Logs:Operational Injuries
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| RL Date: 25 August, 2010 |
| Who: Delifa, Leda, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: The new craft complex creates work for the healers when Leda and another Apprentice come in with injuries. |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 2, Month 8, Turn 23 (Interval 10) |
| Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr Two sets of double doors, one from the the inner caverns and a recently built set from the dragon infirmary, lead into the unnaturally hushed human infirmary. Despite fastidious cleaning, the scent of redwort and numbweed has long since soaked into every smooth-carved surface, along with other, subtler medicinal smells. Pristinely made cots are lined up against the walls; most of them are left open to view, but some in the back are surrounded by curtains for delicate procedures or critical patients. About halfway between the two entrances is the counter for the healers on duty; it guards the entrance to the storage rooms just beyond, their shelves and cabinets lined with meticulously labeled bottles, boxes, jars, and even vats of supplies. The Weyrhealer's office is also here, along with another side room for mixing up medicines and the like. About two hours ago, there was a haze of smoke hanging over the bowl. Tracking it origins would have led to the craft area, where the Woodcraft was charring barrels for the vintners. Journeymen were overseeing the process but it was the apprentices who got the brunt of the detail: when each barrel was deemed to be sufficiently charred, it was their job to carry over a huge bucket with a partner to douse the fire. It's a delicate operation, which requires precision timing and a distaste for steam burns. One slip of the hand will land people in the infirmary, as Leda and her partner now are. He got the worst of it by far; that curtained cot off in the corner is the source of some truly heartbreaking groans. Leda herself is looking a bit like a cooked lobster, her face shiny red and her eyes swollen. There are blisters on her hands and lower arms, to which a Healer is applying numbweed. "Guess his hand was wet, he lost the handle and over he went," she's telling the journeyman, "Put his face right in the cloud coming up. You sure he's going to be all right?" It's been all hands on deck in the infirmary, both thanks to this particular incident and to a near-drowning in the lake earlier in the afternoon - though thankfully, the small child involved in that particular incident is now resting quietly. Perhaps that's why Madilla looks so frazzled when she enters the Infirmary, her footsteps trailing to a halt as she gets far enough in to hear the groans, and see Leda herself. The middle-aged woman tending to Leda glances up on her approach, beckoning her forward with her gaze though it doesn't prevent her from telling Leda, "Quite sure - he'll be just fine. Do these kinds of incidents happen often, in your line of work?" Madilla's brows raise, but she crosses the remainder of the distance, to be told, by the other healer, "Madilla, will you take over for me with Leda, here? I want to check on her companion." "It's not supposed to, but Errik's skinnier than me and I had my gloves off from the sweat and he doesn't /sound/ fine." Hopefully Leda can be forgiven her own frayed nerves; every new groan makes her shoulders hunch and she hasn't looked up yet from the fresh injuries done her already scarred hands. At least, she doesn't look up until Madilla's name is heard. Then an attempt is made to shape her lips into something resembling a smile, though the movement of her cheeks earns a grunt of discomfort. "Hello again, ma'am. Long day?" she says, putting a jesting spin on the words in spite of the sting. Belatedly, she adds for the lady who's been tending her, "Thank you. They're feeling better now." The expression Delifa - for this is the name of the other healer - aims at Leda is a sympathetic one. "I know he doesn't," she admits, "But he will be, I promise. That's why I'm going to go in and see how we're going. Sit still, and Madilla will take care of you." Which Madilla does, taking the seat Delifa vacates and reaching for the numbweed pot. "A bit of one," she admits to Leda, as she turns her attention towards the apprentice, not watching Delifa disappear into the curtained cubicle. "And this looks messy, too. Don't-- just sit there. Here." She reaches out, obviously intending to resume the supply of numbweed. "It looks as though your day may have been even more of a trial than mine, though." Leda does begin to rise from the edge of the cot but the admonition from Madilla sees her back onto her perch. Her head turns, trying to track the other healer until she's forced to turn back to face the one before her. Her hands extend again, rotating to present the underside of her arms for the goopy stuff. "It's not the first time I've been on the wrong side of a fire. It