The Reason Things Are
The Reason Things Are
Summary: Oncology, blown bowels and something completely different, a little good news.
Date: 117 ACH
Related Logs: Related Logs None
Players:
Reighner..Tais..Melia..

=============================================================================-
Naval Officer Berthings Genesis - Deck 12
117 ACH 23777 Souls


Naval Officer berthings are setup with bunks on either side of the area. Each bunk holds two Officers and lockers are between the bunks for their personal items. A table sits in the center of the room with six chairs around it for use in recreation or studying. There is also a shower and changing room off this area.
----< Condition Three - Duty Area >----—-
Contents: Reighner Tais Navy Bunks Wireless 1426

Exits: [O] Corridor
-================================================================
Reighner has arrived.

Tais sits at the table, a large book before her. Upon closer investigation one could see it is the Principle and Practice of Gastrointestinal Oncology. It's a remedial tome, basic even, but Tais seems immersed in the pages. Her hands are tunneled into her dark hair, spilling over her fingers as she reads.

Reighner shoulders the hatch open. He seems tired, eyes hooded, white coat and scrubs wrinkled. "Evening," he mumbles to Tais. He pushes the hatch closed.

Tais looks up, her hands slipping from where they cupped her hair, watching the doctor's slow gait. A brief smile tweaking the arc of her mouth, "Rough day at the office?"

"You know how it is," Reighner answers with a weak smile. He shuffles towards his bunk (a lower one), saying along the way, "I hate to say this, but sometimes I wish I had more cancer patients than general medicine."

Tais turns in her chair, the book now forgotten. "It would be a diversion, Matt. A challenge. If you had more of them, then you'd want the drudgery of general practice. Right now, it's the singular grind of being more triage than research."

Reighner grunts something. He shrugs off his coat and pops open his locker. He glances over his shoulder as he pulls out a hanger. "What is that there?" he asks, probably referencing the book.

Tais returns to face the table, closing the book so the title is visible. "Principles and Practice of Gastrointestinal Oncology. I decided to study up on what I really long to do while I mend bones and remove sutures."

Reighner whistles, impressed. "Dirty stuff." He puts the white coat on the hanger and slides it back into the locker.

Tais's fingertips trace the embossed words on the book, her voice tepid, then spilling over with brief emotion, "Who ever said our profession was clean, Matt? Removing lengths of blown bowel after a gut load of shrapnel lands inside it, compound fractures…gods, putting them back together to throw them out to do all over again without letting them heal? Oncology seems so straightforward after that."

"Straightforward," Reighner repeats. He shuts the locker and hits it with a closed fist to make sure it's latched. He moves to his bunk and pulls open the curtain. "I think you'll find out soon enough that a bowel resection is more straightforward than cancer management."

Melia comes in from Corridor 12C..

"I've no doubt of it, Matt. But I long for the research. I've a feeling I'll not get the chance to go back to it while being tasked with being a member of a MASH unit." Tais' eyes move towards the hatch as it opens, seeing Melia enter and offering her a brief smile of welcome.

Reighner pulls off his scrub top. He's wearing a plain white T-shirt underneath. "You're interested in research?"

Melia slips into the officer's berthing with all the grace of someone who clearly feels like she doesn't belong. It's not furtive, just a little hesitant. There's a duffle over her shoulder and a rather thick book under one arm. There's a little bit of brightening that takes place when she spots Tais and Reighner. "Evening, Sirs," she calls quietly, scampering to her own bunk.

Tais has a closed book on the main table which notes it deals in the Principles and Practice of Gastrointestinal Oncology. Her answer to Reighner is straightforward and earnest, "I always have been, Matt."

"But why oncology? There's plenty of research in general surgery," Reighner posits curiously. He folds up his scrub tops and chunks it into a small hamper at the foot of the bunk. He nods to Melia, reflexively, but then his eyebrows furrow and he follows her movements.

The duffle gets tossed up to the bunk first, then the little Ensign scampers up the side, settling in with her legs dangling. She cocks her head, half-listening to the conversation. And no, she doesn't address the raised brows quite yet.

You say, "I had a child who died from an oncological disorder." Her own mossy eyes watch the proceedings of the Ensign with the ghost of a smile on her face, yes she heard of Melia's boot up, but continues, the smile leaving her lips in a straight line, "The feeling of helplessness is what I couldn't shake. It made me want to know why and how it could have been prevented. I want the ability to research and develop a cure. Maybe not in my lifetime, but to save another child's life."

The lieutenant's words bring Reighner's attention back to her. He smirks as he sits down inside the bunk alcove. "You sound like you're interviewing, Tais."

Melia winces just a little at Tais' story, but offers the woman a warm smile nonetheless. Reighner's words have her biting her lip, though she doesn't interrupt just yet. She just slips out of her boots and socks, taking a moment to massage her feet.

Crests of subtle color mark Tais' creamy skin, though her eyes meet Matt's openly, another ephemeral smile gifting her lips, "Maybe I am."

Reighner arches an eyebrow, but he lets it pass. "What'd the kid have?" He leans forward with a suppressed groan to unlace his boots.

Once the boots and socks are off, Mellie swings around and opens the book on her lap, but doesn't begin to read just yet.

You say, "She had Amyloidosis. We thought stem cell therapy could be successful, but to no avail."

Reighner nods. There's not many follow-ups after a diagnosis of amyloidosis. He pulls off his boots. The socks are next.

"Major Zaharis was doing some research on compounds to assist with the delivery of pharmaceuticals," Mellie comments, apropos of nothing. "The idea being to prevent delivery degradation."

Tais's gaze seeks upwards to the tiny target on the top bunk, "Running with the big boys now, Melia?" Her wink is swift, scarcely seen, "Sounds fun." Melia's explanation deserving of her attention. She has no desire to review her own child's case history further, and so simply stops doing so.

"So they finally gave you the shove up," Reighner comments, following up on Tais's question. He throws his feet up and swings into the bunk, with another sigh.

Melia laughs quietly and dips her head, cheeks going a little pink. "I got my commission last week," she says quietly. "Small ceremony with the Major and Sergeant Browne. Just moved in here."

Tais grins, something she doesn't do often; or often enough. "You just want a chance to boast that you sleep with the CMO."

Reighner smirks at the ceiling of his bunk. He reaches up and adjusts the timer on the clock taped there.

Melia peers over the side of her bunk and grins at Tais. "I'm too late, as always," she comments dryly. "He's got his own quarters. I just want to say that I can sleep with the Captain." She nods to Reighner, then pops back into her bunk.

Tais reaches up to tweak Melia's cheek, "You're lucky. He snores like a frakking freight train. As for Matt, he has the innate ability to close his eyes, fall immediately asleep and awake soundlessly leaving you never knowing he was even there. Neither as satisfying as I'd like."

"That's why they pay me the big bucks," Reighner mumbles smoothly. He drops his hand down to his side, and he stares blankly at the top of his bunk.

Mellie grins at Tais, laughing quietly. "I wouldn't know," she murmurs, before disappearing back into her bunk.

Tais drawls, "The consummate gentleman. Not even an imprint on the sheets. I believe you hover above them." She slips into her own bunk, nary a sound heard as she divests herself of her own boots, socks and pants. Her curtains are heard closing partially and then her own weary sigh is audible.

Reighner laces his fingers under his head. "What's your schedule like, Sullivan? Hitting the wards yet?"

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License