I won't ask about any more details than that." He does hope it's close, but can certainly understand the desire for privacy--especially in such a situation as he must be in. He also gives the youth a once-over, to make sure there is nothing else to take care of beyond the black eye. Which just throbs a series of painful looking heat waves. Prabhakar almost has to wince, himself.

Eddie closes his eyes as the bandage is applied, glancing upwards to try to see it once it's there. He gives up on that after a few seconds. "It's not too far," he says. Then again, Eddie knows quick ways around the city that most others don't...and is willing to do a lot of climbing around to do it.

"Good," says Prabhakar, smiling at the youth. He wads up the trash and goes to throw it away, then he gets out a medium-sized plastic bag from another drawer, the king some samples might be stored in. "I will give you some extra cotton balls and bandages," he says, then starts to do just that. A full box of bandages (fifteen-count) and a box of cotton. That should be enough. "Remember to, like the one on your arm, try to keep it dry and you should be able to make these last." That's said as he goes to hand the bag to the youth. "So, any further questions now?" That's said with a wider smile.

Eddie is once again surprised by the supplies he's given. It's going to end up in his first aid kit back in his hideout though. "Oh...thank you," he says, looking at everything. He squirms for a few moments at that smile and then blurts out the question that comes to mind. "Are you a mutant?" he asks, blushing furiously after. He couldn't help it, he's too curious.

That makes Prabhakar chuckle softly, and he nods his head once. "Yes, I am what you could call a mutant. I was born in Kolkata, India, many years ago.  I was born this way, though I am to understand that many mutants are not." Another rustle of wings, this time they stretch upward as one might stretch their arms, then they fold over his shoulders so the curved talons grab each other over his chest. Keeping them so tightly-folded against his back was becoming a strain.

Eddie has to smile. "That is so cool," he says, excited now. He watches those wings with awe, grinning at them.

"Being a mutant /does/ have certain advantages, but, as with anything else, it comes with certain disadvantages." A shrug of both shoulders, the smile staying on Prabhakar's face. "Everything comes in the balance, so. What about you, Mister Stark?  Mutant, alien, resurrected creature from an ancient civilization?" Though said with a wider smile, it's not like any couldn't really be true.

Eddie nods a little sadly. He knows how bad things can get for mutants. When asked about himself, Eddie shifts uncomfortably. "I'm just a street urchin," he says. He has powers, he just doesn't know where they come from and isn't ready to reveal them yet.

Narrowing his eyes a touch, Prabhakar just looks at the man for a beat, then he says, "That is, as they say, fair enough. Just remember that being special doesn't come from what you /can/ do; it comes from what you /do/." A bit fortune cookie-ish, maybe, but true nonetheless. "So," he says next. "Any further questions, or would you like to get your medications?" He doesn't sound like he's hurrying the youth out or anything, nor is he acting like it.

Fortune cookie indeed. Eddie tilts his head to the side and looks confused. Eventually he shakes it off and nods. "I should go get it."

"Alright," says Prabhakar, "then let us go to the dispensary, hmm?" Another smile for the youth, and he waits for "Billy" to get off the medical bed and get ready before opening the door. The dispensary isn't too far away--at the back of the building, there's a circular stairway in one direction, ahead nearby in the other direction is the door to the "lab", and further down is the dispensary. Prabhakar leads the young man there, where there are numerous medications behind the bisecting door, all kept under lock and key in grated doors. Over all, one may get the impression that it's not an overly /huge/ place, but they're doing the best with what they have.

'Billy' hops off the bed, stumbling but managing to not fall. He walks a little slowly, sore from the beating but its just bruises. Following Prabhakar, he peeks curiously at the room with all the medications. "I hope you know which ones are the ones I'm supposed to take because these all look the same to me."

"That," says Prabhakar is what Eduardo is for." He nods to a young man in the back, typing on a computer--filling out forms by the look of it.  After a beat, the young man turns and looks at them, a smile on his face that doesn't quite hide the serious look.  He takes his job seriously.  He comes to the bisecting door and leans on it.  Prabhakar handles the introductions, which are of course sparse, then Eduardo reaches for the prescriptions. "We have these in stock," he says, looking to the grated cabinets.  Pulling out a keyring, he fishes through the keys for a moment, then crouches to unlock the cabinets.  Two get opened up, and four white boxes are brought out of one; from the other, three beige boxes.  "These," the normal-looking human says, setting the white boxes on the shelf that forms part of the door, "are your antibiotics. Take two pills, twice a day; once in the morning, once at night, preferably with food. This--" here he sets the other boxes down, "--are your bandages. Make sure the wound is freshly cleaned and dried before putting a new one on. Wrap the gauze loose so you don't cut off circulation, but firmly enough so it won't slip. Cover with the Ace bandage, secure with the metal fasteners." A beat to let him absorb that, then, "Do you understand?"  His manner is efficient, though he at least tries to be friendly.

Eddie manages to look not completely overwhelmed by it but he still gives the boxes a look. The 'with food' part will be a problem but he'll try. "I understand," he says quietly after a few moments.

The man gives a nod, then he grabs two large paper bags. The antibiotics go in one, the bandages another, and he takes out a pad to scribble on two papers. Serial numbers of the boxes, dates, physician, that kind of thing. The bags get stapled closed with the papers attached, and he goes to hand the bags to the young man. "There you go, then. If you need more antibiotics when these run out, you'll get another prescription and you can come here."

Eddie nods. He hopes he won't need more. "Thank you," he says, reading the papers attached to the bags out of curiosity.

The papers have the name of the clinic, the date, the phone number, the address, the contents (in the long version of the chemical name), the attending physician (Hendrickson, since she wrote the prescriptions), the dispensary technician (Eduardo Chavez), the extension for the dispensary, the name of the patron, whether they can be refilled, so on and so forth and so on. Once he's ready, Prabhakar motions back down the hall. It's the shortest way. "Alright, so, I will see you in two weeks, and you will hopefully stay safe in that time. If you cannot, you know where we are," he tells the youth, and it might be obvious that he sincerely hopes the young man does stay safe. The thought of him so wounded like that again--yes, he can guess it's happened often enough in the past, but that doesn't mean it should have, or should again.

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