could've been worse, I thought he'd lost his eyes," she admits. The smile has long since slipped away, leaving her on the near side of gloomy. It doesn't help that the tightness of her face is lending a slur to her words, making her lips slow to shape each one. "Shouldn't have taken my gloves off but my grip was better without them. They're quick here. The healers, I mean. Didn't even have time to start yelling before someone grabbed me." Madilla's hands, like Delifa's before her, are obviously well practiced at this numbweed application thing: she's all but tender in her ministrations, all smooth movements and gentle, barely-there touches. "It's a difficult trade-off," she allows, in a quiet voice. "Better grip, better safety. Or so I assume. I think-- we do /try/ to be quick. Some of the healers here remember dealing with threadscores. We're not used to this kind of operational injury, yet, but it never hurts to be quick. Lives are at stake, after all. And eyes. He /will/ be fine. Your friend, I mean. Delifa's very good." A little sigh escapes the girl, the tension leaving the set of her hands as the numbweed does its work. Leda even attempts an experimental flex of her fingers, though it's aborted quickly enough with a quick glance at Madilla's face. She doesn't intend to court a lecture. "Aye, this isn't a bad place to catch a burn in, if you're going to do it. Could give you a list of the other things you might see, if you want." Another smile is forced and it all but makes her eyes disappear. If she knew how she looked, she'd probably laugh for it. "How about me? Do I get some time away from the complex? Once I start peeling, the weavers are like to file a protest at having me around turning their stomachs. Don't want to hurt the productivi--ow." The apprentice pauses to test a split on her lip with her tongue-tip. Madilla only raises her eyebrows at that flex, which seems to be neither admonishment or encouragement: she'll let Leda see how that feels for herself. "It might help," she laughs, with an easy glance at Leda's face, one that shades increasingly sympathetic as she considers it, and the apprentice's facial contortions. "/You/ are going to leave your injuries alone - it's going to hurt, so don't do it - and keep them clean, and regularly numbweeded. I imagine." Considering those hands for a moment, she adds, "And using your hands too much is likely to hurt, so I suspect you won't be doing much physical work until they begin to heal. As for the weavers? They might just have to deal." "You're probably going to start getting a lot of infected splinters. Most times, they work out on their own so we ignore them but sometimes they go foul. Especially under the fingernails. Smashed fingers too, from vises and mallets, and more burns. Not often but bad when they come in." Leda herself is a walking catalogue of these injuries, to judge by the marks on hands and arms; the puckered lye scars trail up her right arm, in fact, leaving wrinkly yellow splotches where she was splashed. Either she's unlucky, clumsy, or the infirmary will get to enjoy regular trauma practice now. The diagnosis earns a stiff grimace. "That means I'm going to be stuck watching the soap again," she says glumly. She's capable of mulling over this injustice now that the worse of the pain is gone. "But my hands will heal? I'll have full use? I got my first commission, I need to be able to carve. Little things." Bobs of the head, one after each potential injury, mark Madilla's acceptance of these; her expression is one of set consideration, seeming to imply that she really does take her job terribly seriously. "We'll be prepared," she tells Leda, firmly, though rather than linger on this, she continues on to add, more sympathetically, "It won't be for too long. They'll heal in no time, and-- yes, of course you'll be as good as new. Full use. I'll suggest that you need fresh air and sunshine to aid the healing process, too." That's said with a little sideways glance, not /quite/ a 'our little secret', but not far off it. "A commission? Congratulations. Once you can hold a knife without it hurting, you're welcome to carve, though you may need to heal properly before you have full use. So." She'd grin if she could do it without feeling like her cheeks were about to split. Leda settles instead for letting her eyes dance at the healer, her lips twitching with the urge she has to leash. "Oh aye? I'll be sure to take care with my healing, ma'am, I promise. Fresh air, sunshine and only the little things to keep my hands busy once they're no longer stiff. Thank you." It's a strange thing to flex your hand and not feel them but she attempts it anyway, her gaze cast down to watch the oddity. "Commission's for a weaver. Jewelry, if you can believe it. Wooden jewelry. The smiths won't be pleased...how's your little one?" The segue might seem abrupt but with her own woes dealt with, her ears strain again for sounds behind the curtains where Errik lies. Rather