Summary: Jocasta has brain cooties. Maybe.
Date: 8 ACH
Related Logs: Blood Work

[Intercom] Ensign Maru, contact 1492. Ensign Maru 1492.

You call wireless receiver 1492. You must wait for someone to answer.

Someone answers your wireless call. You can now use the 'private' wireless channel to talk to them.

[Private] Jocasta says, "This is Ensign Maru."

[Private] Reighner says, "Ensign, this is Dr. Reighner. You gave blood yesterday, if you'll recall."

[Private] Jocasta says, "Believe it or not, doc, I remember. Something wrong with my paperwork?"

[Private] Reighner says, "I need you to come in to discuss something. When are you free?"

[Private] Jocasta says, "I'm off duty right now. I'll head over on a shuttle ASAP."

[Private] Reighner says, "There's no need, I'm in clinic hours at the Genesis today."

[Private] Jocasta says, "In that case, I'll be right down."

[Private] Reighner says, "Very good, see you soon."

[Private] Reighner hangs up the wireless and ends the call.

[Private] Jocasta hangs up the wireless and ends the call.

Sickbay - Genesis - Deck 12

Reighner stands next to the front desk, hands stuffed in his pockets, brooding with a slight frown.

Sure enough, not more than a few minutes later, Jocasta's coming across the threshold and looking all too concerned, though she tries to play it off with a casual greeting. "In a hurry to try and get my shirt off again, doc?"

Not doing much to allay her fears, Reighner turns and gestures her back to one of the curtained beds.

Oh, man, really? Jocasta nearly goes gray on the spot. She falls into line quick, following Reighner around behind the curtain.

Reighner closes the curtain behind them. He pauses, collecting his thoughts, and says carefully, "Ensign, as you know, we do a number of screens for common blood-borne illnesses on donated blood. Your blood has tested positive on the screen for Dorian's encephalitis." He turns around and picks up a file from the cart in the room marked with her name.

Jocasta's face contorts into an expression stuck somewhere between horror and confusion. Her dark brows fret into a knotted wrinkle as she asks, "I have… what??"

"Dorian's encephalitis," Reighner answers as he turns back around. He opens the folder and glances at it before offering the top sheet to Jocasta. It's a list of diseases with a green NEG next to each line, then a red POS next to 'ENCEPH/DOR' with a few numbers. "It is a degenerative inflammation of the brain, usually caused by a virus." He closes the folder. "I have some questions to ask you."

The Ensign can't help but to fall into a terminal and serious silence, leaning back against the gurney bed with both hands clutching the edge but not climbing up onto it. "Go ahead," she says, voice knocked down to a third of its normal volume. It makes her Aerelon accent sound so much more subdued and refined.

Reighner puts the folder on the cart. "People who contract Dorian's usually get them from intravenous drug use. I need you to be completely honest with me. Have you done intravenous drugs within the past year?"

"No, sir," Jocasta says, face now scrawled with a scowl. "Never in my life," she then tacks on for emphasis. You know… just in case the doctor needed some kind of extra convincing of her intravenous innocence.

Reighner nods and leaves it at that. It seems clear, from his expression, that he doesn't believe her, what with his vast medical experience and knowledge. "Have you had coordination problems, chronic headaches, or tightness in your neck?"

Again, the Ensign subscribes to a 'totally negatory' point of view, shaking her head to the negative and replying, "No, sir." One eyebrow abruptly flexes upwards and she blurts out, "Is this — did Reeves put you up to this?" Is this someone's really bad idea of revenge for the sake of a slightly charred pin-up girl?

"I assure you, he or she did not," Reighner replies, the very essence of seriousness. He opens a cart drawer and pulls out what looks like half a binocular. "How about visual changes? Also, do you find yourself more sensitive to light or loud noises?"

Well, damn. If it had been a prank, Jo might have been seriously frakkin' pissed but also seriously frakkin' thankful that she didn't have some sort of brain disease. When Reighner pleads ignorance and continues his inquisition, it's all she can do just to keep herself upright. That white-knuckle grip she's got on the gurney's doing the trick for now. "Nothing out of the ordinary, sir."

