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Post by Ryan D a r c y on Jan 7, 2007 3:18:00 GMT -5
i`m black and blue all over
 . .
The darkness surrounded him like a terrifying, but somehow comforting blanket, cutting off his every move and making him feel as if every limb was filled with lead. He heard nothing, nothing at all, and that scared him. Well, okay, not exactly. It made him anxious. He felt as if he needed to remember something, but for the life of him, he couldn't and the darkness cut off all of his thoughts, and he could feel the panic growing in his chest. Gone was the comfort.
Ryan lay in a hospital bed, his hands at his sides, as he peered around through half closed eye lids. He felt like crap. No, he felt worse than crap. His vision was whacked, nothing appeared as it should, he ached and it hurt to move, sweat formed on his brow and stung his murky hued eyes. The lights were hurting his eyes, and his head throbbed. Basically he felt as if he had been run over, stomped on, then put through a blender and spat out on this hospital bed. He wasn't quite sure where he was. The room was vague and unfamiliar, certainly not one of the rooms at John Hopkins, in fact, he was quite sure he recognized nothing. Then again, he was having some difficulty sorting out his thoughts, or doing much of anything. He struggled to sit up, but the weakness and headache caused him to groan softly as he sank back into the pillows, and he he swallowed hard.
The thing was, Ryan had no idea what was wrong with him. While most people would just accept that, Ry found he could not for the simple reason that he was a doctor and he should know the answer, even if he currently didn't have the ability to think many deep thoughts, or enough to secure any sort of medical knowledge he had. His dark hair, black and thick, the curl so imperceptible you would swear it wasn't there, was plastered to his face, and his skin was pale, and stranger still, had a faint, bluish tinge to it, that although wasn't extremely prominent, was there if you looked for it. He was dressed in a hospital gown, pale green and one that made a distinct V, exposed his chest or what peeked out from under the blanket. He was cold, but the blankets still made him feel uncomfortable. Upon his chest were three jagged scars, faded and white, but looked almost like a scratch from human fingernails. Which, was, quite frankly, what they were. He closed his eyes tightly, and swallowed softly. The pain in his leg was dull, but it was nothing more than something he dealt with often, the aftermath of an extremely bad break, and a healing that had yet to complete, even though it had been eight years.
If he concentrated hard enough, he could remember what he had been doing just before he had experienced the darkness. He remembered being in the doctor’s lounge, as he sipped his coffee and felt like crap, and dragged out his last five minutes before he was able to go home on sick leave. He had turned to walk across the room when black spots had surfaced before his eyes, and though he had tried to clear his vision, the motion had only made him dizzy, which caused him to drop the coffee cup, spilling hot liquid all over his pants. That really didn't matter though, because a few seconds after that, he was trying to focus, but the floor kept swirling beneath him, and he held his hand out, trying to grasp the edge of the counter. The next thing he knew he woke up here.
The coffee cup explained the small scratches on his hand. When he had collapsed, his hand had scraped across the glass. There was also a small nick above his right eye, a piece of glass had managed to fall away from the others and pierce his brow. The wounds were superficial and required no extra care. Still, he still couldn't figure out why he was feeling so ill. He opened his eyes, only halfway, because the light made his migraine worse.
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Post by Dr. Wilson on Jan 7, 2007 19:28:53 GMT -5
Dr. Wilson opened the door to the room quietly, a small smile on his face and his nose back in the file that he'd been so distracted from a few moments before. He'd just been reading in more detail about the person himself instead of just his condition. Interesting-- he seemed to be a doctor at Hopkins? Jimmy was a little surprised to see the man awake as he turned to look at him. He took a few steps closer to the bed, his well-shined shoes making little noise on the floor. "Good afternoon, Dr. Darcy. How are you feeling today?"
He was pleasant and not overly loud, of course, but he wasn't quite the same as he might've been with a patient who wasn't also a doctor. When he treated doctors, he'd noticed they tended to be annoyed at the prospect of being a patient. Of course, role reversal was hard for most anyone, but doctors could be some of the most arrogant people, and turning that sort of egotism on its head was hard. Perhaps this Ryan person wasn't that sort of doctor, he wasn't sure, but there was no use dumbing things down for him, either way. "Your chart indicates slight cyanosis and muscle weakness. Are you having any trouble breathing?"
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Post by Ryan D a r c y on Jan 8, 2007 17:25:17 GMT -5
i`m black and blue all over
..
Ryan was almost startled when he heard the sound of the glass door being slid open. He was too weak to really adjust his position, no matter how much he wished he could just gain a little speck of dignity. He was used to being able to hide, but weak and expose on the hospital bed, even if you piled the surface high with blankets, he still couldn't escape. It took him a moment to focus on the man who walked in, and a few more moments to get over the frustration at the debilitating problem with his vision, which just made him want to close his eyes and never open them again. Instead, he blinked tightly, and licked his lips; focusing as well as he could on the man’s face. “Well enough…” he managed weakly, his expression stoic and displayed no emotions, really.
Ry appreciated the fact that he had been treated like someone who knew something about medicine, which, under most circumstances he did, and even now with his slightly fogged mental state, he managed to be able to be pretty aware of the medical side of his condition. Though, being addressed as Dr. Darcy made him feel slightly uncomfortable, even if most of the time he preferred it, because it meant he had no need to get close to anyone. Murky half closed eyes flickered toward him as he approached the bed, the ever present fear pressed firmly behind the façade he kept at all times. Ryan had a natural fear of all people, his mistrusting nature and such subjecting him to some feelings toward others that normally people wouldn't think of feeling. He lived with the fear because he had to, and he paid it no mind half the time, swallowed it down like bitter medicine and knew one day it could save his life. Jaded, yes, but what could you say? Someone who has been abused, mentally and physically, as well as emotionally in the past, you can’t expect them to adjust well to everything. He tried to appear more alert as the doctor, Wilson, if he read correctly, which was a very flimsy bet concerning his latest vision abilities. “No…” Which, Ryan found quite ironic. Seeing as his whole body ached and his muscles screamed.
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