than focus there, she fastens her attention on the journeyman. Madilla keeps her own amusement almost entirely in check, letting it linger just slightly around the corners of her mouth, and in her gaze. It's hard to imagine that she's not well conscious of the need for distraction; she launches back into speech with all the enthusiasm she can, apparently, muster. Which is a not insignificant amount. "Wooden jewelry?" she repeats, sounding amused. "I suppose-- well. Hairclips and such, I know, but I assume you mean more than that? How intriguing. I suppose the smiths will just have to deal with it, though, won't they. It's a free market... and what the people want, well, that's what they get. Lily's doing well." There's no pause between the threads of conversation, the healer launching on undeterred. "She's been sleeping better, which has been a blessing. It means /I/ feel better, too." "Ayuh? That's a good thing. Early bloomer to be sleeping better through the night already, it sounds like you're one of the lucky ones. My brother's wife, all of hers were screamers. Told him, if he'd got himself a woman who smiled more, might've been different." Leda vents her amusement in a sigh, then wiggles back on the cot. Her feet are lifted and her legs swung up so she can recline. After a moment of not seeming to know what to do with her arms, they're draped gingerly over her stomach. "Nngh...feel like I'm wearing a mask. Jewelry...aye, that. Hairclips, combs, that's what you'd think but I'd made myself some rings and she fancied them. Bangles for the wrists, even necklaces if I can figure a way to make them lay proper. Maybe something like a yoke, cut thin...she's going to set them with gems but I'm playing with mosaics, all in different stains..." Letting out a long breath, Madilla admits, "I hope I'm one of the lucky ones. It's either that, or she worked out I was nearly at breaking point, and decided to be nice for a little while. We'll see if it lasts. Though," and she smiles, "her father and I are both relatively quiet people. Perhaps that makes the difference." She shifts her position as she talks, so that she can face Leda more directly. "That sounds pretty. And-- well, more affordable than metal, I would imagine? The kind of thing the average person could buy." One hand, the one that hasn't been in the numbweed though, of course, she's wiped it off since, lifts towards her hair, somehow thoughtful though her next remark is not about hairclips. "Patterned bangles would be lovely." Leda hangs one foot off of the cot, letting the toe bounce a little so she isn't /entirely/ still. "I think it helps but then all I know is what I saw of my brothers and their wives...quiet ones make quiet babies. But I'm not healer," she remarks, tempted once more to grin. She closes her eyes against the impulse, takes and releases a measured breath. "The way the weaver was talking, with the gems and such, they might be pricey. But those without...I don't see that they'd cost much. It takes me a few hours to make a simple ring without a stain, if I have the right wood. Bangles are longer, and the mosaic is being difficult...but still not so much as a fine silver bracelet would cost you, aye? More natural too, softer against the skin. Be good where it gets too cold or too hot to have metal against you, I'm thinking. Be a fine journeyman project, I think." "It would seem to make sense," agrees Madilla. "As a general rule, if not an absolute, anyway." She watches Leda, lips pursing together slightly, but whatever it is she's thinking, it doesn't make it out of her mouth. "Mm, no, of course those ones would be. And I'm not thinking... cheap cheap. But of a reasonable price. I'd love to see them, when you have some made up to show." Her hands clasp together, as she adds, "Using it as a journeyman project with the added benefit of it being a /commission/ seems an exce--" It's at this moment that Delifa emerges from the cubicle again, and heads towards them. "He's resting," is her explanation. "As comfortable as we can make him. He'll be /fine/. How are you feeling, Leda?" The apprentice's head turns, eyes opened a crack. This time she /does/ smile, as large a smile of relief as her cheeks will allow. "Thank you, ma'am, I'm happy to hear it. I think maybe I'll rest too, aye? If there's room." Leda rolls her head on the pillow again to fix Madilla with that slitted gaze. The hint of the smile, which had deflated quickly, still hovers around her lips. "I think I owe you a piece or three, for keeping my mind off of things. Once I'm on my feet again, I can bring some for you to pick from. For you and the wee one, aye." "Oh, that's not necessary," says Madilla, who draws herself to her feet all at the same time. She looks terribly pleased with the idea, nonetheless. "Call out if you need anything? Or if it hurts too much." Then, with a bob of the head, she departs, closing the curtains behind her. |
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