Reighner furrows his eyebrows. "Really?" He picks up the folder and consults the test results again.

"Really." Oh, gods. Does she still have the hope of some kind of clerical error being the cause of all this?! Jocasta can't help but peer anxiously at the folder in the doctor's hands, even if she can't see what's scribbled within.

"With this amount of titer, you should be symptomatic." Reighner puts the folder down and picks up that one-sided binocular. He points ahead of Jocasta. "Look at that part of the curtain, please. Don't focus on this." He clicks the ophthalmoscope on and carefully uses it to look inside both of her eyes. "How much sleep do you get on an average working night?"

Compliance. Jocasta does as instructed. If there's one thing most military folks are good for, it's following orders (without question). Her big brown eyes don't appear to bear any abnormalities, though, uh… between you, me, and the bulkhead, she's gotten a little damp around the tear ducts. Let's not go so far as to say that she's on the verge of tears but, she's definitely not suffering from dry eyes. "Four or five hours, sir, if I'm lucky." At with the ship having been at an extended period of Condition Two, five hours of sleep in one shot is probably a generous blessing.

Reighner seems more perplexed, if anything, as he puts away his scope. It takes a while for him to formulate an answer, in which time he stares at the test results. "I'll level with you. You don't show any symptoms of Dorian's, and you should show almost all of them, given this." He taps the folder. "I'm going to schedule you for a brain scan later today. That will show definitively either way." He pulls out an expensive-looking pen, uncaps it with his mouth, and scrawls an order in bad handwriting on the page, using the cart as a table.

A brain scan? That can't be — wait, can it be good? Certainly, not being diseased in the brain must qualify as a tally in the 'good' column and if it's going to take a brain scan to have confirmation… that's good, right? Even though she already knows the answer to the question she's about to pose, Jocasta can't help but play the part of a pilot to some extent: "What about my flight status, doc?"

"Revoked," Reighner answers, unaware or uncaring of the impact of that word to a pilot. He puts the folder on the cart, turns around, and crosses his arms. "Considering this confusion, I don't see a reason to inform your commanding officer of the suspected diagnosis. My order will only mention medical evaluation."

It takes every last ounce of self-control for Jocasta not to completely melt-down and do something ridiculous like try to flip over the gurney or pick up the nearest breakable object that isn't nailed down and toss it across the room. Instead, what she says is, "Yes, sir. When should I report back for the test?"

Reighner replies, "I don't know. It depends on the schedule, which I have no control over. You'll receive an overhead page." Military efficiency at its best. "Do you have any questions?"

Jocasta really doesn't want to ask, but she can't help herself. She wonders aloud, "What happens if I do have this… Dorian's ensensilitis?" Close enough. Points for effort made. She's an ECO, not an MD.

"Encephalitis." Even for somebody embroiled in his own personal problems, Reighner seems to have at least some sense of what to deliver no-nonsense and what not to. He uncrosses his arms and makes a calming gesture with his hands, holding them obliquely. "Because it's a viral infection, we have limited options. It is a fatal condition in ninety-five percent of those affected, with a one-year survival rate of twenty percent."

The Ensign looks… surprisingly stoic. On the inside, it feels as if she's just been punched in the stomach with the nose of a Viper. On the outside, she's dead calm. "I see." A beat. "And… if I don't have it?" Is that a trick question?

Reighner answers, "Then there's nothing else to do. The screen was a false positive. It can happen, although not very often." He shakes his head, anticipating her next question. "I don't have the specific numbers, so I can't predict the odds that this was a false positive. It is encouraging that you don't show any of the symptoms."

"If there's nothing else you need from me, sir, I'll return to my bunk." And smoke like a nervous train wreck of a chimney while eyeing the wireless in anticipation of her brain probe.

Reighner nods as a tacit dismissal. "I'm sorry, ensign."

Jocasta says nothing on her hasty way out. A simple 'sorry' doesn't cut it either way.

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